There are four of my former English teachers I keep in touch with through Facebook, women whose impact on me extends well beyond inspiring me to become a teacher myself. We don't chat or get together in person, but we watch each other, occasionally exchanging likes and comments. We are familiar with each other's major life events.
My sister-in-law is ten years younger than I am, so she recently started her junior year at the two-year boarding school my husband and I attended. Two of the first people she met were those former English teachers, Dr. Smith and Dr. Nagelkirk. We exchanged pictures and anecdotes, glad to continue to be connected to each other. I figured that would be the end of it.
But then, a few weeks later, my mother-in-law told me something that withered me. She had met Dr. Smith, my AP Composition teacher. She had asked if I was still writing poetry. She remembered reading it, admiring it, sharing it with other faculty members. I was ashamed.
You see, the truth is, I don't write poetry anymore. Not seriously, anyway. There was a time when writing was a part of my everyday life, a time when I was never without at least one notebook, often several (one for fiction, one for poetry, one for miscellaneous notes, etc...). But that time of my life was in the past. I went to college; I suffered the indignity of formal "creative writing" classes (never again). I got married, got a job, got a house. Other priorities took over.
And yet, here was Dr. Smith, ten years later, wondering if Grace Casimer was still writing those beautiful words. But Grace Casimer doesn't legally exist anymore, and neither did my writing habit. I never got in touch with her to answer the question. I couldn't bear to tell her the pathetic truth.
I was, as the kids say, "shook," but life pressed on. I had lessons to plan, a house to clean, grades to enter. It was 9:00 on a Sunday night when I got to the last student notebook. As a signal to me, students dog-ear the pages of their writing they would like me to grade. The last five pages of this notebook were marked. Each one contained a gorgeous, roiling poem, full of color and life and extended metaphors! It would have been impressive writing from an adult, let alone an eleven-year-old. It was the best student writing I had ever read.
I left my student effusive praise and then sat with her notebook in my hands for several minutes. It would be a crime of the greatest magnitude if this little bard grew up to never write a poem again. If, fifteen years from now, I asked her the same question my teacher asked, if she let life get in the way of her writing, I'd be crushed. No matter how old she gets, no matter how far she goes or how often we speak, I will always be rooting for this young poet.
And then, the irony washed over me. All these years later, Dr. Smith was still rooting for me, waiting for news of my literary successes. And what was I doing?
Years ago, in her Introduction to Poetry class, I wrote that I didn't think the poem we were reading meant anything, that the poet was simply trying to create a beautiful image. On my paper, Dr. Smith wrote, "This is lazy." I was furious with her, outraged, scandalized. Until I realized she was right. I needed to spend more time and energy with that poem. Hearing that she had asked about my writing gave me that same defensive, exasperated feeling. I had been lazy. I needed to spend more of my time and energy on my writing, something that was once more important to me than eating.
The students we teach are always ours. It doesn't matter how old they get. Until this week, those words were merely a platitude.
But now, here I am, writing this blog post, buying new notebooks, dragging myself out of bed to write down story ideas before I forget them, frittering away my only plan period with writing instead of planning lessons or analyzing student data.
Now, I get it. I know what I have to do.
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Now What?
Today is the last day of my first ever Slice of Life Story Challenge! I am proud of myself for taking the time to post every single day, and I am leaving this challenge feeling inspired to continue and expand on my habit.
So, now what?
Now, I am going to commit to writing a little each day. Maybe not a full post, but a little.
Now, I am going to continue to slice on Tuesdays to stay connected to this amazing community.
Now, I am going to seek out other challenges to try! (Especially over the summer. What are your favorites?)
Now, I am looking forward to meeting with a writing friend tomorrow to extend this streak to thirty-two days of consecutive writing.
Now, I am going to remind myself that if I can make time to write every day, I can manage to get all this grading done in time for the deadline tomorrow.
Now, after a more tumultuous spring break than I had planned, I am excited to get back to my routine, and most importantly, my students.
Thank you to everyone for this enriching experience. I am so glad I did it, and I will be back next year!
So, now what?
Now, I am going to commit to writing a little each day. Maybe not a full post, but a little.
Now, I am going to continue to slice on Tuesdays to stay connected to this amazing community.
Now, I am going to seek out other challenges to try! (Especially over the summer. What are your favorites?)
Now, I am looking forward to meeting with a writing friend tomorrow to extend this streak to thirty-two days of consecutive writing.
Now, I am going to remind myself that if I can make time to write every day, I can manage to get all this grading done in time for the deadline tomorrow.
Now, after a more tumultuous spring break than I had planned, I am excited to get back to my routine, and most importantly, my students.
Thank you to everyone for this enriching experience. I am so glad I did it, and I will be back next year!
Saturday, March 30, 2019
Uncles
We call him Uncle Bony because he's a bonehead. Even when he was young, he had wrinkles around his eyes from laughing. He wears cowboy boots with his bathrobe. He's a master of funny noises and lame jokes. Uncle Bony has invented several games, including but not limited to Fantasy Sumo and a checkers-like game played with pennies. He is a treasure trove of obscure niche information (not unlike Cliff from Cheers). My highly erudite, law professor dad acts like a sophomore when Uncle Bony is around. Because of Bony, my dad maintains a variety of absurd habits like calling the TV remote "the calculator." Uncle Bony can't have coffee anymore because he gets overexcited.
When I was a kid, we'd visit Uncle Bony and Aunt Marianne several times a year. We'd drive to Ohio and spend a whole day in King's Island, or at Put-In Bay learning about local wildlife. Or they'd come to our house, and we'd scour the beach in search of the World's Smoothest Rock (a game we continue to this day with Bony's grown children and other relatives).
But Uncle Bony, whose children I've been raised with, whose wife played Barbies with me, who attended my wedding, who we see regularly despite living across state lines, is not my uncle at all. He's one of my dad's fraternity brothers.
Today, my husband and I are visiting Purdue's campus again for his fraternity's annual Hog Roast. I'm a vegetarian, it's raining, and my favorite fellow wife is absent, but it's okay. Eight years after my husband pledged, his brothers are mine. They sleep on our floors and couches, and we sleep on theirs. We drive hours just to spend the day bar-hopping in Grand Rapids, or just playing games and enjoying each other's company in Fort Wayne. We've stood up in each other's weddings and been there through break-ups, failed classes, major changes, coming outs, moves and job applications.
This isn't the family I was born with, and it wasn't the family I chose, but it's the family that came with my husband, complete with their own silly nicknames (the origins of which are closely guarded fraternity secrets). Someday, our children will have uncles called Merc, Blue, Sizlak, and Artoo. Uncles who have taught us our own share of bad habits and sophomoric behavior, and who never let something as silly as distance, work, or rain get in the way of a good time.
When I was a kid, we'd visit Uncle Bony and Aunt Marianne several times a year. We'd drive to Ohio and spend a whole day in King's Island, or at Put-In Bay learning about local wildlife. Or they'd come to our house, and we'd scour the beach in search of the World's Smoothest Rock (a game we continue to this day with Bony's grown children and other relatives).
But Uncle Bony, whose children I've been raised with, whose wife played Barbies with me, who attended my wedding, who we see regularly despite living across state lines, is not my uncle at all. He's one of my dad's fraternity brothers.
Today, my husband and I are visiting Purdue's campus again for his fraternity's annual Hog Roast. I'm a vegetarian, it's raining, and my favorite fellow wife is absent, but it's okay. Eight years after my husband pledged, his brothers are mine. They sleep on our floors and couches, and we sleep on theirs. We drive hours just to spend the day bar-hopping in Grand Rapids, or just playing games and enjoying each other's company in Fort Wayne. We've stood up in each other's weddings and been there through break-ups, failed classes, major changes, coming outs, moves and job applications.
This isn't the family I was born with, and it wasn't the family I chose, but it's the family that came with my husband, complete with their own silly nicknames (the origins of which are closely guarded fraternity secrets). Someday, our children will have uncles called Merc, Blue, Sizlak, and Artoo. Uncles who have taught us our own share of bad habits and sophomoric behavior, and who never let something as silly as distance, work, or rain get in the way of a good time.
Friday, March 29, 2019
Some Data-Driven Reflections
As we get closer to the end of the challenge, I've been thinking about the quantitative data of my posts.
Poems: 6.5
Lists: 5
Informational posts: 3
Teaching Strategies: 7
True Slices (as opposed to "band aids" or just other genres and topics): 14
Posts I'm Personally Proud of: 7
Of the "true slices," most are about moments in my classroom. I imagine this has a lot to do with me having been on Spring Break this week.
Most of the lists are from days when I was in a hurry (much like today).
My posts about particular teaching strategies, though not often true slices, were the ones that received the most interaction from the community, both in views and comments.
The informational posts are three of my personal favorites. They're not necessarily my best writing, but I just enjoyed doing them.
My posts started out longer and have become much shorter in general.
Of all the things I have taken out of my first year doing this challenge, I think this data about how I respond to different types of days and feedback is the most useful. As I work on building a daily writing habit outside of this challenge, this information tells me a lot about how I can work through writer's block, and how I can help my students do the same. It also tells me the traps I fall into when I am feeling lazy: lists, planning, objectivity. (I realize now that I also do this in writing stories. I will plan and outline but never actually get around to writing the story itself.)
The posts that make me proud also share patterns. They are the posts I tended to start the day before, or perhaps ruminated on all day and didn't get to until later when my thoughts were more fully-formed. Yesterday's slice, which I posted at 11:55 pm EST, is one of my favorites and one I'd like to write more about in a fictional setting. While stealing fifteen minutes here and there to write is a great start and the thing that has saved my writing life over the course of the last year, I know that my next step is to dedicate larger blocks of time to truly think and craft.
Twenty-nine down, two to go!
Poems: 6.5
Lists: 5
Informational posts: 3
Teaching Strategies: 7
True Slices (as opposed to "band aids" or just other genres and topics): 14
Posts I'm Personally Proud of: 7
Of the "true slices," most are about moments in my classroom. I imagine this has a lot to do with me having been on Spring Break this week.
Most of the lists are from days when I was in a hurry (much like today).
My posts about particular teaching strategies, though not often true slices, were the ones that received the most interaction from the community, both in views and comments.
The informational posts are three of my personal favorites. They're not necessarily my best writing, but I just enjoyed doing them.
My posts started out longer and have become much shorter in general.
Of all the things I have taken out of my first year doing this challenge, I think this data about how I respond to different types of days and feedback is the most useful. As I work on building a daily writing habit outside of this challenge, this information tells me a lot about how I can work through writer's block, and how I can help my students do the same. It also tells me the traps I fall into when I am feeling lazy: lists, planning, objectivity. (I realize now that I also do this in writing stories. I will plan and outline but never actually get around to writing the story itself.)
The posts that make me proud also share patterns. They are the posts I tended to start the day before, or perhaps ruminated on all day and didn't get to until later when my thoughts were more fully-formed. Yesterday's slice, which I posted at 11:55 pm EST, is one of my favorites and one I'd like to write more about in a fictional setting. While stealing fifteen minutes here and there to write is a great start and the thing that has saved my writing life over the course of the last year, I know that my next step is to dedicate larger blocks of time to truly think and craft.
Twenty-nine down, two to go!
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Night Vision
They say you don't see them unless you're looking (which is true). Most of the time, you also don't see them even if you are looking. But one chance accident and your entire attitude changes. Suddenly, you are pressing the side of your face into the window, trying to watch both sides of the road and the middle at the same time. The glass is cool against your cheek, but you sit up, eyes darting left and right like a pendulum clock, moving more sharply than you need to. Stands of dark, secretive trees seem to run toward you like death itself.
You try to comfort yourself. This happens to most people only once, and not usually so close to the city. It's working until you spot it: a slip of white, a wide mass where there should be only winter-bald trees, branches moving and bending in ways branches should not. You break hard, but not to a full stop. It's not in the road, but there are others nearby. There are always others.
You spy more of them all the way home, sometimes real, sometimes cruel imposters. Trash bags, mailboxes, piles of lumber. But plenty, too, that are true. Shadowy, hulking figures, biding their time, choosing who to spare and who to strike seemingly at random. If you are lucky, you'll know them by their green, reflective eyes. If this were a fairy tale, perhaps they'd pass judgement on us: who is just, or kind, or wise?
Maybe this is a fairy tale, a modern morality play on the virtues of choosing a safe, reliable vehicle. Maybe it's about being present in the moment, spotting for danger together rather than looking down at our own personal entertainments. Maybe it's a statement on the inevitability of fate. But like fate or luck or opportunities, you'll never see them coming if you're not looking.
Presented without context. Is it too vague? Is it clear what I am talking about, or do I need to be more concrete?
You try to comfort yourself. This happens to most people only once, and not usually so close to the city. It's working until you spot it: a slip of white, a wide mass where there should be only winter-bald trees, branches moving and bending in ways branches should not. You break hard, but not to a full stop. It's not in the road, but there are others nearby. There are always others.
You spy more of them all the way home, sometimes real, sometimes cruel imposters. Trash bags, mailboxes, piles of lumber. But plenty, too, that are true. Shadowy, hulking figures, biding their time, choosing who to spare and who to strike seemingly at random. If you are lucky, you'll know them by their green, reflective eyes. If this were a fairy tale, perhaps they'd pass judgement on us: who is just, or kind, or wise?
Maybe this is a fairy tale, a modern morality play on the virtues of choosing a safe, reliable vehicle. Maybe it's about being present in the moment, spotting for danger together rather than looking down at our own personal entertainments. Maybe it's a statement on the inevitability of fate. But like fate or luck or opportunities, you'll never see them coming if you're not looking.
Presented without context. Is it too vague? Is it clear what I am talking about, or do I need to be more concrete?
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Frogging
Frogging: the act of deliberately unraveling a knit or crocheted project. Frogging may occur for a number of reasons such as a mistake made several rows back, loss of interest in the project, or the discovery of a flaw in the pattern that throws off the whole endeavor. It is called frogging because sometimes you just have to "ribbit" out. (Yes, really.)
I hate frogging. It feels like admitting defeat. In a large project, a row or two may have taken over an hour, and in seconds, it can fall apart in your hands. Some of the more experienced women I knit with can do it quickly. I imagine that takes some of the sting out, but when I'm alone, passing each stitch carefully back onto the wrong needle, the loss of time and productivity makes me just want to set the whole thing on fire and start over!
I almost never frog. I'd rather accept a mistake in the finished project and just call it "artistic license" or "rustic," but I've spent some time working on an intricate Christmas stocking for my husband. When it's done, it will be a true work of art, something I hope will become an enduring image in the background of holiday pictures. Many somedays from now, I'll make one for myself and our future children, too, each one unique, but connected by the same colors and themes. Simply put, there is no room for mistakes here.
So today, I spent two hours carefully unraveling fifteen rows of his stocking, not because I made a mistake, not due to an error in the pattern, but because I just wasn't satisfied with my color choices. It could be better, should be better. At this rate, maybe it'll be done by Christmas. If not, there's always next year. This is a labor of love. Unlike anything else I've made before, it's meant to be kept and cherished, so while I work on accepting mistakes in other areas of my life, just this once, perfection is the goal. Just this once, frogging is necessary and worth it.
I hate frogging. It feels like admitting defeat. In a large project, a row or two may have taken over an hour, and in seconds, it can fall apart in your hands. Some of the more experienced women I knit with can do it quickly. I imagine that takes some of the sting out, but when I'm alone, passing each stitch carefully back onto the wrong needle, the loss of time and productivity makes me just want to set the whole thing on fire and start over!
I almost never frog. I'd rather accept a mistake in the finished project and just call it "artistic license" or "rustic," but I've spent some time working on an intricate Christmas stocking for my husband. When it's done, it will be a true work of art, something I hope will become an enduring image in the background of holiday pictures. Many somedays from now, I'll make one for myself and our future children, too, each one unique, but connected by the same colors and themes. Simply put, there is no room for mistakes here.
So today, I spent two hours carefully unraveling fifteen rows of his stocking, not because I made a mistake, not due to an error in the pattern, but because I just wasn't satisfied with my color choices. It could be better, should be better. At this rate, maybe it'll be done by Christmas. If not, there's always next year. This is a labor of love. Unlike anything else I've made before, it's meant to be kept and cherished, so while I work on accepting mistakes in other areas of my life, just this once, perfection is the goal. Just this once, frogging is necessary and worth it.
Monday, March 25, 2019
Peanut M&Ms
Today I went to the store for salad mix, and I came out with a "Party Size!" pack of peanut M&Ms. I didn't want them. I don't need them, but there they were, right by the door where I couldn't miss them.
When I was ten, I was selling M&Ms to raise money for a school trip to Camp Tecumseh. My parents would have just given me the money, but all my friends were selling candy, so I wanted to sell candy, too. My grandmother dressed my baby cousin up in his froggie Halloween costume and let me go door-to-door in her neighborhood, toting him next to me for extra cute-factor.
As a kindness to her (who was always doing kindnesses for everybody), my grandmother's neighbors bought a few bags, but we discovered my best customer at the end of my route. When we returned home, we realized that my grandfather had already eaten several bags of the peanut M&Ms! He compensated me for my inventory, and I felt like an expert saleswoman.
Today would have been my grandfather's 80th birthday. He passed away yesterday after a short struggle with cancer. In my adult life, we were not close, but I hope the afterlife is all he ever hoped it would be, and I hope they have peanut M&Ms there.
When I was ten, I was selling M&Ms to raise money for a school trip to Camp Tecumseh. My parents would have just given me the money, but all my friends were selling candy, so I wanted to sell candy, too. My grandmother dressed my baby cousin up in his froggie Halloween costume and let me go door-to-door in her neighborhood, toting him next to me for extra cute-factor.
As a kindness to her (who was always doing kindnesses for everybody), my grandmother's neighbors bought a few bags, but we discovered my best customer at the end of my route. When we returned home, we realized that my grandfather had already eaten several bags of the peanut M&Ms! He compensated me for my inventory, and I felt like an expert saleswoman.
Today would have been my grandfather's 80th birthday. He passed away yesterday after a short struggle with cancer. In my adult life, we were not close, but I hope the afterlife is all he ever hoped it would be, and I hope they have peanut M&Ms there.
Sunday, March 24, 2019
Walking with You
We've taken the same walk a hundred times, up and down every side street, even the alleyways. It all started as a house hunt. We'd pace our favorite neighborhood, the one near downtown, near the library and the good restaurants.
How old is this house?
Is the inside as nice as the outside?
Do they have a garage?
Now, we live here, but we keep taking the same walk, asking the same questions.
Is this garage bigger than ours?
How many bedrooms?
What do you think of that deck?
Do we need that much yard?
We make pit stops in the coffee shop where they are starting to recognize us.
It's becoming something of a hobby. We are not looking to move, nor are we discontent with our home. We just like to walk and wonder, each time noticing how the houses have changed, or stumbling upon a new one we've never noticed before. We check up on houses we considered but didn't buy. Some are back on the market, flipped or just more than the new owners bargained for.
Between blocks, we talk life. So much has been decided between the library and the coffee shop.
When will we go to graduate school?
When will we have kids?
Should we hire a gardener?
How much should we save?
What are we trying to accomplish?
Who will we be when it's time to move to the west side of the neighborhood?
How old is this house?
Is the inside as nice as the outside?
Do they have a garage?
Now, we live here, but we keep taking the same walk, asking the same questions.
Is this garage bigger than ours?
How many bedrooms?
What do you think of that deck?
Do we need that much yard?
We make pit stops in the coffee shop where they are starting to recognize us.
It's becoming something of a hobby. We are not looking to move, nor are we discontent with our home. We just like to walk and wonder, each time noticing how the houses have changed, or stumbling upon a new one we've never noticed before. We check up on houses we considered but didn't buy. Some are back on the market, flipped or just more than the new owners bargained for.
Between blocks, we talk life. So much has been decided between the library and the coffee shop.
When will we go to graduate school?
When will we have kids?
Should we hire a gardener?
How much should we save?
What are we trying to accomplish?
Who will we be when it's time to move to the west side of the neighborhood?
Saturday, March 23, 2019
A Reflection
Today was tough on a variety of personal fronts. Here is a short reflection on how I am feeling about my first year in the challenge.
Positives:
1. I like the accountability for writing every single day.
2. I like knowing my writing will have an audience.
3. I do find myself generating more ideas to write about (though I struggled with this today).
4. I find myself discussing my writing with my students more regularly, and I think their attitudes around writing have improved as a result.
Negatives:
1. I am a compulsive editor/reviser. I hate to have anything published that is not perfect, and not having the time to do that is killing me a little bit (but is also helping me get over my inhibitions that might otherwise prevent me from writing).
2. This is not my favorite genre of writing. My writing usually lives in a strictly fictional world, and making the time to write the slices is starting to feel like it is keeping me from pursuing other projects. (Are there similar challenges out there for fiction? Poetry? I imagine there must be...)
3. There are very personal things I feel drawn to write about that I do not necessarily want published online for anyone to stumble upon. There's nothing stopping me from writing about those things anyway, but making time to slice every day means less time for that other writing.
I have had a really positive experience with the SOLSC so far, but after a personally draining day, I am feeling a little frustrated. Looking forward to some relaxation tomorrow to recharge and think up some better material for our last week!
Friday, March 22, 2019
Commas and Kindness
The setting: Room A9, a still dim, full-moon Friday. The day before spring break. Virus-mangled teachers limp through the hallways wearing celebratory plastic leis. Not exempt, the principal wheezes through the announcements. Gossip flies through the air like pollen. No one is safe.
The assignment: Using a comma with a direct address, write one nice thing about the person whose paper you have received. (example: Jeremy, your story was wonderful!) Then, crumple the paper, and throw it on the floor. Pick up a new paper and repeat.
The fears: Students might complain. Students might pick up a paper and reject it, leaving someone with no compliments. Students might anonymously write something mean. After a year of typing, I might be unable to identify the handwriting. Students might be too loud, disrupting the brave teacher giving a test next door. Students might have nothing nice to say.
The reality: Paper balls ping through the air, bouncing off desks, heads, walls. Students are (adorably) upset when some of them hit me, as if I've been attacked. A miracle: everyone is engaged. Everyone is kind. Everyone is using commas! The sun is rising.
The drama: Someone has written that they like Cindy's Vans because they are small. Susie is upset. She thinks Cindy will be offended.
The resolution: Cindy is not offended. She is aware she is small (and her shoes are awesome).
The drama: Someone has called Alex's hair style "original." Alex is offended. She is pretty sure this is mean.
The resolution: Alex doesn't know what original means. Now that she knows, she whips her hair around, showing it off like the star of a shampoo commercial.
The end: In the most literal sense, we threw kindness like confetti today. Some students threw their papers away. Others tucked them into their books, careful not to be seen doing it, as if sentimentality were embarrassing. Later, I catch a few pinning them up in their lockers for a rainy day. Spring break is beginning, and life is good.
The assignment: Using a comma with a direct address, write one nice thing about the person whose paper you have received. (example: Jeremy, your story was wonderful!) Then, crumple the paper, and throw it on the floor. Pick up a new paper and repeat.
The fears: Students might complain. Students might pick up a paper and reject it, leaving someone with no compliments. Students might anonymously write something mean. After a year of typing, I might be unable to identify the handwriting. Students might be too loud, disrupting the brave teacher giving a test next door. Students might have nothing nice to say.
The reality: Paper balls ping through the air, bouncing off desks, heads, walls. Students are (adorably) upset when some of them hit me, as if I've been attacked. A miracle: everyone is engaged. Everyone is kind. Everyone is using commas! The sun is rising.
The drama: Someone has written that they like Cindy's Vans because they are small. Susie is upset. She thinks Cindy will be offended.
The resolution: Cindy is not offended. She is aware she is small (and her shoes are awesome).
The drama: Someone has called Alex's hair style "original." Alex is offended. She is pretty sure this is mean.
The resolution: Alex doesn't know what original means. Now that she knows, she whips her hair around, showing it off like the star of a shampoo commercial.
The end: In the most literal sense, we threw kindness like confetti today. Some students threw their papers away. Others tucked them into their books, careful not to be seen doing it, as if sentimentality were embarrassing. Later, I catch a few pinning them up in their lockers for a rainy day. Spring break is beginning, and life is good.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
Students Hate Sonnets
Students Hate Sonnets
My students hate to write a poem in verse.
They say it strips their freedom from their bones.
The roll their eyes and hiss and scream and curse
and try to bargain in between their moans.
They swear to read a hundred pages through,
or write an essay all about my strengths.
They promise all their homework when it's due,
if I'll just forget I've asked for words in ranks.
But when they see I won't relent, they sigh.
They puzzle through and start to search around
for words they've never seen, but have to try
to meet the needs of meter, length, and sound.
Then some will learn a rhyme scheme helps us find
the writer hiding deep within your mind.
For your viewing pleasure, here is a sonnet the kids I student taught wrote for me. They all signed it, and I keep it in a frame on my desk. I haven't been able to teach scansion since, but I really miss it! On days when I am feeling down, I read this poem and take solace in it. (Or, I realize that no group of students has done anything so considerate for me since, and I wonder if I'm getting worse at teaching....)
Many of our more concrete, analytical students excel at this. It makes writing discreet, like a math problem that can be solved. In some ways, writing in form is actually easier. Instead of having the entire lexicon of the English language to choose from, you narrow your choices: only iambic words, or only trochaic ones. Perhaps you need a three syllable word ending in a stressed syllable that rhymes with "apple." Or a synonym for green that rhymes with "amazing." For our students who find a blank page overwhelming, these strictures are something to cling to.
Have you taught scansion and verse forms in your classes? Do your students enjoy it? Is it becoming a lost art?
My students hate to write a poem in verse.
They say it strips their freedom from their bones.
The roll their eyes and hiss and scream and curse
and try to bargain in between their moans.
They swear to read a hundred pages through,
or write an essay all about my strengths.
They promise all their homework when it's due,
if I'll just forget I've asked for words in ranks.
But when they see I won't relent, they sigh.
They puzzle through and start to search around
for words they've never seen, but have to try
to meet the needs of meter, length, and sound.
Then some will learn a rhyme scheme helps us find
the writer hiding deep within your mind.
For your viewing pleasure, here is a sonnet the kids I student taught wrote for me. They all signed it, and I keep it in a frame on my desk. I haven't been able to teach scansion since, but I really miss it! On days when I am feeling down, I read this poem and take solace in it. (Or, I realize that no group of students has done anything so considerate for me since, and I wonder if I'm getting worse at teaching....)
Many of our more concrete, analytical students excel at this. It makes writing discreet, like a math problem that can be solved. In some ways, writing in form is actually easier. Instead of having the entire lexicon of the English language to choose from, you narrow your choices: only iambic words, or only trochaic ones. Perhaps you need a three syllable word ending in a stressed syllable that rhymes with "apple." Or a synonym for green that rhymes with "amazing." For our students who find a blank page overwhelming, these strictures are something to cling to.
Have you taught scansion and verse forms in your classes? Do your students enjoy it? Is it becoming a lost art?
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Writer's Block
I was having trouble coming up with something to write today, so I did what I always tell my students to do. I looked at the daily Sacred Writing Time slide. It's Alien Abduction day! Which is cool, but not something that feels very inspiring to me right now. Then, I did the second thing I tell my students to do, which is to use their bingo sheets. The bingo sheets are a 5 x 5 grid of writing prompts I hand out monthly. If students complete five of the prompts in a row, they can turn them in for candy or extra credit. The rows are designed to force students to experiment with five different genres of writing. I looked over some of the March topics: look up seven facts about a bird and paraphrase them, write a letter of gratitude to a custodian or bus driver, what's the first thing you would do if you had an army of minions, etc. All fun prompts that generate good responses from a lot of students, but nothing that appeals to me in this moment.
I have a few other writing prompt books lying around, but there are tests to grade and people to call, so I skipped to the last thing I tell my students to do: just write what you are thinking. And here I am. Still writing. Hello, world!
Not every day will be your best writing. Some days, you will write something terrible, and that's okay. Sometimes, we write to clear space in our heads for better days, to find out what definitely does NOT work, and sometimes, just as we are about to give up, we come up with an idea worth writing about (like I just did as I was writing this sentence).
So now, the conundrum. Do I delete this post and write the new idea? Do I save the new idea for tomorrow and post this rambling stream of consciousness anyway? I think I do. And someday, when a student is struggling, I'll show them this post, and they'll see that sometimes even teacher writers have a hard time knowing what to say.
I have a few other writing prompt books lying around, but there are tests to grade and people to call, so I skipped to the last thing I tell my students to do: just write what you are thinking. And here I am. Still writing. Hello, world!
Not every day will be your best writing. Some days, you will write something terrible, and that's okay. Sometimes, we write to clear space in our heads for better days, to find out what definitely does NOT work, and sometimes, just as we are about to give up, we come up with an idea worth writing about (like I just did as I was writing this sentence).
So now, the conundrum. Do I delete this post and write the new idea? Do I save the new idea for tomorrow and post this rambling stream of consciousness anyway? I think I do. And someday, when a student is struggling, I'll show them this post, and they'll see that sometimes even teacher writers have a hard time knowing what to say.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
The Last Straw
Tried a little blank verse for the first time since college. My scansion muscles are rusty, but I had fun! Maybe tomorrow I will write more about why I like metered poetry so much.
I have given up so much to rules
about the way a life should look and feel.
Arrive on time. Be nice. Take notes. Say please.
Say thank you and you're welcome. Close your mouth
while chewing, even when your words are caught
between your teeth and wrongs are spilling out
of everybody's lips.
Move on, at last,
when you have finished your task. There's no time
to savor the job you've done, no idle hands.
Decline straws to save the turtles, and don't
leave juice in the plastic bottle unless
you hate the living.
Exercise. Be strong!
(but small) Command respect from a light frame.
Don't take any guff, but smile, to show
you're warm and friendly. Don't have kids too young,
but have them. Eat leafy greens, even though
they taste like chewing through a flat balloon.
All of this, and you are asking me
to give up cheese? The rest I bear without
complaint, but this injustice cannot stand.
(I was told I have "slightly high" cholesterol today. I am a vegetarian and a pretty regular exerciser, so I am convinced that everything is random and nothing matters.)
I have given up so much to rules
about the way a life should look and feel.
Arrive on time. Be nice. Take notes. Say please.
Say thank you and you're welcome. Close your mouth
while chewing, even when your words are caught
between your teeth and wrongs are spilling out
of everybody's lips.
Move on, at last,
when you have finished your task. There's no time
to savor the job you've done, no idle hands.
Decline straws to save the turtles, and don't
leave juice in the plastic bottle unless
you hate the living.
Exercise. Be strong!
(but small) Command respect from a light frame.
Don't take any guff, but smile, to show
you're warm and friendly. Don't have kids too young,
but have them. Eat leafy greens, even though
they taste like chewing through a flat balloon.
All of this, and you are asking me
to give up cheese? The rest I bear without
complaint, but this injustice cannot stand.
(I was told I have "slightly high" cholesterol today. I am a vegetarian and a pretty regular exerciser, so I am convinced that everything is random and nothing matters.)
Monday, March 18, 2019
Smile While You Dial
Last night, Angela Watson tweeted out an article about being a warm demander. I had wanted to read it at the time, but the cold medicine had other plans for me; I was unconscious on the couch before the page even loaded. Equipped with my coffee, I gave it another shot this morning. I was congested, exhausted, and hoping my students would require as little of me as possible today when I came across this line:
Reading this line transported me back to my days working at Phonathon in college, cold-calling alumni to ask them for money. It wasn't the greatest job in the world, but I loved my coworkers, you could wear pajamas, and it paid well, better if you were good at it. Phonathon had many procedures, but one of them trumped all: smile while you dial.
The idea was that if you smiled, it would come across in your voice, even if you weren't feeling happy, even though the alumni couldn't see your face. Your smile would project warmth and trustworthiness and would (theoretically) take that nice alumna back to her glory days as a college coed with her whole life ahead of her. (We also noticed that, as female callers, it helped to talk to the men in a higher register, but that's a separate issue for another day.) At Phonathon, where appearance matters so little that you can sit in your holey sweatpants and shoot Nerf guns at each other while slowly barricading yourself behind a tower of coffee cups and candy wrappers (thank you, hands-free autodial), the look on your face was the single most important thing.
I started to think about my classroom. Am I smiling while I'm dialing? Am I already smiling when students walk into the room, or am I waiting for them to give me something? Are my smiles conditional, or are they handed out as freely as my cheap Amazon pencils? And how can I get away with using Nerf guns in class? As I taught my first block this morning, I made a conscious decision to smile as much as possible. As usual, Angela Watson was right. My students were in a better headspace, and despite being sick, tired, and way behind in my grading, so was I.
A question sounds different when the person asking is smiling. Your willingness to be vulnerable as a student and participate increases when the person is smiling...I found that I also really liked the way it felt as a teacher — it changed my energy and perspective when I spent much of the day smiling at my students, and it became a learned behavior.
Reading this line transported me back to my days working at Phonathon in college, cold-calling alumni to ask them for money. It wasn't the greatest job in the world, but I loved my coworkers, you could wear pajamas, and it paid well, better if you were good at it. Phonathon had many procedures, but one of them trumped all: smile while you dial.
The idea was that if you smiled, it would come across in your voice, even if you weren't feeling happy, even though the alumni couldn't see your face. Your smile would project warmth and trustworthiness and would (theoretically) take that nice alumna back to her glory days as a college coed with her whole life ahead of her. (We also noticed that, as female callers, it helped to talk to the men in a higher register, but that's a separate issue for another day.) At Phonathon, where appearance matters so little that you can sit in your holey sweatpants and shoot Nerf guns at each other while slowly barricading yourself behind a tower of coffee cups and candy wrappers (thank you, hands-free autodial), the look on your face was the single most important thing.
I started to think about my classroom. Am I smiling while I'm dialing? Am I already smiling when students walk into the room, or am I waiting for them to give me something? Are my smiles conditional, or are they handed out as freely as my cheap Amazon pencils? And how can I get away with using Nerf guns in class? As I taught my first block this morning, I made a conscious decision to smile as much as possible. As usual, Angela Watson was right. My students were in a better headspace, and despite being sick, tired, and way behind in my grading, so was I.
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Poetry Boy
Some kids love Batman; some kids love Superman. Some were just dying for the new Captain Underpants book to come out. But my hero was different.
My hero wore a rainbow-colored baseball cap, and shorts that stopped just shy of his hairy knees.
My hero wore colorful suspenders over a white tee shirt.
My hero carried a sign on a stick that read "Poetry Break!" in huge block letters.
My hero was absolutely not the principal in disguise, and how dare you make the suggestion.
My hero was Poetry Boy.
You never knew when Poetry Boy might show up. Maybe you were in the middle of learning about appositives, or you were desperately trying to learn your subtraction facts. Maybe a big spelling test was coming up. Whatever it was, it was always boring, and Poetry Boy would not stand for it! He'd burst into the room and call "Poetry break!" completely disregarding the protestations of the teacher. He'd march right through the desks, hoisting his sign, relieving the class of the scourge of our worksheets. The whole class would gleefully drop our pencils and crowd together on the rug to hear Poetry Boy read us something new.
I don't remember a whole lot about Poetry Boy. I don't remember how often he'd show up, what he read to us, or if I even have his outfit right, but I remember how happy I always was to see him, and how offended he'd get if you tried to ask him a question you would normally ask the principal. It didn't matter. Poetry Boy made poetry something joyous that we could look forward to. He gave me a love for words that always continued to ring inside of me, even after he (and his suspenders) retired.
My hero wore a rainbow-colored baseball cap, and shorts that stopped just shy of his hairy knees.
My hero wore colorful suspenders over a white tee shirt.
My hero carried a sign on a stick that read "Poetry Break!" in huge block letters.
My hero was absolutely not the principal in disguise, and how dare you make the suggestion.
My hero was Poetry Boy.
You never knew when Poetry Boy might show up. Maybe you were in the middle of learning about appositives, or you were desperately trying to learn your subtraction facts. Maybe a big spelling test was coming up. Whatever it was, it was always boring, and Poetry Boy would not stand for it! He'd burst into the room and call "Poetry break!" completely disregarding the protestations of the teacher. He'd march right through the desks, hoisting his sign, relieving the class of the scourge of our worksheets. The whole class would gleefully drop our pencils and crowd together on the rug to hear Poetry Boy read us something new.
I don't remember a whole lot about Poetry Boy. I don't remember how often he'd show up, what he read to us, or if I even have his outfit right, but I remember how happy I always was to see him, and how offended he'd get if you tried to ask him a question you would normally ask the principal. It didn't matter. Poetry Boy made poetry something joyous that we could look forward to. He gave me a love for words that always continued to ring inside of me, even after he (and his suspenders) retired.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
Four More Things I Learned About the Deep Sea
Good evening!
Today almost got me, but I'm still here! We are visiting my in-laws this weekend for my mother-in-law's birthday, but I woke up sick as a dog. I spent a large portion of the day lying on the couch watching Blue Planet while my husband played board games with his mom and my sixteen year old sister-in-law. If you've been reading my other posts, you know that I'm working on a story about mermaids. I am obsessed with creating a story with some level of plausibility. To that end, here are four interesting things I learned about the ocean today:
1. Tuna have special blood vessels that allow them to maintain a body temperature that is warmer than the surrounding water. This allows them to spend time in warm tropical waters as well as the much colder open ocean. (The implication for mermaids being that if they had blood vessels like this, they could keep themselves warm in deep waters.)
2. Many of the creatures living at the very bottom of the sea on the abyssal plain move about using beautiful undulating fins that look like the flowing skirts of an old-timey ball gown. They look nothing like what you might normally expect of a fish or a sea cucumber. This helps them trap food in the many folds of their bodies.
3. Most coral rely on energy from the sun, but there are deep sea corals over a mile beneath the surface as well.
4. The bottom of the ocean is home to the largest mountain range in the world, riddled with hydrothermal vents that also support large amounts of biodiversity. Though the surrounding waters can be as low as four degrees below zero Celsius, the hydrothermal vents spout water that can be as hot as 464 degrees. (I realize zero is the freezing temperature, but that's what Blue Planet told me! It must have something to do with the dynamic nature of the water or the salt content.)
Bonus: We have only explored one percent of the abyssal plain. There is so much we don't yet know about the bottom of the sea!
Double bonus: If you haven't figured it out yet, my childhood dream was to be a marine biologist. I was also terrified of fish, though. Some dreams just aren't meant to be!
Today almost got me, but I'm still here! We are visiting my in-laws this weekend for my mother-in-law's birthday, but I woke up sick as a dog. I spent a large portion of the day lying on the couch watching Blue Planet while my husband played board games with his mom and my sixteen year old sister-in-law. If you've been reading my other posts, you know that I'm working on a story about mermaids. I am obsessed with creating a story with some level of plausibility. To that end, here are four interesting things I learned about the ocean today:
1. Tuna have special blood vessels that allow them to maintain a body temperature that is warmer than the surrounding water. This allows them to spend time in warm tropical waters as well as the much colder open ocean. (The implication for mermaids being that if they had blood vessels like this, they could keep themselves warm in deep waters.)
2. Many of the creatures living at the very bottom of the sea on the abyssal plain move about using beautiful undulating fins that look like the flowing skirts of an old-timey ball gown. They look nothing like what you might normally expect of a fish or a sea cucumber. This helps them trap food in the many folds of their bodies.
3. Most coral rely on energy from the sun, but there are deep sea corals over a mile beneath the surface as well.
4. The bottom of the ocean is home to the largest mountain range in the world, riddled with hydrothermal vents that also support large amounts of biodiversity. Though the surrounding waters can be as low as four degrees below zero Celsius, the hydrothermal vents spout water that can be as hot as 464 degrees. (I realize zero is the freezing temperature, but that's what Blue Planet told me! It must have something to do with the dynamic nature of the water or the salt content.)
Bonus: We have only explored one percent of the abyssal plain. There is so much we don't yet know about the bottom of the sea!
Double bonus: If you haven't figured it out yet, my childhood dream was to be a marine biologist. I was also terrified of fish, though. Some dreams just aren't meant to be!
Friday, March 15, 2019
Four Haiku Born Out of Criticism
My first class of the day is full of several students who like to challenge me. One recently criticized me for not completing my own version of their writing assignments. I don't think it's always necessary to do that, but I do like to be a writing role model for them, so I wrote a few haiku the other day as they worked on theirs:
Dandelion seeds
all blown away except two
hairy wishkillers.
A smell of grass in
lying March afternoon, a
morning crust of frost.
He is reading when
he's supposed to be writing,
but I do not care.
"That's cute that you think
they'll use a library card."
"At least they'll have one."
The last is a real conversation I had that day with a coworker. My big plans for our field trip to the library have been met with less enthusiasm than I had hoped for. Hopefully the experience of actually doing it will change a few minds!
Happy Friday!
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Remedial Handwork
"Ms. Hilsmier, hand work!"
Yikes! Another pop quiz, and I am totally unprepared. Miss Student has been trying to teach me this dance move for months, but I just don't get it. I raise my hands above my head and awkwardly bump my wrists together, twirling them slowly around each other. I'm sure I'm going the wrong direction, but the right way never feels "correct" either.
Miss Student sighs. She purses her lips and shakes her head. Why didn't I practice?
"How come you still can't do this?" she demands. "I've taught you so many times!"
I smile. "Now you know how I feel!"
"Ms. Hilsmier," my teacher says, "how come you expect us to learn all this stuff, when you still don't even get this after all this time?"
She's not wrong. I'd like to go slower. I'd like to dive deep into individual concepts, cherishing and savoring them until some students could teach their own course on it and others at least understand. There is so much I want to say to her about curriculum maps, pacing guides and mastery frameworks.
Instead, I just smile and tell her she's right, and class begins.
Yikes! Another pop quiz, and I am totally unprepared. Miss Student has been trying to teach me this dance move for months, but I just don't get it. I raise my hands above my head and awkwardly bump my wrists together, twirling them slowly around each other. I'm sure I'm going the wrong direction, but the right way never feels "correct" either.
Miss Student sighs. She purses her lips and shakes her head. Why didn't I practice?
"How come you still can't do this?" she demands. "I've taught you so many times!"
I smile. "Now you know how I feel!"
"Ms. Hilsmier," my teacher says, "how come you expect us to learn all this stuff, when you still don't even get this after all this time?"
She's not wrong. I'd like to go slower. I'd like to dive deep into individual concepts, cherishing and savoring them until some students could teach their own course on it and others at least understand. There is so much I want to say to her about curriculum maps, pacing guides and mastery frameworks.
Instead, I just smile and tell her she's right, and class begins.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
The Horrors of Cutting Back on Caffeine
During times of stress, caffeine has started making me jittery, so I am trying to cut back. I've never been an insane caffeine drinker, but I do like a large travel mug in the morning, and often a tea or a Diet Coke as an afternoon pick me up. Maybe a second cup during my midmorning plan period if the situation is really dire. This week, all I've done is eliminate the afternoon hit. I am limited to just one morning cup, and I am trying not to fill my great big mug all the way.
You guys, I feel like I am living underwater. Everything is moving in slow motion. Were my students always this loud? Surely they were not always this loud. Was my room always this big? I don't want to walk all the way over there.
It's not like I was having an afternoon jolt every day. It was more of a 2-3 times per week thing, but just knowing I had the option made everything look more manageable. I knew that even if I was wiped after school, I could drink my tea, read a book, and be ready with a second wind around dinner time.
Now, there is no wind. There is only water. So much water.
I have made a line on my coffee bag. Once I hit that line, I am going to begin cutting my normal morning coffee with decaf. Each morning, I sniff the beans, and I squeeze the bag as if I'm checking its ripeness. But every day, I get a little closer to that black line. That horrible, nasty, no-good black line.
Wish me luck. You may soon be witnessing my slow descent into madness.
You guys, I feel like I am living underwater. Everything is moving in slow motion. Were my students always this loud? Surely they were not always this loud. Was my room always this big? I don't want to walk all the way over there.
It's not like I was having an afternoon jolt every day. It was more of a 2-3 times per week thing, but just knowing I had the option made everything look more manageable. I knew that even if I was wiped after school, I could drink my tea, read a book, and be ready with a second wind around dinner time.
Now, there is no wind. There is only water. So much water.
I have made a line on my coffee bag. Once I hit that line, I am going to begin cutting my normal morning coffee with decaf. Each morning, I sniff the beans, and I squeeze the bag as if I'm checking its ripeness. But every day, I get a little closer to that black line. That horrible, nasty, no-good black line.
Wish me luck. You may soon be witnessing my slow descent into madness.
Monday, March 11, 2019
Another Number Poem Inspired by "Living In Numbers"
Today I tried my hand at an imitation of the poem Living in Numbers by Claire Lee. Thank you to Tracy Brosch for the suggestion in a comment on yesterday's post! It's just a rough draft, but I had fun writing it. I could see it being a great way to talk to kids about making meaningful choices in our writing, both about what we include and what we exclude. I may try this again with more long term numbers like Lee uses in her original poem.
Teaching in Numbers
Friday, March 9th
Number of times I pushed the snooze button: 2
Fluid ounces of coffee: 6, then 10 more after the coffee pot malfunctioned
Granola bars packed: 3
Granola bars eaten before class: 0.25
Copies made: 0
Students present: 25
Students smiling: 10
Ungraded papers: 196
Stress level: 8
Hugs: 0
Monday, March 11th
Number of times I pushed the snooze button: 4
Fluid ounces of coffee: 12
Fast food breakfast sandwiches: 1
Copies made: 210
Students present: 20
Students smiling: 18
Ungraded papers: 257
Stress level: 2
Hugs: 3
Teaching in Numbers
Friday, March 9th
Number of times I pushed the snooze button: 2
Fluid ounces of coffee: 6, then 10 more after the coffee pot malfunctioned
Granola bars packed: 3
Granola bars eaten before class: 0.25
Copies made: 0
Students present: 25
Students smiling: 10
Ungraded papers: 196
Stress level: 8
Hugs: 0
Monday, March 11th
Number of times I pushed the snooze button: 4
Fluid ounces of coffee: 12
Fast food breakfast sandwiches: 1
Copies made: 210
Students present: 20
Students smiling: 18
Ungraded papers: 257
Stress level: 2
Hugs: 3
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Pi Day is Coming Up!
3. Today is
1 the
4 day I will start
1 to
5 make plans for Pi Day.
9 Even though I'm an English teacher,
2 I can
6 also appreciate
5 the majesty of
3 this figure,
5 irrational in
9 an ocean of logic and order.
On Thursday, my students will be writing Pi-ku! I considered waiting for Thursday or Friday to write about this, but I learned about it too late two years ago and was awfully disappointed. Fortunately, I got to do it last year, and it was a huge hit!
Pi-ku is a fun pun on the word "haiku." Each line of the poem is the same number of syllables as the corresponding digit of pi, so the poem could theoretically go on forever. I offered a prize for the longest correct piku last year, and my students did not disappoint! The winner was over seventy lines long. It's one of my sillier lessons, but it goes a long way toward fostering a joyous relationship with writing during a time of year when we are otherwise bogged down with test prep and the impending end of the quarter. It also does a great job of demonstrating the relationship between math and poetry, something I LIVE FOR that often goes completely unacknowledged.
So often, our more analytical students are turned off to creative writing because it is so subjective. Not so with metered poetry! Where many people feel restricted by rules, I (and many of our students) find it motivating. It gives you a framework to hang ideas from, much like vines crawling up a trellis. It can also foster creativity in more reserved students because it presents writing more like a puzzle to be solved, rather than a nebulous "thing" to be created.
If you try this in your classroom, let me know how it goes! The students who struggle or succeed with it may surprise you.
1 the
4 day I will start
1 to
5 make plans for Pi Day.
9 Even though I'm an English teacher,
2 I can
6 also appreciate
5 the majesty of
3 this figure,
5 irrational in
9 an ocean of logic and order.
On Thursday, my students will be writing Pi-ku! I considered waiting for Thursday or Friday to write about this, but I learned about it too late two years ago and was awfully disappointed. Fortunately, I got to do it last year, and it was a huge hit!
Pi-ku is a fun pun on the word "haiku." Each line of the poem is the same number of syllables as the corresponding digit of pi, so the poem could theoretically go on forever. I offered a prize for the longest correct piku last year, and my students did not disappoint! The winner was over seventy lines long. It's one of my sillier lessons, but it goes a long way toward fostering a joyous relationship with writing during a time of year when we are otherwise bogged down with test prep and the impending end of the quarter. It also does a great job of demonstrating the relationship between math and poetry, something I LIVE FOR that often goes completely unacknowledged.
So often, our more analytical students are turned off to creative writing because it is so subjective. Not so with metered poetry! Where many people feel restricted by rules, I (and many of our students) find it motivating. It gives you a framework to hang ideas from, much like vines crawling up a trellis. It can also foster creativity in more reserved students because it presents writing more like a puzzle to be solved, rather than a nebulous "thing" to be created.
If you try this in your classroom, let me know how it goes! The students who struggle or succeed with it may surprise you.
Saturday, March 9, 2019
A Messy Room
A short post today from the car, and my first post written from the Blogger app!
(Verdict: fine in a pinch, but difficult to insert links or pictures)
At boarding school one night, I was in the lounge hollowing out a book with an Xacto knife. Small shreds of paper littered the floor. My friend, who was studiously completing her calculus, looked up and exclaimed, "you made a fun art mess!"
Right now, both my home and my classroom are full of "fun art mess," and I am trying to remember those times when I felt comfortble with that. We all make compromises in how we spend our time, and a mess is often indicative of a life spent going, moving creating. And yet, how much time do we waste stressing over the nebulous standards of others?Who has time to clean when there are trips to take, projects to complete, and adventures to be had?
So barring a health/learning hazard, I am reframing how I look at my sloppy environment. It's not just a mess; it's a fun mess!
Friday, March 8, 2019
Four Things I Learned About Mermaids
When I was older than I'd care to admit, Discovery Channel came out with a mockumentary about mermaids: their folklore, their history, and most importantly, what it might look like if they were real, and we were discovering them for the first time. It was a great film EXCEPT they did a poor job of announcing that it was all fake at regular intervals. So poor really-way-too-old-for-this me stumbled upon this program about one third of the way through and thought it was real for ninety blissful, dream-making minutes until the end credits when they set my hopes on fire and put them through a trash compacter.
I pride myself on being a logical, well-informed person, but there's just something about mermaids that delights me. The very idea of something existing on this earth that we may not have discovered yet seems insane, but we know more about the surface of Mars than we do about the deepest parts of the sea. Just yesterday, I heard on NPR that a new species of killer whale was discovered. Just this week! A huge marine mammal! (Excuse me while I geek out.) Part of being a writer is having an active imagination, right?
Perhaps this is why, after years of "maybe someday," my first really viable novel idea is about mermaids. I respect a well-researched novel, so here are a few things I learned today:
1. In 2012, construction on vital water reservoirs came to a halt in Zimbabwe because workers reported being terrorized by mermaids. They were only able to resume after completing a ritual involving locally-brewed beer.
2. After several reported sightings in 2009, the town of Kiryat Yam in Israel offered a one million dollar prize to anyone who could provide proof of a mermaid living in Haifa Bay. (There are a couple of delightfully unconvincing videos on YouTube related to this.)
3. In One Thousand and One Nights, mermaids are portrayed as being indistinguishable from normal humans, except for their ability to breathe and live underwater. (This was particularly relevant to the book idea I am working on. I can't wait to read some of these stories!)
4. Alexander the Great's sister, Thessalonike, is said to have turned into a mermaid. She swims in the Aegean sea and asks sailors, "Is King Alexander alive?" If they answer poorly, she creates rough seas in anger and sadness.
Bonus: In the Harry Potter movies, they specifically designed their CGI mermaids to move their tails back and forth (like a shark) rather than up and down to make them look as alien and fanciful as possible.
I'm not going to say I believe in mermaids. But I don't not believe in them.
I pride myself on being a logical, well-informed person, but there's just something about mermaids that delights me. The very idea of something existing on this earth that we may not have discovered yet seems insane, but we know more about the surface of Mars than we do about the deepest parts of the sea. Just yesterday, I heard on NPR that a new species of killer whale was discovered. Just this week! A huge marine mammal! (Excuse me while I geek out.) Part of being a writer is having an active imagination, right?
Perhaps this is why, after years of "maybe someday," my first really viable novel idea is about mermaids. I respect a well-researched novel, so here are a few things I learned today:
1. In 2012, construction on vital water reservoirs came to a halt in Zimbabwe because workers reported being terrorized by mermaids. They were only able to resume after completing a ritual involving locally-brewed beer.
2. After several reported sightings in 2009, the town of Kiryat Yam in Israel offered a one million dollar prize to anyone who could provide proof of a mermaid living in Haifa Bay. (There are a couple of delightfully unconvincing videos on YouTube related to this.)
3. In One Thousand and One Nights, mermaids are portrayed as being indistinguishable from normal humans, except for their ability to breathe and live underwater. (This was particularly relevant to the book idea I am working on. I can't wait to read some of these stories!)
4. Alexander the Great's sister, Thessalonike, is said to have turned into a mermaid. She swims in the Aegean sea and asks sailors, "Is King Alexander alive?" If they answer poorly, she creates rough seas in anger and sadness.
Bonus: In the Harry Potter movies, they specifically designed their CGI mermaids to move their tails back and forth (like a shark) rather than up and down to make them look as alien and fanciful as possible.
I'm not going to say I believe in mermaids. But I don't not believe in them.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
Sacred Writing Time
This is my second year using Corbett Harrison's Sacred Writing Time in my classroom. Sacred Writing Time is simply ten minutes every single day of free journaling time. Students can write about anything at all: a story, a poem, their day, a letter, anything. To go with it, Harrison has made a daily slide containing a writing prompt, quote of the day, word of the day, and a silly fact. (You can find those in his TPT store if you are interested.)
A lot of my students get really into Sacred Writing Time, and a lot of them don't. I think the lack of structure sometimes makes it hard for some of them to sink into it. But every once in awhile, it finally clicks for one of them. Where there were once random thoughts, suddenly there are personal essays. Where there were once only a few sentences, suddenly there is a three page story.
Yesterday, one of my girls came in steaming. She was upset with another student for some sort of perceived slight earlier in the day. Her first question was if she was allowed to use swear words in her writing. (I don't encourage this, but I do allow it as long as they are not sharing it with other students. I want them to have complete creative freedom during this time.) She set to work, writing three paragraphs in our ten minutes about how angry she was at this other student, and at the end of our writing time, she announced, "Hey! I'm not angry anymore!"
Finally, she gets it. Some of my students never write epic poetry, stories, or sweeping take-downs of the injustices of our world. But using writing to feel peace, to come back from the brink when all you want to do is scream? That is just as good.
A lot of my students get really into Sacred Writing Time, and a lot of them don't. I think the lack of structure sometimes makes it hard for some of them to sink into it. But every once in awhile, it finally clicks for one of them. Where there were once random thoughts, suddenly there are personal essays. Where there were once only a few sentences, suddenly there is a three page story.
Yesterday, one of my girls came in steaming. She was upset with another student for some sort of perceived slight earlier in the day. Her first question was if she was allowed to use swear words in her writing. (I don't encourage this, but I do allow it as long as they are not sharing it with other students. I want them to have complete creative freedom during this time.) She set to work, writing three paragraphs in our ten minutes about how angry she was at this other student, and at the end of our writing time, she announced, "Hey! I'm not angry anymore!"
Finally, she gets it. Some of my students never write epic poetry, stories, or sweeping take-downs of the injustices of our world. But using writing to feel peace, to come back from the brink when all you want to do is scream? That is just as good.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Picture Books in the Secondary Classroom
This is the first year I have used picture books in my sixth grade classroom, and I am KICKING myself for not doing it sooner! As secondary teachers, sometimes we look down on "little kid" books, but the more of them I read, the more I realize how valuable they are to building classroom community, positive reading experiences, and background knowledge.
This week, we learned about personification, and I read The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors out loud to all of my classes. If you want twenty-five sixth graders to pipe down quickly, read a picture book out loud. Really. When I read picture books, all of my big tough twelve year olds turn into little, wide-eyed children, as if the classroom management fairy has visited and sprinkled them all with magical hormone-zapping pixie dust. Better yet, because they feel so secure with picture books, they start to make more inferences, ask more critical questions, and dig deeper into the layers of meaning hidden in the art. As English teachers, what more can we ask for?
My students don't always remember off the cuff what personification is. But when I say, "Remember the book we read?" they come up with it immediately! The joy of reading this silly book has burned the meaning of personification into their minds more permanently than any worksheet or Google Slide. (Bonus: There is STRONG vocabulary in this book like victorious, foe, depart, adhesive, and more. These may not seem like tough words to you, but for a lot of my students, they are, and this book is an accessible way to learn them.)
When I first tried this strategy at the beginning of the year, I was worried my students would think it was too babyish. Instead, something wonderful happened. The minute I stopped treating picture books like "baby" books, so did my students. Students who won't read a novel will read thirty picture books in a month and will digest them with more care and critical thinking than any young adult novel I put in front of them. Students who scoff at traditional biographies have learned all about Jacques Cousteau, Jean Henri Fabre, and Kate Sessions through the picture book versions of their lives. Though my classroom contains hundreds of novels, my collection of picture books are the most frequently read and loved books in the room.
Do you use picture books? What results have you seen? What fears do you have about using picture books in your secondary classroom?
This week, we learned about personification, and I read The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors out loud to all of my classes. If you want twenty-five sixth graders to pipe down quickly, read a picture book out loud. Really. When I read picture books, all of my big tough twelve year olds turn into little, wide-eyed children, as if the classroom management fairy has visited and sprinkled them all with magical hormone-zapping pixie dust. Better yet, because they feel so secure with picture books, they start to make more inferences, ask more critical questions, and dig deeper into the layers of meaning hidden in the art. As English teachers, what more can we ask for?
When I first tried this strategy at the beginning of the year, I was worried my students would think it was too babyish. Instead, something wonderful happened. The minute I stopped treating picture books like "baby" books, so did my students. Students who won't read a novel will read thirty picture books in a month and will digest them with more care and critical thinking than any young adult novel I put in front of them. Students who scoff at traditional biographies have learned all about Jacques Cousteau, Jean Henri Fabre, and Kate Sessions through the picture book versions of their lives. Though my classroom contains hundreds of novels, my collection of picture books are the most frequently read and loved books in the room.
Do you use picture books? What results have you seen? What fears do you have about using picture books in your secondary classroom?
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
An Unpopular Opinion About Classroom Management
First, a few truths I would like to acknowledge:
1.) Relationships are the cornerstone of quality teaching.
2.) Children of color are disproportionately punished in our schools, and that is not okay.
3.) Severe punishments, especially when used as a first resort, are not usually effective.
Keeping all of that in mind, I'd like to express an unpopular opinion: in some circumstances, raised voices and punitive measures are okay and necessary.
All the time? No. As a first response? Of course not. But I'm seeing a growing number of people on Twitter in particular arguing that we should never under any circumstances employ these practices, replacing them instead with restorative circles, letter writing, journaling, helping out adults in the building, etc. I'm not a "tough love" teacher. I have worked my hardest to implement restorative justice and positive interventions this year, and what I've found is that this works perfectly for about two-thirds of my students. For the other third, it makes no difference at all. Somewhere along the line of this well-intentioned philosophy of compassion and understanding, we've forgotten that all students are different and respond to different strategies.
Take, for example, my older brother. While I was not alive for his early years, my mom talks about it often. Having lived a punitive childhood herself, my mom was determined to take the gentle approach with the two of us. However, what she quickly learned is that my brother simply did not think she really meant it unless she was screaming. (I, on the other hand, would usually burst into tears if you looked at me funny.) Same upbringing, radically different responses.
I am seeing a lot of the same in my students. For whatever reason, (upbringing, brain chemistry, some babysitter they had once that looked like me, I don't know) a large proportion of my students just don't think I really mean it if there is not yelling or a traditional punishment attached. (If this is the part where you start asking yourself if I've tried x, y, or z strategy instead, yes. I've tried it. More than once.) Despite that, I persevered. I kept speaking to them privately and quietly, validating their feelings, asking them what they thought needed to be done to repair our classroom community. But over time, I started to see troubling things in my students' journals. Frustrated kids writing how they hate how teachers "allow" students to disrespect them, not understanding why kids are "getting away" with certain behaviors. Of course, these students weren't getting away with anything. The consequences simply look different from what they are accustomed to. But that's not the message the rest of the class is receiving, and the consequence is that some of them are trying to test what they, too, can "get away" with.
The fact of the matter is that some of my students do not speak this language yet. I imagine they won't until this idea filters into most homes and classrooms. Am I going to abandon restorative justice and trauma-sensitive practices? No. But I'm also not going to feel bad for occasionally making my anger known to the entire class. I'm not going to feel bad for assigning a student a detention when repeated letters, discussions, and calls home have been ineffective. And I'm not going to feel bad for letting a kid get a little embarrassed by being in trouble. Embarrassment exists for a reason. It helps us understand when we've messed up and violated the standards of our community. It helps us realize we've make a mistake, fix it, and move on.
I'm not calling for this practice to be abandoned. I think it's a great thing! But we have got to stop teacher-shaming each other and recognize that all students are different. There is (almost) no room for "never" or "always" when you work with humans, and we should acknowledge that.
1.) Relationships are the cornerstone of quality teaching.
2.) Children of color are disproportionately punished in our schools, and that is not okay.
3.) Severe punishments, especially when used as a first resort, are not usually effective.
Keeping all of that in mind, I'd like to express an unpopular opinion: in some circumstances, raised voices and punitive measures are okay and necessary.
All the time? No. As a first response? Of course not. But I'm seeing a growing number of people on Twitter in particular arguing that we should never under any circumstances employ these practices, replacing them instead with restorative circles, letter writing, journaling, helping out adults in the building, etc. I'm not a "tough love" teacher. I have worked my hardest to implement restorative justice and positive interventions this year, and what I've found is that this works perfectly for about two-thirds of my students. For the other third, it makes no difference at all. Somewhere along the line of this well-intentioned philosophy of compassion and understanding, we've forgotten that all students are different and respond to different strategies.
Take, for example, my older brother. While I was not alive for his early years, my mom talks about it often. Having lived a punitive childhood herself, my mom was determined to take the gentle approach with the two of us. However, what she quickly learned is that my brother simply did not think she really meant it unless she was screaming. (I, on the other hand, would usually burst into tears if you looked at me funny.) Same upbringing, radically different responses.
I am seeing a lot of the same in my students. For whatever reason, (upbringing, brain chemistry, some babysitter they had once that looked like me, I don't know) a large proportion of my students just don't think I really mean it if there is not yelling or a traditional punishment attached. (If this is the part where you start asking yourself if I've tried x, y, or z strategy instead, yes. I've tried it. More than once.) Despite that, I persevered. I kept speaking to them privately and quietly, validating their feelings, asking them what they thought needed to be done to repair our classroom community. But over time, I started to see troubling things in my students' journals. Frustrated kids writing how they hate how teachers "allow" students to disrespect them, not understanding why kids are "getting away" with certain behaviors. Of course, these students weren't getting away with anything. The consequences simply look different from what they are accustomed to. But that's not the message the rest of the class is receiving, and the consequence is that some of them are trying to test what they, too, can "get away" with.
The fact of the matter is that some of my students do not speak this language yet. I imagine they won't until this idea filters into most homes and classrooms. Am I going to abandon restorative justice and trauma-sensitive practices? No. But I'm also not going to feel bad for occasionally making my anger known to the entire class. I'm not going to feel bad for assigning a student a detention when repeated letters, discussions, and calls home have been ineffective. And I'm not going to feel bad for letting a kid get a little embarrassed by being in trouble. Embarrassment exists for a reason. It helps us understand when we've messed up and violated the standards of our community. It helps us realize we've make a mistake, fix it, and move on.
I'm not calling for this practice to be abandoned. I think it's a great thing! But we have got to stop teacher-shaming each other and recognize that all students are different. There is (almost) no room for "never" or "always" when you work with humans, and we should acknowledge that.
Monday, March 4, 2019
A Day of High Hopes
One of the most meaningful experiences of my education was the day that my AP Composition teacher asked us to help her revise her application essay for an award she'd been nominated for. Being a part of her writing process was empowering. I had never experienced such a level footing with an educator, and the feeling stuck with me for a long time.
After yesterday's post, it occurred to me that a similar opportunity was presenting itself. On other occasions, my students have really enjoyed when I've shared my writing. We just started a figurative language unit, and my poem used many of the terms we were practicing. So, I copied and pasted that bad boy into a Google Doc, slapped on a space for instructions and student comments and passed it out.
This is the part where I wish I could tell you that it was an incredible life-changing, relationship-building experience that highlighted the importance of being a good writing role model. If you like being inspired, you can stop here and pretend that's what happened.
It's not like it was a catastrophe. My students did a good job of ferreting out the figurative language, and some of their comments were pretty funny. Many of them had a problem with it not rhyming, which I thought was an archetype we had outgrown as a culture. (Past years have not taken issue with free verse poetry in the same way.) But was it the spectacular lesson I imagined? Not really. It was just okay.
Oh well. Tomorrow is another day!
After yesterday's post, it occurred to me that a similar opportunity was presenting itself. On other occasions, my students have really enjoyed when I've shared my writing. We just started a figurative language unit, and my poem used many of the terms we were practicing. So, I copied and pasted that bad boy into a Google Doc, slapped on a space for instructions and student comments and passed it out.
This is the part where I wish I could tell you that it was an incredible life-changing, relationship-building experience that highlighted the importance of being a good writing role model. If you like being inspired, you can stop here and pretend that's what happened.
It's not like it was a catastrophe. My students did a good job of ferreting out the figurative language, and some of their comments were pretty funny. Many of them had a problem with it not rhyming, which I thought was an archetype we had outgrown as a culture. (Past years have not taken issue with free verse poetry in the same way.) But was it the spectacular lesson I imagined? Not really. It was just okay.
Oh well. Tomorrow is another day!
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Children Lie to Me
A couple of weeks ago, I posted about how Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson changed my thinking about lying. That idea has been rattling around in my head for some time trying to become a poem. I don't think this is the final draft, but it's getting close:
Children Lie to Me
Children lie to me
all the time
about their homework or the weekend
or what they really think of William Carlos Williams,
and I keep asking for more.
Lie to me,
but develop it.
Who was at the park? What did they want?
How is the squirrel symbolic of your deepest held desires,
and how does it reconcile itself with the greater progression
of your development as a literary being?
A good lie, after all,
is a germ of a story, just waiting
to be spread, smeared from hand to hand.
And children make such good carriers.
Lie to me,
but tell it strong.
Arm the lie with color and feeling.
Tell me about the dog,
how your mom threatens to get rid of him even though
you both know she loves him more than you do.
Tell me how his nails click-clacked on the laminate,
how he whined, his shiny eyes watering
as he realized how he had betrayed you.
Tell me about the low trill, half-growl, half-whimper
as you tugged your papers, bit by bit, from his jaws,
trails of spit smearing the blue pen,
hoping against hope that I'll believe your excuse.
Well, I don't.
But I liked your story.
Turn it in tomorrow.
Children Lie to Me
Children lie to me
all the time
about their homework or the weekend
or what they really think of William Carlos Williams,
and I keep asking for more.
Lie to me,
but develop it.
Who was at the park? What did they want?
How is the squirrel symbolic of your deepest held desires,
and how does it reconcile itself with the greater progression
of your development as a literary being?
A good lie, after all,
is a germ of a story, just waiting
to be spread, smeared from hand to hand.
And children make such good carriers.
Lie to me,
but tell it strong.
Arm the lie with color and feeling.
Tell me about the dog,
how your mom threatens to get rid of him even though
you both know she loves him more than you do.
Tell me how his nails click-clacked on the laminate,
how he whined, his shiny eyes watering
as he realized how he had betrayed you.
Tell me about the low trill, half-growl, half-whimper
as you tugged your papers, bit by bit, from his jaws,
trails of spit smearing the blue pen,
hoping against hope that I'll believe your excuse.
Well, I don't.
But I liked your story.
Turn it in tomorrow.
Saturday, March 2, 2019
Your Questions About Boarding School Answered
Happy Saturday!
For the couple of people who asked, my evening with my friends last night went great! My only regret is bringing a drawing-based game to a party with three art teachers. (Think like the game Telephone, but with pictures.)
For the couple of people who asked, my evening with my friends last night went great! My only regret is bringing a drawing-based game to a party with three art teachers. (Think like the game Telephone, but with pictures.)
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| Truthfully, this game is more fun with at least one bad drawer. |
However, that's just not what I feel drawn to write about today. (No pun intended.) Yesterday, a friend commented asking about boarding school, and this is a question I get a lot from both adults and students, so here are the basics:
Q1: Did you really go to boarding school?
A1: Yes! I attended the Indiana Academy for Science, Mathematics, and Humanities in Muncie, IN during my junior and senior years of high school. These are the only two years the school offers.
Q2: Why did you go? Were you a "bad child"? Were your parents trying to get rid of you?
A2: Nope. The Academy is one of several public boarding schools in the country. They exist to combat the "brain drain" of bright students fleeing rural states for the coasts. I went to The Academy because I just wasn't being challenged at my home high school. I was also a very serious kid and was craving a social life with other students who were as into school and academia as I was (hence the long loss of contact with my hometown friends).
Q3: Did you miss home?
A3: Most of the time, no. (Sorry, Mom.) Sometimes, yes, especially during my senior year when I was dealing with college applications. We'd have three day weekends once per month, so we could spend some time at home. However, The Academy did dissuade me from applying to the Ivy League. By senior year, I knew I wanted to stay close to home, so I went to Northwestern and then moved back to Indiana after graduation.
Q4: Wasn't it expensive?
A4: Nope! Since it's a public school, they charge a modest room and board fee that covers all tuition, housing, food, etc. The charge has risen a bit since I went, but when I was there, my parents were probably saving money over keeping me at home.
Q5: Did you wear uniforms?
A5: No. Pajama day was every day. And our teachers had offices in the basement of the dorm. It was pretty typical to see kids talking to teachers in their slippers.
Q6: What was it like?
A6: This is the question I get the most, and the answer is that it was incredible. I wouldn't trade my two years at that school for anything. While we were still heavily supervised and bound to curfews and some other pretty restrictives rules (no cars, mandatory "face check" at 6:30 and 10:30 every day, mandatory study sessions every week night your first quarter), we also had a lot of freedoms more similar to what college students experience. Our schedules were college-like, in that you might have a 10 am class, a 2 pm class and a 3 pm class, or two classes in the morning and then nothing until 4:00. We had full run of Ball State facilities and could go anywhere the bus or our feet would take us as long as we were back for curfew. We learned pretty quickly that if you hung out at the student center Starbucks early in the morning on Saturdays, you'd catch them training new hires and could get free slightly-wrong drinks.
It's funny; I never refer to The Academy as "high school." High school is where I went freshman and sophomore year. In my head, The Academy is more like pre-college. It's a place where I learned how to manage my time and my identity. My whole life, my self-image revolved around being the smart kid. That's impossible to do at a school full of high-octane perfectionists. I had to really look inside myself and find what nourished my mind and my soul the most. I am not sure I would have learned that lesson anywhere else.
It was our eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Drake, who first encouraged my older brother to apply to The Academy. She knew he wasn't going to get everything he needed in our hometown. I think about that a lot, how she put his needs and his welfare over that of the district, which surely was not happy to lose his test scores (or mine, for that matter). Working in that same district now, I have a greater appreciation for all the things it does well, but I will always be grateful to Mrs. Drake for recognizing that even the best districts don't do everything well. Sometimes our students need a little more than we can give them. For my brother and me, The Academy met that need.
Friday, March 1, 2019
The First Day of My First SOLSC
Today is the first day of my first time doing the Slice of Life Story Challenge. Eeeeek! One of my New Year's resolutions was to do more things that make me uncomfortable, so here we are.
In addition to my nerves from embarking on this writing adventure, I am feeling a little trepidation today. Out of nowhere, a good childhood friend of mine invited me over to her new home to play games with some of my other old friends. We were close once, but over the years, we've lost touch. I left for boarding school at sixteen and went out of state for college while they all stayed relatively nearby. How long does it take good friends to become strangers? Will we still have as much in common as we did when we were fifteen? What if they have so many inside jokes that I can't understand them at all?
All of a sudden, I feel like a tween again.
(Not to mention, my doctor put me on muscle relaxers to fix a back injury caused by my too-heavy teacher bag (oops), so there's about a 50/50 chance I will just pass out on the table at 8 pm.)
At the same time, I am, of course, excited to see them! I think about this particular set of friends all the time because they were the people I was closest to when I was the same age as my students. At lunch, in the long-ago times before cell phones and iPads, we would draw elaborate comics about Bob the Evil Banana Dictator and his strawberry henchmen. (Losing this notebook remains one of my greatest regrets.) Today, as I teach my classes about personification, I find myself telling them all about Bob and his antics as I watch them draw their own eerily similar versions.
Even as we've spent years apart, our paths have run parallel. All of us became teachers. Several of us live in the same town adjacent to our hometown. All of us married young or are in long-term relationships. I imagine we'll all have children roughly the same age, maybe even in the same school system. So much in my life reminds me of them on a daily basis that, in my mind, it often doesn't feel like we've spent any time apart at all. Here's hoping it feels that way in person as well!
In addition to my nerves from embarking on this writing adventure, I am feeling a little trepidation today. Out of nowhere, a good childhood friend of mine invited me over to her new home to play games with some of my other old friends. We were close once, but over the years, we've lost touch. I left for boarding school at sixteen and went out of state for college while they all stayed relatively nearby. How long does it take good friends to become strangers? Will we still have as much in common as we did when we were fifteen? What if they have so many inside jokes that I can't understand them at all?
All of a sudden, I feel like a tween again.
(Not to mention, my doctor put me on muscle relaxers to fix a back injury caused by my too-heavy teacher bag (oops), so there's about a 50/50 chance I will just pass out on the table at 8 pm.)
At the same time, I am, of course, excited to see them! I think about this particular set of friends all the time because they were the people I was closest to when I was the same age as my students. At lunch, in the long-ago times before cell phones and iPads, we would draw elaborate comics about Bob the Evil Banana Dictator and his strawberry henchmen. (Losing this notebook remains one of my greatest regrets.) Today, as I teach my classes about personification, I find myself telling them all about Bob and his antics as I watch them draw their own eerily similar versions.
Even as we've spent years apart, our paths have run parallel. All of us became teachers. Several of us live in the same town adjacent to our hometown. All of us married young or are in long-term relationships. I imagine we'll all have children roughly the same age, maybe even in the same school system. So much in my life reminds me of them on a daily basis that, in my mind, it often doesn't feel like we've spent any time apart at all. Here's hoping it feels that way in person as well!
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| Click here to learn more about Slice of Life. |
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
An Honest Recording
This year, I've decided to pursue National Board certification, which among other things, means I have to occasionally record myself teaching. I was fortunate in that I had to record myself many times during my student teaching, so I no longer have fear of seeing or hearing myself on video. But still, recording your teaching and knowing that someone else will be watching it for the express purpose of judging you would make anyone nervous. I couldn't help but be hyper aware of every little thing that went awry.
Here are a few things that happened on camera in my classroom today:
1.) As a reward for winning the Black History Month Door Decorating contest, my principal bought doughnuts for my little darlings. There were more than we needed, so most kids ate two. Cue nausea and hyperactivity all around!
2.) One student stared directly into the camera for five minutes and made funny faces. Blissfully unaware, I continued to teach with him in the background.
3.) One student burped loudly, twice.
4.) One student (on camera, mind you) dropped his paper and then accused another student of taking it from him and throwing it on the floor.
5.) And JUST as I was finally getting into a solid momentum with the lesson, one of my girls sprang a nosebleed.
After this last interruption, you see me sigh heavily and say "Oh, teaching..."
Regardless of all of this, the lesson actually went pretty well. For the purpose of National Board, you only need 10-15 minutes, and you can make two cuts to the video. I will also record on other days, but honestly, there is something endearing about this video. It's the kind of thing I would show a student teacher or a class of preservice teaching students to illustrate the best and worst thing about teaching: even the best laid plans don't stand a chance against a determined group of middle schoolers.
Here are a few things that happened on camera in my classroom today:
1.) As a reward for winning the Black History Month Door Decorating contest, my principal bought doughnuts for my little darlings. There were more than we needed, so most kids ate two. Cue nausea and hyperactivity all around!
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| To be fair, they did a great job. |
2.) One student stared directly into the camera for five minutes and made funny faces. Blissfully unaware, I continued to teach with him in the background.
3.) One student burped loudly, twice.
4.) One student (on camera, mind you) dropped his paper and then accused another student of taking it from him and throwing it on the floor.
5.) And JUST as I was finally getting into a solid momentum with the lesson, one of my girls sprang a nosebleed.
After this last interruption, you see me sigh heavily and say "Oh, teaching..."
Regardless of all of this, the lesson actually went pretty well. For the purpose of National Board, you only need 10-15 minutes, and you can make two cuts to the video. I will also record on other days, but honestly, there is something endearing about this video. It's the kind of thing I would show a student teacher or a class of preservice teaching students to illustrate the best and worst thing about teaching: even the best laid plans don't stand a chance against a determined group of middle schoolers.
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| This post was written for Slice of Life Tuesdays. |
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Hang in There, New-ish Teacher
I still believe that, but somewhere along the way, I forgot, and I don't like where I ended up. With young teachers leaving in droves, people often blame pay, administration, parents, etc, but what no one ever mentions is that your third and fourth years are hard. For me, I'd argue that they are even harder than my first year was. You face all the same pressures and responsibilities of your first year with the added problem of wanting to earn some measure of respect from your colleagues. You don't want to ask for help because you don't want people to think that you need it.
When I was first hired, I asked my principal if I would have a mentor. She said no, but she also said, "Don't worry. They'll come knocking." She was 100% correct. I didn't have a mentor, but I did have required monthly new teacher meetings with other new teachers in my district. Much to my school's credit, I also felt like I had a barrage of support from my fellow grade level and subject area teachers. I was never without someone to lean on, and by the end of my first year, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward many of my colleagues.
But somewhere in the middle of my second year, I started to feel like all that support was evaporating. It wasn't that my coworkers became any less supportive, but I do think they became less concerned. They didn't "come knocking" as much. I had survived year one; surely year two would be no problem! And, to be totally honest, I think I started to feel like I needed to prove myself. Year One's mission was to survive. By Year Two, I felt like I should have it all together. No more rookie mistakes for me!
Of course, that's not what happened. The pressure started to get to me. Between test scores, classroom management issues I was unprepared for, and my own perfectionist nature, I started to compromise on what I knew were best practices. The wisdom of my college professors gave way to the practical challenges of real students in a real classroom and navigating collaborative relationships with coworkers.
So today, I am reflecting on where I've compromised and where I can reclaim some of the high ideals that I've let go: social emotional learning, project-based learning, a classroom that doesn't "look" perfectly in control and allows for a little more student freedom. I made a lot of mistakes my first year, but I always felt proud of myself and what I was trying to do. I want to feel that way again.
Other newish teachers, I salute you! No one told us these years would be the hardest.
Not newish teachers, check on your third and fourth year friends. As a whole, they are not okay.
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
How "Brown Girl Dreaming" Changed the Way I Look at My Students
One of the reasons I became an English teacher is the way books can change parts of who you are in an instant. On page 101, you can believe something so fiercely, and by page 102, you might have trouble remembering you ever thought that way at all. Earlier this year, Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson convinced me that lying isn't so bad.
In the poem "believing," Woodson explains that, as a child, she was prone to making up stories about anything and everything, foreshadowing her career as a prolific author. She juxtaposes her mother's response to her fibbing with her uncle's. Her mother worries that "if you lie...one day you'll steal" (176). Her uncle is less worried (as uncles usually are). He doesn't see the storytelling as a fatal character flaw. Rather, he listens to her and asks her questions. He encourages her to elaborate.
I read this poem for the first time in the middle of my classroom as my students read their own books all around me. When I finished the poem, I looked up and thought of a few students in particular. As teachers, how many times per day do our students lie to us? What are their reasons for lying? What are the best liars, if not spectacularly convincing storytellers?
Just like that, my students looked completely different. Not sneaky tricksters. Not liars. Not ornery charlatans. No. Gifted story tellers. Destined for greatness, not in spite of their naughtiness, but precisely because of it.
It was in this moment that I resolved to be more like Woodson's uncle. Rather than dismiss their comments or scold students for lying, I started asking some probing questions. Why did that happen? Then what came next? How do you know? For every single student I have done this with, one of two things have happened:
1. They ran out of lies and came clean.
2. They caught on to my trick and told me a sweeping, beautiful, epic story.
If I can get a student to be honest or tell me a really good story, I know I've done something worthwhile that day.
What lies do your students tell you? What would happen (or has happened) if you asked them to tell you more?
In the poem "believing," Woodson explains that, as a child, she was prone to making up stories about anything and everything, foreshadowing her career as a prolific author. She juxtaposes her mother's response to her fibbing with her uncle's. Her mother worries that "if you lie...one day you'll steal" (176). Her uncle is less worried (as uncles usually are). He doesn't see the storytelling as a fatal character flaw. Rather, he listens to her and asks her questions. He encourages her to elaborate.
 |
| If you haven't read this book yet, shame on you. |
I read this poem for the first time in the middle of my classroom as my students read their own books all around me. When I finished the poem, I looked up and thought of a few students in particular. As teachers, how many times per day do our students lie to us? What are their reasons for lying? What are the best liars, if not spectacularly convincing storytellers?
Just like that, my students looked completely different. Not sneaky tricksters. Not liars. Not ornery charlatans. No. Gifted story tellers. Destined for greatness, not in spite of their naughtiness, but precisely because of it.
It was in this moment that I resolved to be more like Woodson's uncle. Rather than dismiss their comments or scold students for lying, I started asking some probing questions. Why did that happen? Then what came next? How do you know? For every single student I have done this with, one of two things have happened:
1. They ran out of lies and came clean.
2. They caught on to my trick and told me a sweeping, beautiful, epic story.
If I can get a student to be honest or tell me a really good story, I know I've done something worthwhile that day.
What lies do your students tell you? What would happen (or has happened) if you asked them to tell you more?
Tuesday, February 12, 2019
My First "Slice of Life" #sol19
I'm new to this whole "slice of life" thing, and if you are, too, check out Two Writing Teachers to learn more.
For the first time in a long while, I woke up completely naturally on a weekday. Everything was perfect: the memory foam pillow (with cooling technology!) cradling my head, the warm doughy comforter wrapped all around me, savagely tucked under my body to prevent sharing with other creatures, the soft, gray light of an overcast February morning. I couldn't believe how happy and well-rested I felt.
Then, I really couldn't believe it.
Then, I remembered that it hasn't been light out when I've woken up for months.
Then, I noticed my alarm clock was blinking.
Unleashing a string of words unbecoming of a role model for children, I hatched my way out of my comforter and checked my Fitbit as I ran down the stairs: 6:45 am. Only twenty five minutes before I needed to be at work, a twenty-five minute drive away.
(I know, I know "set an alarm on your phone." Call me old school, but I have a strict "no phone in the bedroom" policy. If you couldn't tell from the memory foam pillow and the no-sharing blanket policy, sleep is very important to me.)
I made it through three of the five stages of grief in about thirty seconds.
Denial: I can still make it! I'll call my buddy, and she can put copies on my desk and....
Anger: NOPE, that is not going to work. I can't believe I did that. I just reset the clocks in the kitchen, too. Shoot! (Pepper swearwords throughout. Use your imagination!)
Bargaining: Who do I need to sweet talk to get someone to cover my class for 20 minutes? Do I have time to shower? If I shower, do I have time for coffee? Shower? or coffee?
Just as I was about to give up hope of smelling nice today (because after sleep, nothing is more important than coffee), I picked up my phone. I had missed texts, voicemails, e-mails, and an assortment of other things. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
You see, those who know me and love me and accept my flaws know that I cannot be relied upon to check my phone even once per day. If I forget it at home or at work, I don't even give it a second thought and just go without. (#NotAllMillennials)
Since it is well known that calling me is useless, an early morning storm of voicemails, Facebook notifications, and text messages can mean only one thing, that glorious thing that reminds us all of the perks of being a teacher:
E-learning Day!
For the first time in a long while, I woke up completely naturally on a weekday. Everything was perfect: the memory foam pillow (with cooling technology!) cradling my head, the warm doughy comforter wrapped all around me, savagely tucked under my body to prevent sharing with other creatures, the soft, gray light of an overcast February morning. I couldn't believe how happy and well-rested I felt.
Then, I really couldn't believe it.
Then, I remembered that it hasn't been light out when I've woken up for months.
Then, I noticed my alarm clock was blinking.
Unleashing a string of words unbecoming of a role model for children, I hatched my way out of my comforter and checked my Fitbit as I ran down the stairs: 6:45 am. Only twenty five minutes before I needed to be at work, a twenty-five minute drive away.
(I know, I know "set an alarm on your phone." Call me old school, but I have a strict "no phone in the bedroom" policy. If you couldn't tell from the memory foam pillow and the no-sharing blanket policy, sleep is very important to me.)
I made it through three of the five stages of grief in about thirty seconds.
Denial: I can still make it! I'll call my buddy, and she can put copies on my desk and....
Anger: NOPE, that is not going to work. I can't believe I did that. I just reset the clocks in the kitchen, too. Shoot! (Pepper swearwords throughout. Use your imagination!)
Bargaining: Who do I need to sweet talk to get someone to cover my class for 20 minutes? Do I have time to shower? If I shower, do I have time for coffee? Shower? or coffee?
Just as I was about to give up hope of smelling nice today (because after sleep, nothing is more important than coffee), I picked up my phone. I had missed texts, voicemails, e-mails, and an assortment of other things. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
You see, those who know me and love me and accept my flaws know that I cannot be relied upon to check my phone even once per day. If I forget it at home or at work, I don't even give it a second thought and just go without. (#NotAllMillennials)
Since it is well known that calling me is useless, an early morning storm of voicemails, Facebook notifications, and text messages can mean only one thing, that glorious thing that reminds us all of the perks of being a teacher:
E-learning Day!
Sunday, February 10, 2019
Why I'm Going to Spend More Time at my Desk
Hello! This is a long blog post, but it's also my first one, so I'd like to take a brief minute to say welcome, and thank you for reading!
Back in September, a colleague of mine paid a visit to my classroom and left a sticky note on my desk when she left. It said, "Great job! I don't think you sat down once!" It made my day! As a teacher of ninety minute blocks, that tendency is a huge point of pride for me. All of my teacher preparation classes emphasized the importance of the "two eyes, two feet" system of classroom management. Be up. Be aware. Be present. Invest in comfortable shoes. And never, under any circumstances, be caught sitting.
Don't get me wrong. I still think it's important to be mentally and physically present in the classroom. After all, it's our job to interact with students. However, for the past couple of weeks, I've had a nagging pain in my back. Most of the time, I don't notice it at all, but it hurts the most when I stand up, especially if I have to twist to do it. When I agreed to a two-week Fitbit challenge with my fabulous coworkers, I had no idea one of them was made of steel, and she had no idea that I am an incredibly poor loser, so naturally, we tried to step each other to death. (I lost.) As I am just shy of twenty-six years old, back pain is a new phenomenon for me, but it is just the latest of many signals I've been receiving lately that are all screaming the same thing: sit your butt down.
All physical symptoms aside (Don't worry, Mom; I put Bengay on it), the message of taking a load off is beginning to haunt me. This week, I read Kristin Souers' incredible book, Fostering Resilient Learners: Strategies for Creating a Trauma-Sensitive Classroom. While it was just as practical and informative as I had dreamed, it took me by surprise. I bought the book expecting it to tell me all about students, what they need, and what to do and say to them to help them. It did a lot of that, but Souers also said this:
Educators are notorious for giving selflessly, for tending to their students and ignoring their own needs, for buying classroom materials with their own money, and for focusing most of their energy, time, thoughts, and emotions on their students. It is no small feat to get some teachers to even talk about their own needs, let alone address them with action– yet it is a foundational step in the process of becoming a trauma-sensitive practitioner. If we aren't physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy, we cannot reasonably expect to be able to help our students become healthier and more successful in school. (41)
It's not revolutionary to say that teachers are magical, self-deprecating, martyrous unicorns who need to take better care of themselves, but what struck me about Fostering Resilient Learners was that this idea wasn't just relegated to a paragraph here or there; it was the primary focus of the book! Souers is helping teachers create trauma-sensitive classrooms not by helping us "fix" students who have experienced trauma, but by helping teachers fix the way we understand and react to our students. By my completely subjective, unscientific estimates, at least half of the book is about teacher reflection and self-care and how it directly impacts our practice. In other words, sit down and take care of yourself, and you will be better emotionally equipped to take care of your kids.
No sooner had I finished this book than I learned the same lesson yet again, this time from my students. After nearly a week of inclement weather days, compounded by our winter NWEA testing, I wanted to give my students something really authentic and engaging to sink their teeth into, to remind them that school is more than worksheets and tests. So I pulled out a lesson my mentor teacher, Erin Franklin, taught me, and I challenged my students to design their dream school. Using the jigsaw method, we read six articles about different styles and philosophies of education, and in every teacher's favorite game of chicken, I let my students choose their groups. Each group had one simple mission: design a school that will prepare students to become functional citizens of a stable society.
As always happens when we let students choose their groups, pods of friends congealed in every corner of the room. I found myself pacing nervously. Would Sammie's group be too loud? Would Eric's group just goof around? Would Taylor derail her group entirely with something fabulously creative that totally misses the point of the assignment? (Names are fictional.) I got hundreds of steps walking circles around my classroom just waiting for something to go wrong. But then I noticed something both troubling and exciting.
When I was nearby, students would ask me things, sometimes legitimate things, sometimes silly ones. They would turn to me to settle debates or help with a grammatical question or whatever else. However, by the time I circled the room again and came back, they had settled many of these issues on their own. What, then, was the purpose of my pacing the room? To make myself feel better? To appear busy in case an administrator popped in? To create the illusion of control over a group of students who were functioning perfectly well on their own?
In my next class, I stayed in my seat. And you know what happened? The class did just fine. I'm sure some students got away with a few minutes of off-task behavior, but the fact remains that they were solving problems on their own better than they ever did when I was making myself constantly available for help. When I did eventually check in with my groups, they were working together, thinking critically, and getting their assignments done.
I've seen a lot on Twitter lately about our obligation to be firecrackers in the classroom. To be constantly engaging, up, moving around, maybe even getting rid of our desks entirely. If that's your style, go for it! But if, like me, the universe is telling you loud and clear that you need to sit down, sit your butt down, and don't feel guilty about it. It just might be exactly what you (and your students) need.
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