I applied for a job today at a school where the tuition is $25,000 a year. That means that by a time a child graduates from sixth grade at the school, if the child started in pre-k, the parents will have paid $200,000 for their child's education. And I somehow doubt that these kids will be going to public high school, or even college, for that matter. Sheesh. Still, I applied. I tell myself that these kids need good teachers too, that it may only be for the rest of this year, blah, blah, blah, but the truth is, I know that I will be selling out if I go there. When I dreamed of being a teacher, my thoughts were more Dangerous Minds than Dead Poet's Society. Unfortunately, though, I have found lately that whether it's my lack of military training or my whiteness and small build, I may not be cut out for the worst of the worst. It's a tough realization to come to, but I think it's necessary for my own sanity, and to help my avoid having to leave another job in October because I am paralyzed by anxiety.
A word about inspirational teaching movies. I love uplifting films. In fact, sports movies constitute one of my favorite genres, even though they are about as predictable as an episode of Cold Case. My friend Sarah and I, kindred spirits in many ways, not least importantly in our love of sports movies, broke these movies down into their essential components- adversity of some kind (race, age, inexperience) meets the challenge presented by the bigger (older, whiter) team with the help of a hard-boiled (idealistic, washed-out) coach through hard work, team bonding and the realization that we are more than the sum of our parts. Cue inspirational practice montage, followed by intimate look into the characters' personal drama, closing with the big game. Think about your own favorite sports movie, and I can almost guarantee that it will fit the above criteria. And yet, I can't get enough.
Teaching movies are similar to sports movies in many ways. Young, inexperience teacher, through hard work and realization that yes, these are kids, too, with limitless potential that can be unlocked through unorthodox teaching methods and a willingness to fight the existing establishment. Cue inspirational classroom montage, intimate look into the characters' personal drama and feel-good ending. However, unlike sports movies, I avoid teaching movies whenever possible, and I would advise potential teachers to do the same. I have not seen Freedom Writers, or any other movie in the genre which will inevitably be coming soon to a theater near you. You see, my problem with these movies is that they are not real. Sure, they may have happened, but that exceptional teacher is just that, exceptional. The reality is that teaching is incredibly difficult, and that half of all teachers leave within the first three years. In my experience, and that of my many teaching friends, our first years of teaching were spent struggling daily to keep our heads above water, praying that we were reaching a least of few our our 25+ students, forcing ourselves out of bed in the morning, reminding ourselves that we asked for this. It is not glamorous, and it is not fun, and most of the time, it is not redemptive.
In rereading what I just wrote, I sound horribly cynical, to the point where some people might read it and think, "Well, clearly she is just not cut out for teaching. It will be different for me." It is true that I am realizing that I may not be cut out for certain kinds of teaching, namely those that require me to hand over my whole life, all my waking hours, and a good portion of my sanity. I am not saying that there aren't people who can't be successful in a challenging urban environment. In fact, I am banking on the fact that such people exist, because I refuse to believe that my former students and those in similar situations should have to put of with an inferior education just because of where they were born. All I'm saying is that it is a lot harder than I have seen it depicted on film. I love Sister Act II, but unless you have Lauren Hill herself in your class, best of luck turning things around in six weeks.
For those wanting some inspiration that won't ruin you for life, I would recommend Mr. Holland's Opus or the memoir Educating Esmé. The former focuses on the transformation of the teacher rather than the students and strikes me, based on my experience, as the most authentic movie about teaching that I have seen. The latter is an actual true story, not a loosely-based Hollywood remake of what was once a true story, and the author has realistic first-year successes and failures.
A few weeks ago, I started substitute teaching at a charter school that I think strikes a balance between the challenges of urban teaching and the supports needed for teachers to succeed in that environment. I really like it there, and I plan on describing it in more detail in future posts. However, I have also applied to teach at the aforemention private school, and if they'll have me, and I go there, my biggest fear is not that I will be selling out. It's that I won't mind.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Bye bye babies
I've been unemployed for almost a month now, and I'm starting to get the hang of it. Today I woke up, then laid in be for awhile, enjoying the vague feeling of dizziness that comes from being almost-but-not-quite-all-the-way awake. I got up after awhile and got my book from the other room, then stayed in bed reading until a finished it. After that, I went downstairs, made some tea and found a granola bar, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast.
I have decided that Mondays are house days, so I did many dishes, swept and picked up the clutter from the first floor and moved it to the second. By then, I was in need of some fresh air, so following a shower, I grabbed the camera and headed out of the house. For the past few weeks, there has been a traffic cone perched on the median a few blocks down that someone has painted to look like a piece of candy corn. For some reason, this brings me great joy. I took a picture of it today, and I was enjoying the fresh air and the feel of the camera so much that I took many more pictures.
My days have taken on a sort of Give-a-Mouse-a-Cookie feel. What I mean is, I start out doing one thing, which leads me to another, and before I know it, the day is nearly gone. It is a strange thing to experience for a teacher, who is used to planning out days and weeks in advance, with no free minutes in the schedule for potential down time. My past few classes of students have been the sort where any break in the action means it is time for absurdities, ranging from throwing things to thinking of the meanest possible thing to say at that moment. So this one-thing-leading-to-another schedule of late is a definite change of pace, but I like it.
All this is to say that I got back to the house and decided to upload my photos onto the computer. As I did that, I realized that we have pictures on the camera dating back to when we first bought it, in June of 2008. So, I decided to put all our pictures on the computer, but of course I wanted to do it in an organized way. So I started making folders for the pictures, then realized that I had so many folders that it still wasn't organized. Seasonal classification seemed to be the best fit, so I made those folders, with subfolders labeled with names of events. I uploaded all the pictures into the appropriate folders, then deleted the ones I had uploaded from the actual camera. It was a cleansing feeling, akin to going through a box of old papers (which, by the way, should be my next task). After cleaning off the camera, I was very hungry, so I made some lunch (at about 3:00). Then it was back to the pictures.
So, by then, they were all on the computer, but each folder had tens or even hundreds of files, many of which were duplicates or too blurry or extreme close-ups (not sure about those). So, I began happily cleaning out another junk drawer, this time trying to narrow the files down to those that we might actually want to look at again someday.
I made it through the files from last summer, which took a long time mainly because they included the pictures from our honeymoon. People tend to take too many honeymoon pictures to begin with, and we had just gotten our fancy new camera, so it was pretty out of control. Once I made it through that, I wa
s basically in the home stretch. Granted, that didn't even bring me within a year of where we are today.The hardest ones for me to delete were the ones of the twins. I imagine other parents (or semi-parents) share this problem. Looking at the photos of the girls from last summer filled me with some major wistfulness. I was reminded why Brianna has always been called the chubby one, but I also realized that really, that no longer fits. Brittany has finally almost caught up, and the two of them are really not babies any more. Last summer, when they were 1 1/2, you could still see the baby-ness, in the wrist-rolls, toothlessness, trails of drool, goofy-gummy expressions. Now they are almost three, and from Brittany's joyful proclamations of "I did it!"
when she puts on her own socks or the way Brianna confidently turns off the sidewalk towards our house without prompting, they are kids now. The change has been so gradual that I wouldn't have given it too much thought if I hadn't digitally rifled through their old photos today. Deleting even the off-center, blurry ones seemed like another step away from babyhood. But I'm getting overly sentimental, so that's enough of that.There are still many files to go, but I think I'm done for today. I am going to visit a new school tomorrow, one that has the potential to allow my growth as a teacher without making
me feel like a complete sell-out. As much as I am beginning to get into a house-wifely groove, it's time to get back to where I belo
ng, or at least see if there is a place for me. To be continued...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Quittin' time
October 7, 2009
I knew I had to quit when I literally pulled my hair out. Recently some friends and I have discussed, sometimes after a few glasses of red wine, the misuse of the word “literally”, often by those younger, and therefore dumber than us, but also by such beloved figures as our own parents. We scoff at each other’s tales of how Mom said her mouth was “literally on fire” after eating the chili, or how the TV announcer claimed that his jaw was “literally on the floor” when he heard the news. These statements conjure up images of cartoon characters dousing oral flames or scooping the wayward body part up and dusting it off, images which are amusing to us learned folk.
All this is to say that I know what the word literally means, and that this was not a metaphoric hair-pulling experience. As I stood over the garbage can in my classroom holding a clump of my hair, I knew that I could not live like this. I also had the passing thought that my hair looked worse than I had pictured it in my mind, sort of a fuzzy brown nest, and that I better throw it out before anyone saw how gross it looked.
The first time I quit a teaching job partway through the year, it took three months for me to make the decision. This time, it took less than half an hour. It took the amount of time between my somewhat surprised revelation that yes, that is my hair that I am holding in my fist, and the arrival of the Spanish teacher, whose rolling blue cart has never been a more welcome sight.
When I graduated from college in the Spring of 2009, I was quite proud of myself. I had survived student teaching with only a few battle scars, even enjoying myself at times. My first placement had been in a solidly middle-class school a few blocks from my house. I skated through, enjoying the company of my cooperating teacher and our daily Diet Coke break, basking in the glow of her explicit compliments: “You’re more of a co-teacher than a student teacher”, and her implicit ones: “Yes, that last student teacher, well, she just wasn’t cut out for the job. Teaching isn’t for everyone.” Clearly, though, we were two of the chosen few.
My second placement had been a bit rockier, with a slightly rowdier band of children, the constant threat of a head lice outbreak and, in one case, a student lifting his desk over his head (“I just wanted to move it. So I had to dump all my stuff out first”). Still, I attributed any difficulties I had to the fact that my cooperating teacher’s behavior management system consisted of short bouts of yelling interspersed with long lectures about what it means to be a good child. Surely, I thought, if I had had this class from the beginning, they would have been attuned to my kinder, gentler, though still sufficiently firm, ways. Just because I wasn’t as strict as Mrs. Wahlfeldt, it didn’t mean I couldn’t control a classroom. My own classroom. Just not this classroom.
My self-satisfaction increased with every box and lamp my boyfriend and I loaded into his minivan. We were hitting the road, leaving the state, heading for the big city. There would be no return to the Chicago suburbs for me, back to a school like the one I came from, where the children were white and each carefully packed lunchbox contained a sandwich, a bag of chips and an apple, with an icepack to keep the carrot sticks at an optimal temperature. No, I had secured a job at Moten Elementary School, a 4th through 6th grade monstrosity atop a hill in Southeast DC. I was impressed by the principal at a job fair I had attended in March, and apparently I had impressed her as well. I soon wondered if it was my ignorance that impressed her most of all.
I knew I had to quit when I literally pulled my hair out. Recently some friends and I have discussed, sometimes after a few glasses of red wine, the misuse of the word “literally”, often by those younger, and therefore dumber than us, but also by such beloved figures as our own parents. We scoff at each other’s tales of how Mom said her mouth was “literally on fire” after eating the chili, or how the TV announcer claimed that his jaw was “literally on the floor” when he heard the news. These statements conjure up images of cartoon characters dousing oral flames or scooping the wayward body part up and dusting it off, images which are amusing to us learned folk.
All this is to say that I know what the word literally means, and that this was not a metaphoric hair-pulling experience. As I stood over the garbage can in my classroom holding a clump of my hair, I knew that I could not live like this. I also had the passing thought that my hair looked worse than I had pictured it in my mind, sort of a fuzzy brown nest, and that I better throw it out before anyone saw how gross it looked.
The first time I quit a teaching job partway through the year, it took three months for me to make the decision. This time, it took less than half an hour. It took the amount of time between my somewhat surprised revelation that yes, that is my hair that I am holding in my fist, and the arrival of the Spanish teacher, whose rolling blue cart has never been a more welcome sight.
When I graduated from college in the Spring of 2009, I was quite proud of myself. I had survived student teaching with only a few battle scars, even enjoying myself at times. My first placement had been in a solidly middle-class school a few blocks from my house. I skated through, enjoying the company of my cooperating teacher and our daily Diet Coke break, basking in the glow of her explicit compliments: “You’re more of a co-teacher than a student teacher”, and her implicit ones: “Yes, that last student teacher, well, she just wasn’t cut out for the job. Teaching isn’t for everyone.” Clearly, though, we were two of the chosen few.
My second placement had been a bit rockier, with a slightly rowdier band of children, the constant threat of a head lice outbreak and, in one case, a student lifting his desk over his head (“I just wanted to move it. So I had to dump all my stuff out first”). Still, I attributed any difficulties I had to the fact that my cooperating teacher’s behavior management system consisted of short bouts of yelling interspersed with long lectures about what it means to be a good child. Surely, I thought, if I had had this class from the beginning, they would have been attuned to my kinder, gentler, though still sufficiently firm, ways. Just because I wasn’t as strict as Mrs. Wahlfeldt, it didn’t mean I couldn’t control a classroom. My own classroom. Just not this classroom.
My self-satisfaction increased with every box and lamp my boyfriend and I loaded into his minivan. We were hitting the road, leaving the state, heading for the big city. There would be no return to the Chicago suburbs for me, back to a school like the one I came from, where the children were white and each carefully packed lunchbox contained a sandwich, a bag of chips and an apple, with an icepack to keep the carrot sticks at an optimal temperature. No, I had secured a job at Moten Elementary School, a 4th through 6th grade monstrosity atop a hill in Southeast DC. I was impressed by the principal at a job fair I had attended in March, and apparently I had impressed her as well. I soon wondered if it was my ignorance that impressed her most of all.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Just add water
We had macaroni and cheese tonight. Which is fine, and something that Kurt and I have done before. We usually toss in some tuna for a little extra protein, just in case that scary orange cheese powder is really as devoid of nutritional value as it looks. No, mac and cheese for dinner is nothing new for us crazy newlyweds. However when you consider that it is the most complete meal I have served/eaten in the last four days, it is a little worrisome. But such is the life of a single parent.
Three weeks ago, Kurt and I took the leap into instant parenthood, a task I recommend only for the brave or for those lacking any self-preservation instincts. For those who know us, it came as no surprise. Brittany and Brianna have been part of my life, and then Kurt's life, since they were a mere 14 days old. Just before school started (notice the clear lack of self-preservation on my part) we decide to have these darling 2.5-year-olds come and take up residence in our abode. Just during the week, mind you. So, overnight, we went from being happily childless-for-now, with thoughts of children still blissfully just beyond the horizon, to parents to two wild and crazy toddlers. Which all comes back to explaining why, with Kurt out of town, I spent Friday night curled up in the Pepto-Bismol chair, eating chips and cheese dip and drinking beer, and watching TV until I fell asleep. It may not have been a nutritional meal, but for those few hours, babyland resumed its earlier place in the land of my dreams.
Three weeks ago, Kurt and I took the leap into instant parenthood, a task I recommend only for the brave or for those lacking any self-preservation instincts. For those who know us, it came as no surprise. Brittany and Brianna have been part of my life, and then Kurt's life, since they were a mere 14 days old. Just before school started (notice the clear lack of self-preservation on my part) we decide to have these darling 2.5-year-olds come and take up residence in our abode. Just during the week, mind you. So, overnight, we went from being happily childless-for-now, with thoughts of children still blissfully just beyond the horizon, to parents to two wild and crazy toddlers. Which all comes back to explaining why, with Kurt out of town, I spent Friday night curled up in the Pepto-Bismol chair, eating chips and cheese dip and drinking beer, and watching TV until I fell asleep. It may not have been a nutritional meal, but for those few hours, babyland resumed its earlier place in the land of my dreams.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Still nearly new after all these years
I can't help feeling bad for new teachers. After all, they have no way of knowing what is coming their way. It's like being at the beach and everything is bright and sunny, when all of the sudden a huge wave comes sweeping up that sand and completely soaks everything, including all seven Harry Potter books that you happened to bring along with you just in case you have time. Sure, you think you're ready, you've been watching the tide bring the ocean closer and closer, but when the moment finally arrives, you're toast. All you can do is hang your sopping wet, sandy towel over a railing to dry and try to get comfortable even though the sand has also crept into every imaginable crevice.
I can't help feeling bad for new teachers, and I can't believe I am one of them yet again. Sure, I'm with the same school system, moving from Brentwood to Petworth (two DC neighborhoods), but it's a new (much larger), new (much cooler) principal, new (?) coworkers, new (!) curriculum, and a new (much smaller) classroom.
Even still, I was pretty excited about it all. I have ignored the info I keep hearing about my new class being "difficult" and now whenever someone brings it up, all I hear is a faint buzzing, much like a mosquito. I have arranged and rearranged my room to accommodate 26 desks while still meeting the fire code. I have worked with my excellent fifth grade coworkers at other schools to disassemble the curriculum document into something that makes sense. All of this served to make it seem like the water was only at chin height rather than eyebrow.
Then, they "rolled out" the new schedule. Instead of the 2 hours of daily planning time that we were promised, we have 45 minutes. With the extended school day, that means we will be with our little darlings almost non-stop from 8 am to 430 pm. So much for absence makes the heart grow fonder. A small part of me feels like I am whining, that some teachers don't even get that much planning time, etc, etc, but the larger part of me says that just because some people have it worse does not make our situation right. Last year we had 45 minutes of planning time, but the children left at 330, so staying until 5, which I usually did, meant at least an extra hour to plan once the kiddies were gone. Now, I won't even have the next day's pencils sharpened by 5. Argh. All of this makes me feel just as new as before, with no higher ground where I can relocate in order to keep my metaphorical towel from getting soaked. Bring on the tidal wave.
I can't help feeling bad for new teachers, and I can't believe I am one of them yet again. Sure, I'm with the same school system, moving from Brentwood to Petworth (two DC neighborhoods), but it's a new (much larger), new (much cooler) principal, new (?) coworkers, new (!) curriculum, and a new (much smaller) classroom.
Even still, I was pretty excited about it all. I have ignored the info I keep hearing about my new class being "difficult" and now whenever someone brings it up, all I hear is a faint buzzing, much like a mosquito. I have arranged and rearranged my room to accommodate 26 desks while still meeting the fire code. I have worked with my excellent fifth grade coworkers at other schools to disassemble the curriculum document into something that makes sense. All of this served to make it seem like the water was only at chin height rather than eyebrow.
Then, they "rolled out" the new schedule. Instead of the 2 hours of daily planning time that we were promised, we have 45 minutes. With the extended school day, that means we will be with our little darlings almost non-stop from 8 am to 430 pm. So much for absence makes the heart grow fonder. A small part of me feels like I am whining, that some teachers don't even get that much planning time, etc, etc, but the larger part of me says that just because some people have it worse does not make our situation right. Last year we had 45 minutes of planning time, but the children left at 330, so staying until 5, which I usually did, meant at least an extra hour to plan once the kiddies were gone. Now, I won't even have the next day's pencils sharpened by 5. Argh. All of this makes me feel just as new as before, with no higher ground where I can relocate in order to keep my metaphorical towel from getting soaked. Bring on the tidal wave.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Top Three Things I Learned from One Awesome Workshop
Here is a list of the greatest hits from the RC workshop, as per my mom's request.
In no particular order:
1. Children understand instructions best when they are given in a simple, direct format.
For example, say, "Put the scissors down now," rather that, "Could you please put the scissors down?" Tricky, and we all do it, but don't ask a question unless you want an answer.
I was struck by the truth of this at the park the other day when I heard a daycare worker yell at a child on the playground, saying, "What do you think you're doing?" A common phrase, but it's meaningless to a 5-year-old. Perhaps, instead she could have said, "Please get down from the slide. What you are doing is not safe." I have been trying to watch my own language in this area, but this coming school year will put it to the test.
2. Logical consequences are the best way of correcting problem behaviors.
There are three main types of logical consequences. The first, reparations is what I like to call, "You break it, you bought it." Or more accurately, "You break it, you fix it." As in, you spilled it, you clean it up; you knocked it down, (even on purpose), you help put it back together; you crumpled up your homework paper, you write it over.
The second, removal of privilege, is just what it sounds like. "I see that you are not able to walk in line the way that we have talked about. For the rest of the day, you need to walk next to me." I like this one, because it says to kids, "I trust you to do the right thing unless you show me otherwise. If that happens, we will deal with it, but I don't expect us to have any problems." We expect kids to "earn" privileges, but what if we give them those privileges to begin with, and teach them to respect the privileges? I am interested to find out the answer to this question.
The final consequence is a positive time-out, either in the classroom or in another teacher's room. It gives the child a chance to "reset" and regain self-control. The best thing about that is when we watched a video and the teacher gave a personal example of a time when she might need a time-out from the class. I know exactly the kind of situation she is talking about. Plus, by giving that example, she shows the students that anyone can use a time-out.
I was reading the book Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, and in it she quotes someone else, I don't know who, and says, "We are not punished for our sin, but by our sin." I believe that most children know when they have made an error, intentionally or accidentally, and the only "punishment" they need is a chance to make it right. Now if we could just get students to be rewarded by their successes rather than for their successes.
3. Students have needs, just like everyone else.
Okay, clearly I knew this, but it was so nice to have it reaffirmed. Even now, as I have been sitting here writing, I've gotten up to go to the bathroom, went to get a drink, and talked to my husband about a broken glass in the kitchen. I've been sitting here for 20 minutes. Why is it then, that we expect students to sit for 45 minutes without talking, playing or moving, as we administer a lesson? It is illogical, and, for the teacher and the kids, very frustrating.
Today my principal called me to ask about this year's school supply list. One new addition for me is a reusable water bottle. I am also hoping to have snack time in the morning, as well as a morning recess. Perhaps we'll even call it our "coffee break". I am still trying to figure out what to do about the bathroom, though, because the only bathrooms in the school are in the basement, and we are on the third floor. The previous principal required students to go as a whole class, which does not line up with my philosophy on that. So I will have to wait and see how that is resolved.
I know that's only three, they are big ones. I will post some more as they come to me.
In no particular order:
1. Children understand instructions best when they are given in a simple, direct format.
For example, say, "Put the scissors down now," rather that, "Could you please put the scissors down?" Tricky, and we all do it, but don't ask a question unless you want an answer.
I was struck by the truth of this at the park the other day when I heard a daycare worker yell at a child on the playground, saying, "What do you think you're doing?" A common phrase, but it's meaningless to a 5-year-old. Perhaps, instead she could have said, "Please get down from the slide. What you are doing is not safe." I have been trying to watch my own language in this area, but this coming school year will put it to the test.
2. Logical consequences are the best way of correcting problem behaviors.
There are three main types of logical consequences. The first, reparations is what I like to call, "You break it, you bought it." Or more accurately, "You break it, you fix it." As in, you spilled it, you clean it up; you knocked it down, (even on purpose), you help put it back together; you crumpled up your homework paper, you write it over.
The second, removal of privilege, is just what it sounds like. "I see that you are not able to walk in line the way that we have talked about. For the rest of the day, you need to walk next to me." I like this one, because it says to kids, "I trust you to do the right thing unless you show me otherwise. If that happens, we will deal with it, but I don't expect us to have any problems." We expect kids to "earn" privileges, but what if we give them those privileges to begin with, and teach them to respect the privileges? I am interested to find out the answer to this question.
The final consequence is a positive time-out, either in the classroom or in another teacher's room. It gives the child a chance to "reset" and regain self-control. The best thing about that is when we watched a video and the teacher gave a personal example of a time when she might need a time-out from the class. I know exactly the kind of situation she is talking about. Plus, by giving that example, she shows the students that anyone can use a time-out.
I was reading the book Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, and in it she quotes someone else, I don't know who, and says, "We are not punished for our sin, but by our sin." I believe that most children know when they have made an error, intentionally or accidentally, and the only "punishment" they need is a chance to make it right. Now if we could just get students to be rewarded by their successes rather than for their successes.
3. Students have needs, just like everyone else.
Okay, clearly I knew this, but it was so nice to have it reaffirmed. Even now, as I have been sitting here writing, I've gotten up to go to the bathroom, went to get a drink, and talked to my husband about a broken glass in the kitchen. I've been sitting here for 20 minutes. Why is it then, that we expect students to sit for 45 minutes without talking, playing or moving, as we administer a lesson? It is illogical, and, for the teacher and the kids, very frustrating.
Today my principal called me to ask about this year's school supply list. One new addition for me is a reusable water bottle. I am also hoping to have snack time in the morning, as well as a morning recess. Perhaps we'll even call it our "coffee break". I am still trying to figure out what to do about the bathroom, though, because the only bathrooms in the school are in the basement, and we are on the third floor. The previous principal required students to go as a whole class, which does not line up with my philosophy on that. So I will have to wait and see how that is resolved.
I know that's only three, they are big ones. I will post some more as they come to me.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Takin' the Long Way Round
It is hard to think about beginning again. Last year ended on a sour, and very bizarre note, so I know that it is for the best that I am compelled to move again. When I graduated from college, I never would have imagined that I would be working at my fourth school in four years. When I tell people that, I often find myself concluding with something along the lines of, "But it's not my fault, I swear!"
Fortunately, this past week allowed my to experience something wonderful that got me excited to begin again. I attended a training called Responsive Classroom. For those teachers out there reading this, you NEED to go. At first I was hesitant, because going meant giving up a whole week of time basking in the love of my darling, precious, totally crazy goddaughters, Brittney and Brianna. The prospect of leaving them in the care of their dad was not heartwarming, and I am sure that tomorrow will have to start with bathtime and the arduous process of doing their hair. Nonetheless, it was the right decision.
I suppose the best way to encapsulate Responsive Classroom is that it takes what good, interested teachers know are best practices, or at least recognizes as ideals, and distills it into a usable format. It focuses on making rules with students and helping them to follow those rules in a way that recognizes the students' and the teacher's shared humanity. Basically, it seems to be the best, most natural way to run a classroom.
The best thing about the workshop, though, was not the material. It was the time that I spent with my coworkers as we all got excited at the prospect of implementing RC in our own classrooms. I knew I was with the right people when, as we sat outside for lunch, I shared with the new fourth grade teacher at my school that I had taken the kids to a farm the year before. She immediately wanted to start planning a trip that we could go on together, possibly taking the kids overnight, which has been a dream of mine since I heard that such trips are available at the center we went to this year. We were so excited, talking back and forth, that we barely ate our sandwiches.
I had a game when I was little called "The Wizard of Oz". In it, you could decide if you wanted to take the long, safe way, or the short treacherous one. The short one was riddled with hazards that could send you back to start, but if you made it through, you would be ahead of the other players. I don't remember which way I usually chose, but there were no life lessons in that game anyway. Just because you take the long way doesn't mean it's any easier. But then again, who am I trying to get ahead of, anyway?
Fortunately, this past week allowed my to experience something wonderful that got me excited to begin again. I attended a training called Responsive Classroom. For those teachers out there reading this, you NEED to go. At first I was hesitant, because going meant giving up a whole week of time basking in the love of my darling, precious, totally crazy goddaughters, Brittney and Brianna. The prospect of leaving them in the care of their dad was not heartwarming, and I am sure that tomorrow will have to start with bathtime and the arduous process of doing their hair. Nonetheless, it was the right decision.
I suppose the best way to encapsulate Responsive Classroom is that it takes what good, interested teachers know are best practices, or at least recognizes as ideals, and distills it into a usable format. It focuses on making rules with students and helping them to follow those rules in a way that recognizes the students' and the teacher's shared humanity. Basically, it seems to be the best, most natural way to run a classroom.
The best thing about the workshop, though, was not the material. It was the time that I spent with my coworkers as we all got excited at the prospect of implementing RC in our own classrooms. I knew I was with the right people when, as we sat outside for lunch, I shared with the new fourth grade teacher at my school that I had taken the kids to a farm the year before. She immediately wanted to start planning a trip that we could go on together, possibly taking the kids overnight, which has been a dream of mine since I heard that such trips are available at the center we went to this year. We were so excited, talking back and forth, that we barely ate our sandwiches.
I had a game when I was little called "The Wizard of Oz". In it, you could decide if you wanted to take the long, safe way, or the short treacherous one. The short one was riddled with hazards that could send you back to start, but if you made it through, you would be ahead of the other players. I don't remember which way I usually chose, but there were no life lessons in that game anyway. Just because you take the long way doesn't mean it's any easier. But then again, who am I trying to get ahead of, anyway?
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Why is it that we insist upon cutting each other down?
I have been warned that those students who will come to me next year are challenging (my word)
I have been told that they are mean and nasty and don’t care about each other (not my words)
Why is it that we insist upon cutting each other down?
Last year I had students who got pleasure from seeing each other in pain,
Pain caused by excluding,
Pain caused by baring their own hurts by digging in another’s tender flesh
And I was too young, inexperienced to stand up and say,
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
This year we have spent hours, days, practicing what it means to be a friend,
To treat even those who are not our friends with the dignity all humans deserve
We still have lapses, but we also know that we are better than that
I have all this in my mind as I face the challenge of next year.
I will not allow my hope to be dimmed by a coworker, who says,
“I feel bad for next year’s fifth grade teacher,”
When she knows it will be me.
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
Because that is what we hear,
That is what we learn.
I have been warned that those students who will come to me next year are challenging (my word)
I have been told that they are mean and nasty and don’t care about each other (not my words)
Why is it that we insist upon cutting each other down?
Last year I had students who got pleasure from seeing each other in pain,
Pain caused by excluding,
Pain caused by baring their own hurts by digging in another’s tender flesh
And I was too young, inexperienced to stand up and say,
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
This year we have spent hours, days, practicing what it means to be a friend,
To treat even those who are not our friends with the dignity all humans deserve
We still have lapses, but we also know that we are better than that
I have all this in my mind as I face the challenge of next year.
I will not allow my hope to be dimmed by a coworker, who says,
“I feel bad for next year’s fifth grade teacher,”
When she knows it will be me.
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
Because that is what we hear,
That is what we learn.
Here I go again...
When I began writing this blog around this time last year, I thought I had come up with such an ingenious title. After all, it was the end of my first full year of teaching, which made me a new teacher all by itself, but then I found out that my school would be going from Catholic to charter, and I felt like the newness came from beginning again, in the same building but with a new principal, new coworkers, and, most importantly, new students. I am beginning to think that my title is not as clever as I once thought. Here I am, at the end of my second full year of teaching, and what do you know? My school is closing. It seems like I am doomed to live the life of a new teacher forever.
I am fortunate in that I was only technically jobless for a few weeks. In the fall, I will be moving to the Petworth campus of Center City Public Charter Schools, still teaching the fifth grade. But once again, the principal, coworkers and students will be new. To top it off, our current art teacher also teaches at Petworth, and she decided to say, "I feel bad for whoever is teaching fifth grade next year, " even though she knew that it was me. I realize now that I should've come back with, "Well, I feel jealous of whoever gets to be a student in fifth grade next year." In any case, I begin again, and, at the very least, I can keep the title of my blog.
I am fortunate in that I was only technically jobless for a few weeks. In the fall, I will be moving to the Petworth campus of Center City Public Charter Schools, still teaching the fifth grade. But once again, the principal, coworkers and students will be new. To top it off, our current art teacher also teaches at Petworth, and she decided to say, "I feel bad for whoever is teaching fifth grade next year, " even though she knew that it was me. I realize now that I should've come back with, "Well, I feel jealous of whoever gets to be a student in fifth grade next year." In any case, I begin again, and, at the very least, I can keep the title of my blog.
Monday, March 2, 2009
There's no business like snow business
There is nothing in the world like a Snow Day. Sure, three day weekends are nice, and, of course, summer vacation is the necessary creme filling that allows us teachers to get back to the crunchy cookie that defines our jobs. Spring break marks the beginning of the end and Christmas vacation is a beautiful time of family and fun. Nonetheless, there is no feeling like the unexpected day off, waking up to turn on the TV or the computer to find that your dream of rolling over and going back to sleep has really, miraculously, come true. Or, in my case, waking up to a phone call from the princpal to inform you that the parking lot, street and trecherous hill leading up to school are impassable, so there will be no school today.
Oh, the glories of an entire unplanned, unexpected day. I woke up at 8 (an hour and a half later than usual) and lingered over a mug of hot cocoa as I contemplated the infinite possibilities that the day had in store. I decided that indulgence of my passion for reading would be the order of the day. As a lifelong voracious reader, I have been unable to satiate my desire during the school year, as all of the responsibilities of teaching have consumed me. (For those playing at home, that last sentence included not one but two fifth grade vocab. words. See if you can guess which ones they were.) Plus, Kurt and I have been trying to make a habit of seeing more friends during the week, which has been quite restorative, but has cramped my reading style just a tad. So, I picked up my current read and dove in. I decide that I would alternate reading a chapter with accomplishing one of the many other chores and tasks that have fallen by the wayside in the past weeks: laundry, cleaning the bathroom, finishing Kim's birthday gift, etc. Amazingly, an undesirable chore such as cleaning the bathroom was made light by the fact that up until 6:30 this morning, I expected to be at work at the very moment that I was knee deep in Comet. Wonderful!
In the afternoon, I was graced by a visit from the lovely Danielle Tamashiro, a native Californian who was irked by the fact that her roommate's boyfriend had cleaned off her car, thus depriving her of the pleasure. After a late lunch, we journeyed to a field across the street for a jam-packed snow play session. Getting their proved a challenge as we had to hop a small fence and Danie was wearing so many clothes that she couldn't lift just one leg to get over the fence. Her ingenious solution was to lean over head first and sommersault her way to freedom. I helped by providing the force needed to tip the lever that was Danie. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time, and we received an enthusiastic cheer for our efforts from a woman at the bus stop. Safely in the field, we had a snowball fight, made angels, built a pathetically small snowman and tromped around to our hearts' content. Exiting proved even more difficult than entering, but suffice it to say that Danie will not be wearing those particular jeans ever again. Then it was home for more hot chocolate, reading and general merriment. All that and a four day week ahead! Oh, the glories of a Snow Day.
Oh, the glories of an entire unplanned, unexpected day. I woke up at 8 (an hour and a half later than usual) and lingered over a mug of hot cocoa as I contemplated the infinite possibilities that the day had in store. I decided that indulgence of my passion for reading would be the order of the day. As a lifelong voracious reader, I have been unable to satiate my desire during the school year, as all of the responsibilities of teaching have consumed me. (For those playing at home, that last sentence included not one but two fifth grade vocab. words. See if you can guess which ones they were.) Plus, Kurt and I have been trying to make a habit of seeing more friends during the week, which has been quite restorative, but has cramped my reading style just a tad. So, I picked up my current read and dove in. I decide that I would alternate reading a chapter with accomplishing one of the many other chores and tasks that have fallen by the wayside in the past weeks: laundry, cleaning the bathroom, finishing Kim's birthday gift, etc. Amazingly, an undesirable chore such as cleaning the bathroom was made light by the fact that up until 6:30 this morning, I expected to be at work at the very moment that I was knee deep in Comet. Wonderful!
In the afternoon, I was graced by a visit from the lovely Danielle Tamashiro, a native Californian who was irked by the fact that her roommate's boyfriend had cleaned off her car, thus depriving her of the pleasure. After a late lunch, we journeyed to a field across the street for a jam-packed snow play session. Getting their proved a challenge as we had to hop a small fence and Danie was wearing so many clothes that she couldn't lift just one leg to get over the fence. Her ingenious solution was to lean over head first and sommersault her way to freedom. I helped by providing the force needed to tip the lever that was Danie. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time, and we received an enthusiastic cheer for our efforts from a woman at the bus stop. Safely in the field, we had a snowball fight, made angels, built a pathetically small snowman and tromped around to our hearts' content. Exiting proved even more difficult than entering, but suffice it to say that Danie will not be wearing those particular jeans ever again. Then it was home for more hot chocolate, reading and general merriment. All that and a four day week ahead! Oh, the glories of a Snow Day.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Waxing poetic
Just a little poem I wrote...
Inauguration
“I have a dream,” the man’s voice boomed
And though the specters loomed
Of war and racism, hate and fear,
The crowd stood transfixed,
Ready,
Unafraid.
Or maybe they were not unafraid,
For how can one shut out fear
When bombs are dropped,
Hoses sprayed,
Babies gone?
No, not unafraid,
Not fearless,
But brave.
Bravery is not
No fear,
But saying no to fear,
Keeping fear at bay,
Keeping it from overtaking,
Keeping it down with
The expectant glimmers of
Hope and Light.
The people stood,
Brave, not fearless,
Bold, not immortal,
Transfixed by a man whose
Immortality would soon come at a
Bloody, mortal, wrenching price.
That day, the hope was bigger than fear,
The whole bigger than parts,
The many bigger than any one.
And so we stand,
Trembling,
Chilled by the specters of war and poverty,
Cold and fear
Knowing that the sum is greater,
The many are one,
And as long as hope and dreams are ours,
We shall not be moved.
We, too, are brave.
The Reverse Viola Swamp
In the book Miss Nelson is Missing, a sweet blonde Miss Nelson finally gives up one day when the kids just won't settle down. I seem to remember one page in particular where the paper airplanes whizzed by the shell-shocked eyes of the title character. The next day, Miss Nelson is gone, and in her place is the evil Viola Swamp. The children, so relieved that Viola is out of there a few days later, welcome Miss Nelson back as their usual angelic selves. The last page reveals Miss Nelson's closet, wherein hangs her trusty Viola Swamp costume, ready for the next flying paper airplane.
Ah, if wishing made it so. Instead, I left my students for three days last week (flu) and one day this week (in-service) and when I returned, they were coming down from a "substitute high" fed by too much free time and general rowdiness. Now Viola's back in town, and it is going to take a few days before all of the paper airplane materials have been confiscated. But, Monday is a new week, and I rescheduled a doctors appointment in order to whip their little butts into shape 24/7 next week. Unfortunately for them, this Viola Swamp has no sweet, blonde alter ego. But, she loves them even more than Miss Nelson loved her paper-airplane-throwing darlings.
Ah, if wishing made it so. Instead, I left my students for three days last week (flu) and one day this week (in-service) and when I returned, they were coming down from a "substitute high" fed by too much free time and general rowdiness. Now Viola's back in town, and it is going to take a few days before all of the paper airplane materials have been confiscated. But, Monday is a new week, and I rescheduled a doctors appointment in order to whip their little butts into shape 24/7 next week. Unfortunately for them, this Viola Swamp has no sweet, blonde alter ego. But, she loves them even more than Miss Nelson loved her paper-airplane-throwing darlings.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Blue mood frowning at me
When I woke up this morning, I knew it was going to be one of those days. Even though I went to bed at the early hour of 9:30, I could not believe it when my alarm went off. I cracked one eye open, and the pitch blackness practically forced my eye to close again. I had heard rumor of a possible snow day, so I lay in bed hoping against hope that behind those closed blinds lay mountains of that heavenly white stuff, or at least enough for whoever decides such things to give me permission to go back to sleep. Alas, my force of will was not enough to turn the nasty, drippy weather into something more ominous. I say ominous because when it snows here, you would think it was the end of the word. People lose the ability to drive, and once again the city government wonders why they didn't buy any snowplows the last time this happened.
I finally dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the shower, hoping that my mood would lift, but with no such luck. I went down stairs for my daily granola (pumpkin spice), yogurt (plain) and Sportscenter (Top 10 Plays). 10 minutes later I was out the door with my husband still nestled all snug in his bed. (To be fair, at least I didn't have to ride my bike to work).
I arrived at school feeling like I had been scraped off the bottom of someone's shoe. I prepared for the day on the verge of tears for no particular reason, soliciting a pep talk from our ever pragmatic academic dean. I like her for many reasons, but mainly because she never patronizes, yet finds a way to offer feedback that is helpful but not overly critical. I was hoping she would tell me to just go home, but much like my snow day, my illness was mostly in my head, so with a few wise words, she sent me on my way.
Two hours later, here I sit. Of course, if suddenly a blizzard erupted and we were all sent home and back to bed, I would not shed a single tear. However, as always, my students have picked the day when I feel the bluest to actually follow directions and (gasp) work quietly. I have big plans to leave promptly(ish) after school and go to bed at a time more fit for a toddler, but for now, thanks to my students, in the words of Miguel, "I need nothing".
I finally dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the shower, hoping that my mood would lift, but with no such luck. I went down stairs for my daily granola (pumpkin spice), yogurt (plain) and Sportscenter (Top 10 Plays). 10 minutes later I was out the door with my husband still nestled all snug in his bed. (To be fair, at least I didn't have to ride my bike to work).
I arrived at school feeling like I had been scraped off the bottom of someone's shoe. I prepared for the day on the verge of tears for no particular reason, soliciting a pep talk from our ever pragmatic academic dean. I like her for many reasons, but mainly because she never patronizes, yet finds a way to offer feedback that is helpful but not overly critical. I was hoping she would tell me to just go home, but much like my snow day, my illness was mostly in my head, so with a few wise words, she sent me on my way.
Two hours later, here I sit. Of course, if suddenly a blizzard erupted and we were all sent home and back to bed, I would not shed a single tear. However, as always, my students have picked the day when I feel the bluest to actually follow directions and (gasp) work quietly. I have big plans to leave promptly(ish) after school and go to bed at a time more fit for a toddler, but for now, thanks to my students, in the words of Miguel, "I need nothing".
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