Now I have put a couple hundred miles between myself and my school and the grown-up life I lead there, and I am comfortably ensconced in the safety of my family cocoon. Here at my cousin's house, the baby monitor provides some quiet white noise, a bowl of brightly colored toys festoons the kitchen counter, and conversation drifts around poop schedules and the various quirks of newer and older members of the family. It feels as if I have been transplanted to another world. From the pressure and hubbub and whirling, legs-flying pace of my strictly scheduled concrete-bound city life, to an unfamiliar, leisurely, soft suburban cushion. Here, naps happen and the Flow of the Day is dictated not by segmented, budgeted, properly apportioned down-to-the-minute chunks of instructional time, but by hunger and tiredness and shifts in mood or desire. It feels very quiet and orderly and still. It feels different, but good.
A couple months ago, when I realized that my impending thesis deadline and my budget would preclude a trip to Peru or some other exotic locale, I thought about what I would like my break to be. I decided that I would like to spend it in the vicinity of children that I can pick up and hug and kiss and hold. Cuddling my niece in her onesie with slobbery mouth and sticking-out belly is a welcome change from scolding and molding and shuffling soon-to-be adolescents in uniform back and forth from their desks to the rug and up and down 4 flights of stairs.
It is nice to be able to enjoy children, to just appreciate them, and not have to try and make them be or do any particular thing. That's why I still love working at camp in the summer - the kids get to move and play and scream loudly and run around. My role is to facilitate their kiddishness, not prevent it or stop it. Being a teacher is way different from being an auntie or a camp counselor or a babysitter. As a teacher, you have an agenda, you have bullet points and checklists and criteria. You are constantly evaluating, instructing, intervening. I am now much more aware of how precious it is to just step back and watch them be, to enjoy them as they are, to interact with them human-to-human, not as sculptor and sculptures or actor and objects.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
the snowball effect
I write to you now from the Other Side! I finished my frantic 500-meter dash towards Spring Break and at 2:10pm on Friday afternoon finally managed to break the bright orange ribbon waiting for me at the end of the line.
It won't sink in yet, because it's only Sunday. It will take a few days of not having to go to work, and still not having to go to work, and STILL not having to go to work, for me to realize that it truly is Vacation. But I am doing my best to make it feel festive from the get-go by gallavanting with my Cuz and going to Spa Castle to indulge in saunas and hot tubs and swim-up bars and pedicures and shiatzu massage!
February and March was a long run, but now we're kind of over the hump. When we go back it'll be full steam ahead towards the state tests, then NYSESLAT season and then graduation season and then those hot June days at the end that don't even feel real, then pack up the room and shove it in the closets and get the hell outta Dodge.
Last week I was walking (nay, running) around in kind of an elevated state -- I don't know if it was the fact that I got less sleep each successive night of the week, or that I had more or less tripled my daily caffeine intake to make it through, or if I can just blame it on the usual whims of womanhood or the fact that I was fried like an egg... But I felt raw, open, susceptible - like a flesh wound without a band-aid. Events struck me with perhaps unintended force. When A & A and Jules met me for my name day dinner with a blaze of orange, yellow and red tulips bursting like fireworks and sang to me on the sidewalk, I felt overcome with the beauty and kindness and goodness of people in this world, and with the good fortune of having these people as my friends. (I reassured them that mine were tears of joy, not of desperation, humiliation and failure like when we used to meet for dinners a year or two ago.)
Then the next day when I came into work, breathless from being almost-late, what awaited me on the floor of my classroom when I walked in but a seltzer-shrine, adorned with Name Day card and candy and a Cadbury egg! Corky was the culprit and engineer, since I'd mentioned it the day before, and since she is the queen of Random Acts of Kindness. Again, this gesture struck me hard, like an injection or a blow to the gut.
My elation also gave way to whatever you'd call the opposite of that feeling. On the subway on the way to my thesis class, I ran into Negative Nancy from the Teaching Fellows, who complained from Times Square all the way up to 137th St and said things that made me question why she even became a teacher at all, and whether or not she even deserved to have access to the children. She said she "felt bad" for the kids, that everything was "so sad," and came up with every possible excuse for why she couldn't do the things that she is asked to do (the very challenges, I might add, that she signed up to take on as a Teaching Fellow.)
It is so damn easy - and uncreative and boring and weak - to point out all the things that are stopping you from doing what you said you'd do. How does that saying go? Even if there are a million reasons why you can't, all you need is one reason why you can...? I felt personally insulted by her negativity. I felt like her arrogance and bad attitude were unravelling the work that my colleagues and I have been fighting so hard for.
But all this made me realize something. Something about momentum; about the nature of my work; the nature of human beings perhaps? That once you get your little snowball rolling down a certain hill, it gathers strength and speed more rapidly than you could've anticipated. That kindness begets more kindness, the same way that complaining begets more complaints. Just like training for my theoretical traithlon - exercize begets more exercize. Gluttony and sloth beget more gluttony and sloth. But once you stop the momentum and swing it around the other way, it force is just as powerful.
I have more to say on this topic, but after all it is Spring Break and I should get my priorities aligned: brunch awaits!
It won't sink in yet, because it's only Sunday. It will take a few days of not having to go to work, and still not having to go to work, and STILL not having to go to work, for me to realize that it truly is Vacation. But I am doing my best to make it feel festive from the get-go by gallavanting with my Cuz and going to Spa Castle to indulge in saunas and hot tubs and swim-up bars and pedicures and shiatzu massage!
February and March was a long run, but now we're kind of over the hump. When we go back it'll be full steam ahead towards the state tests, then NYSESLAT season and then graduation season and then those hot June days at the end that don't even feel real, then pack up the room and shove it in the closets and get the hell outta Dodge.
Last week I was walking (nay, running) around in kind of an elevated state -- I don't know if it was the fact that I got less sleep each successive night of the week, or that I had more or less tripled my daily caffeine intake to make it through, or if I can just blame it on the usual whims of womanhood or the fact that I was fried like an egg... But I felt raw, open, susceptible - like a flesh wound without a band-aid. Events struck me with perhaps unintended force. When A & A and Jules met me for my name day dinner with a blaze of orange, yellow and red tulips bursting like fireworks and sang to me on the sidewalk, I felt overcome with the beauty and kindness and goodness of people in this world, and with the good fortune of having these people as my friends. (I reassured them that mine were tears of joy, not of desperation, humiliation and failure like when we used to meet for dinners a year or two ago.)
Then the next day when I came into work, breathless from being almost-late, what awaited me on the floor of my classroom when I walked in but a seltzer-shrine, adorned with Name Day card and candy and a Cadbury egg! Corky was the culprit and engineer, since I'd mentioned it the day before, and since she is the queen of Random Acts of Kindness. Again, this gesture struck me hard, like an injection or a blow to the gut.
My elation also gave way to whatever you'd call the opposite of that feeling. On the subway on the way to my thesis class, I ran into Negative Nancy from the Teaching Fellows, who complained from Times Square all the way up to 137th St and said things that made me question why she even became a teacher at all, and whether or not she even deserved to have access to the children. She said she "felt bad" for the kids, that everything was "so sad," and came up with every possible excuse for why she couldn't do the things that she is asked to do (the very challenges, I might add, that she signed up to take on as a Teaching Fellow.)
It is so damn easy - and uncreative and boring and weak - to point out all the things that are stopping you from doing what you said you'd do. How does that saying go? Even if there are a million reasons why you can't, all you need is one reason why you can...? I felt personally insulted by her negativity. I felt like her arrogance and bad attitude were unravelling the work that my colleagues and I have been fighting so hard for.
But all this made me realize something. Something about momentum; about the nature of my work; the nature of human beings perhaps? That once you get your little snowball rolling down a certain hill, it gathers strength and speed more rapidly than you could've anticipated. That kindness begets more kindness, the same way that complaining begets more complaints. Just like training for my theoretical traithlon - exercize begets more exercize. Gluttony and sloth beget more gluttony and sloth. But once you stop the momentum and swing it around the other way, it force is just as powerful.
I have more to say on this topic, but after all it is Spring Break and I should get my priorities aligned: brunch awaits!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
soul shakedown
Today I went to the dollar store to restock the Prize Box for all the Jedi Rewards I will be needing for the new incentive program (presuming the Jedis can manage to stop annoying the crap out of me long enough for me to award them enough points.)
Buying prizes is something I love doing, for lots of reasons. Partly because it really doesn't take much to make a kid happy, and because who in their right mind doesn't love a brand new box of crayons (even if they are the cheap waxy dollar store kind)? Also I like to think that the items I choose are infinitesimally small notches into the giant climbing wall of social justice and equality -- this jumprope shall combat childhood obesity! These bubbles shall spread joy and wonder among children who may or may not have enough of it in their lives! This stencil shall make its mark in the service of art where art has been forsaken!
Also, I like to mentally multiply my excitement by like 25 to equal that of a 10-year-old confronted with a treasure box full of these riches.
Clearly, kids don't NEED prizes in order to learn, and I don't NEED them in order to teach. But they are kind of fun... I liken this expenditure to, say, buying doughnuts for your cubicle-mates, or springing for coffees one morning, just to be sociable. It's a personal contribution to your place of work in order to make it a more genial place for you to be in eight or more hours a day.
But when I dropped my thirty six bucks on my plastic made-in-China loot in the name of cheap material pleasures, it made me think about other stuff that I regularly shell out my hard-earned shekels for.
I wonder if the government that oversees public education knows just how much they receive in charitable contributions from teachers... I don't know of any teacher in the school who doesn't spend hundreds of dollars on their kids and their classroom every year. Compound that over years of service, and per teacher, per school - it adds up.
Many things we buy as teachers could never be considered budgetary necessities - pizza parties, prizes, snacks for celebrations, gifts for holidays, decorations for the classroom, "sponsoring" kids' field trips whose parents can't scrape up the cash (like D--, who almost couldn't come on the $9 bowling trip because her little brother needed asthma medication that week)... I'm pretty sure none of these things are tax deductible. But the thing is, if we don't buy those things for our kids? Then the kids just don't get to have them. And as a teacher it's very hard to see your kids not getting the things you feel they deserve and should be entitled to.
But it's not all frivolity that we reach into our pockets for. If you were wondering if budget cuts are real and whether or not they affect teachers' and students' daily lives, they are and they do.
Last year, every teacher got a whole box of paper to use for copies, and Mr. P was able to spring for printer ink. My AP Candy, who is quite gifted at getting us things we need, ordered me a brand new rug (a requisite for the kids to sit on as part of the TC Workshop model) when she noticed that mine was dirty.
This year I asked Candy, now that I had 29 kids and needed 29 spots on my rug instead of 20, if there was any chance of getting a new one. She said, no, not really, but ask around...I did, but wound up anyway with a third of my kids sitting on dollar store bath mats for the mini-lessons.
This year, Mr. P did the best he could by giving us two reams of paper each, and the ink request was negatory.
So what are the choices? Use the printer less? Stop making copies two months in? Or spread the burden to kids and their families by asking them to bring in reams of paper, which we do, along with tissues and ziploc bags and scissors and calculators and crayons... or we spring for it ourselves.
In recognition that teachers have a lot of unique supplies they need, they get "Teacher's Choice" money every year ( at least, we have been and hope to continue doing so - last year $250, this year $150). And we appreciate the sentiment, we really do. But to me at least, it kind of feels like spitting in the ocean.
So when the bigwigs in their offices make their budget cuts to public education, I wonder if they realize: schools don't all of a sudden start needing less money to make them go. It's just that the people in and involved with the schools, who care about schools, start footing more of the bill.
Buying prizes is something I love doing, for lots of reasons. Partly because it really doesn't take much to make a kid happy, and because who in their right mind doesn't love a brand new box of crayons (even if they are the cheap waxy dollar store kind)? Also I like to think that the items I choose are infinitesimally small notches into the giant climbing wall of social justice and equality -- this jumprope shall combat childhood obesity! These bubbles shall spread joy and wonder among children who may or may not have enough of it in their lives! This stencil shall make its mark in the service of art where art has been forsaken!
Also, I like to mentally multiply my excitement by like 25 to equal that of a 10-year-old confronted with a treasure box full of these riches.
Clearly, kids don't NEED prizes in order to learn, and I don't NEED them in order to teach. But they are kind of fun... I liken this expenditure to, say, buying doughnuts for your cubicle-mates, or springing for coffees one morning, just to be sociable. It's a personal contribution to your place of work in order to make it a more genial place for you to be in eight or more hours a day.
But when I dropped my thirty six bucks on my plastic made-in-China loot in the name of cheap material pleasures, it made me think about other stuff that I regularly shell out my hard-earned shekels for.
I wonder if the government that oversees public education knows just how much they receive in charitable contributions from teachers... I don't know of any teacher in the school who doesn't spend hundreds of dollars on their kids and their classroom every year. Compound that over years of service, and per teacher, per school - it adds up.
Many things we buy as teachers could never be considered budgetary necessities - pizza parties, prizes, snacks for celebrations, gifts for holidays, decorations for the classroom, "sponsoring" kids' field trips whose parents can't scrape up the cash (like D--, who almost couldn't come on the $9 bowling trip because her little brother needed asthma medication that week)... I'm pretty sure none of these things are tax deductible. But the thing is, if we don't buy those things for our kids? Then the kids just don't get to have them. And as a teacher it's very hard to see your kids not getting the things you feel they deserve and should be entitled to.
But it's not all frivolity that we reach into our pockets for. If you were wondering if budget cuts are real and whether or not they affect teachers' and students' daily lives, they are and they do.
Last year, every teacher got a whole box of paper to use for copies, and Mr. P was able to spring for printer ink. My AP Candy, who is quite gifted at getting us things we need, ordered me a brand new rug (a requisite for the kids to sit on as part of the TC Workshop model) when she noticed that mine was dirty.
This year I asked Candy, now that I had 29 kids and needed 29 spots on my rug instead of 20, if there was any chance of getting a new one. She said, no, not really, but ask around...I did, but wound up anyway with a third of my kids sitting on dollar store bath mats for the mini-lessons.
This year, Mr. P did the best he could by giving us two reams of paper each, and the ink request was negatory.
So what are the choices? Use the printer less? Stop making copies two months in? Or spread the burden to kids and their families by asking them to bring in reams of paper, which we do, along with tissues and ziploc bags and scissors and calculators and crayons... or we spring for it ourselves.
In recognition that teachers have a lot of unique supplies they need, they get "Teacher's Choice" money every year ( at least, we have been and hope to continue doing so - last year $250, this year $150). And we appreciate the sentiment, we really do. But to me at least, it kind of feels like spitting in the ocean.
So when the bigwigs in their offices make their budget cuts to public education, I wonder if they realize: schools don't all of a sudden start needing less money to make them go. It's just that the people in and involved with the schools, who care about schools, start footing more of the bill.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Test Prep Jedis Use the Force!
Okay. So. Today was the Test Prep Pep Rally...
It was spectacular. Worth every second of angst and doubt. If I ran my own school we would do stupid stuff like this on a regular basis, because actually, it's not stupid! It builds community, it de-stresses, and it motivates, which is, to my mind, the number one factor influencing whether or not a child will reach their academic potential.
You should have seen Principal Peeves laughing his head off in the back of the auditorium! And the kids laughing and shouting and cheering... just like in real life, and jollier schools.
It has everything to do with my totally amazing colleagues, who were willing to put in that extra effort, to all pitch in and put themselves out there, even though some of them they were shy...
Our literacy coach, who's evil test-maker analogy sparked this whole crazy idea, did an absolutely chilling job as Test Prep Vader. She is now well known for her evil laugh... Tev saved the day with her sister-in-law's Darth Vader mask and light saber, Y. pitched in with a cape, and the piece de resistance was a homemade Yoda costume by Mannie, who used to be a prop mistress! It was a white bathrobe with foam elf-feet attached to the knees - so the wear-er walks on their knees and Yoda is like 3 feet tall, with these amazing Yoda ears that she made out of a green t-shirt and green foam. I was so touched that she took the time and care to make something so incredible. Just like at camp, just like so many teachers I know - this amazing resourcefulness, the ability to make something out of nothing. Everyone just rolled with it, I told them my vision and they made it happen. Actualization! Everyone lent a hand - downloading music, helping with costumes and props, ideas, scheduling logistics, spreading the word, giving up lunches to practice, and overall enthusiasm and good spirit.
And it really was just as I'd envisioned... Star Wars theme playing as the kids entered the auditorium, then Vader takes the stage threatening with the trickiest, most complicated, most confusing test in the history of Standardized tests mwaaaaahahaha and leaps off stage into the audience. Enter the teachers, dressed as students, loaded down with backpacks and test prep books and moaning and complaining about all the work they have to do, hystrionic crying... when one of them remembers Test Prep Yoda...
...who trains them (and the audience, of course) to be Test Prep Jedis! Testing Jedis must be have strength, courage and willingness to work hard. Were they up to the challenge? (Guess...)
Step one: RELAX! (dancing in the aisles to Eye of the Tiger) Step Two: Use your strategies (That he leaves to the teachers) and Step Three: learn the Secret three-part Test Prep Jedi cheer.
Part 1: Test Prep Jedis Use the Force!
Part 2: Oh yes we can, yes, yes we can!
Part 3: Test Vader goin' down!
Then Yoda tells the crows that that just might be the best Test Prep Jedi cheer he's ever heard! And that they should challenge their principal that they will do better on these tests than any other group of kids in the history of PS OO! Heads turn to Principal P, who has descended from his leather-furnished lair to make a rare appearance with the masses and is still standing in the back. As planned, a chant is instigated: "Mr. P! Mr. P! Mr. P!" (Brownie points for me to get an auditorium full of kids chanting the principal's name? Hee hee. Highly unusual occurrence for P.S. OO.)
And, in a typically long-winded, thickly Queens-accented inspirational speech, Principal P eventually gets around to telling the kids about the Caaaarrrniiiiivaaalllllll! The crowd goes wild.
I will commend old Peevey, because although his delivery was as dry and stuffy as one might've expected and the energy of the crowd dropped off a cliff as soon as he started talking, his message really was inspirational. He talked about a woman with Multiple Sclerosis who, after her diagnosis, has climbed mountains on every continent. And what does she eat when she gets to the top? Gummi bears!
So he will also be sending Gummi Bears to the kids on the day of the test to remind them about challenging themselves and exceeding their personal limits and believing in themselves .... I thought that was quite a sweet and thoughtful sentiment.*
Cue "We are the Champions." Exeunt.
So. That was that. A tremendously positive and empowering experience. I led my little Jedis back upstairs, where I issued them their official Jedi Rewards Cards (blank index cards) which I will hole-punch when they are behaving like good little Test Prep Jedis - being brave and cooperative and working hard, 10 holes equals a prize from the prize box.
Then G-- came up and said "Look! I wrote on my arm!" And I was about to begin my lecture on the questionable dermatological health effects of ball point pen ink on skin, when I read what it said: "Believe in yourself. You can do anything you set your mind to."
All in a day's work.
*It represents a tiny shift in my way of thinking about our Feuhrer, a hair-line crack in my stone-faced villainous characterization of Himself, and I will try to use this perspective to counteract the bilious knot that still forms in my gut whenever I see or interact with him.
It was spectacular. Worth every second of angst and doubt. If I ran my own school we would do stupid stuff like this on a regular basis, because actually, it's not stupid! It builds community, it de-stresses, and it motivates, which is, to my mind, the number one factor influencing whether or not a child will reach their academic potential.
You should have seen Principal Peeves laughing his head off in the back of the auditorium! And the kids laughing and shouting and cheering... just like in real life, and jollier schools.
It has everything to do with my totally amazing colleagues, who were willing to put in that extra effort, to all pitch in and put themselves out there, even though some of them they were shy...
Our literacy coach, who's evil test-maker analogy sparked this whole crazy idea, did an absolutely chilling job as Test Prep Vader. She is now well known for her evil laugh... Tev saved the day with her sister-in-law's Darth Vader mask and light saber, Y. pitched in with a cape, and the piece de resistance was a homemade Yoda costume by Mannie, who used to be a prop mistress! It was a white bathrobe with foam elf-feet attached to the knees - so the wear-er walks on their knees and Yoda is like 3 feet tall, with these amazing Yoda ears that she made out of a green t-shirt and green foam. I was so touched that she took the time and care to make something so incredible. Just like at camp, just like so many teachers I know - this amazing resourcefulness, the ability to make something out of nothing. Everyone just rolled with it, I told them my vision and they made it happen. Actualization! Everyone lent a hand - downloading music, helping with costumes and props, ideas, scheduling logistics, spreading the word, giving up lunches to practice, and overall enthusiasm and good spirit.
And it really was just as I'd envisioned... Star Wars theme playing as the kids entered the auditorium, then Vader takes the stage threatening with the trickiest, most complicated, most confusing test in the history of Standardized tests mwaaaaahahaha and leaps off stage into the audience. Enter the teachers, dressed as students, loaded down with backpacks and test prep books and moaning and complaining about all the work they have to do, hystrionic crying... when one of them remembers Test Prep Yoda...
...who trains them (and the audience, of course) to be Test Prep Jedis! Testing Jedis must be have strength, courage and willingness to work hard. Were they up to the challenge? (Guess...)
Step one: RELAX! (dancing in the aisles to Eye of the Tiger) Step Two: Use your strategies (That he leaves to the teachers) and Step Three: learn the Secret three-part Test Prep Jedi cheer.
Part 1: Test Prep Jedis Use the Force!
Part 2: Oh yes we can, yes, yes we can!
Part 3: Test Vader goin' down!
Then Yoda tells the crows that that just might be the best Test Prep Jedi cheer he's ever heard! And that they should challenge their principal that they will do better on these tests than any other group of kids in the history of PS OO! Heads turn to Principal P, who has descended from his leather-furnished lair to make a rare appearance with the masses and is still standing in the back. As planned, a chant is instigated: "Mr. P! Mr. P! Mr. P!" (Brownie points for me to get an auditorium full of kids chanting the principal's name? Hee hee. Highly unusual occurrence for P.S. OO.)
And, in a typically long-winded, thickly Queens-accented inspirational speech, Principal P eventually gets around to telling the kids about the Caaaarrrniiiiivaaalllllll! The crowd goes wild.
I will commend old Peevey, because although his delivery was as dry and stuffy as one might've expected and the energy of the crowd dropped off a cliff as soon as he started talking, his message really was inspirational. He talked about a woman with Multiple Sclerosis who, after her diagnosis, has climbed mountains on every continent. And what does she eat when she gets to the top? Gummi bears!
So he will also be sending Gummi Bears to the kids on the day of the test to remind them about challenging themselves and exceeding their personal limits and believing in themselves .... I thought that was quite a sweet and thoughtful sentiment.*
Cue "We are the Champions." Exeunt.
So. That was that. A tremendously positive and empowering experience. I led my little Jedis back upstairs, where I issued them their official Jedi Rewards Cards (blank index cards) which I will hole-punch when they are behaving like good little Test Prep Jedis - being brave and cooperative and working hard, 10 holes equals a prize from the prize box.
Then G-- came up and said "Look! I wrote on my arm!" And I was about to begin my lecture on the questionable dermatological health effects of ball point pen ink on skin, when I read what it said: "Believe in yourself. You can do anything you set your mind to."
All in a day's work.
*It represents a tiny shift in my way of thinking about our Feuhrer, a hair-line crack in my stone-faced villainous characterization of Himself, and I will try to use this perspective to counteract the bilious knot that still forms in my gut whenever I see or interact with him.
Monday, March 22, 2010
What it takes
This morning as I strode purposefully to the bus stop, I felt determined, resolute, powerful and strong. "Whatever it takes!" I said (isn't that the motto of some branch of the military?) I visualized myself at batting practice, like in high school swinging away at whatever obstacles hurl themselves in my direction, lest I miss one and end up with a honey comb-patterned ball imprint on my forehead. Yes, I confirmed. I'll do whatever it takes!
I was reminded, it takes a lot. A lot of patience. A lot of swallowing your anger and frustration. A lot of pretended charisma and fake enthusiasm for Kaplan test prep strategies.
With the beginning of test prep unit, the kids didn't know what hit 'em. What's this? No more Read Aloud? No more independent reading? ALL test prep ALL day? I think they felt the switch, maybe sensed my internal tension as well, and it manifested itself in generalized increased pain-in-the-assitude. Even the ones who are not normally pains in the ass were painful today, and the ones who usually pains in the ass really outdid themselves. K--, for example, hit another kid upside the head with a book and broke his glasses? Like, not in a violent way, and the glasses weren't broken on purpose, but still. This is not how things are supposed to run in my classroom. K--, I think has reached an early adolescence and should be shipped of to a desert island with all the other attitudinal adolescents and only permitted to return when she's 18 or shows a record of better judgment. She gets under my skin like none other.
The other blow came with the after-school program I work on that's geared to helping high achievers maintain their high scores or do even better on the test. We got their test results
back many of my students went down over the course of the program. Which kind of shakes my confidence in whatever the hell we've been doing for three months but also confirms my belief that the tests are just so frustratingly temperamental and coincidental... it's not like the kids un-learned stuff, it's not like they got dumber or forgot what they learned... so why are we so bound to these scores? Can we take credit for a four point improvement? Can we penalize ourselves for a four-point drop? Like Corky says, if we're talking about margins that slim, it probably has more to do with whether or not the kid ate an extra cheerio that day than it does with anything in particular that we're doing
or not doing...
Anyway, partly I think as a result of the monthly festival of womanhood, and partly because of the rain and partly because of stuffing my round soul into ucomfortable square-shaped test prep shoes, I felt all out of sorts come 5pm. And, noticing this, in a touching and undeserved display of empathy and affection, Corky invited me to sleep over and get my grad school paper done in the company of a friend, leftover appetizers from her party and night-time mimosas. So it looks like once again, all will be well after all.
I was reminded, it takes a lot. A lot of patience. A lot of swallowing your anger and frustration. A lot of pretended charisma and fake enthusiasm for Kaplan test prep strategies.
With the beginning of test prep unit, the kids didn't know what hit 'em. What's this? No more Read Aloud? No more independent reading? ALL test prep ALL day? I think they felt the switch, maybe sensed my internal tension as well, and it manifested itself in generalized increased pain-in-the-assitude. Even the ones who are not normally pains in the ass were painful today, and the ones who usually pains in the ass really outdid themselves. K--, for example, hit another kid upside the head with a book and broke his glasses? Like, not in a violent way, and the glasses weren't broken on purpose, but still. This is not how things are supposed to run in my classroom. K--, I think has reached an early adolescence and should be shipped of to a desert island with all the other attitudinal adolescents and only permitted to return when she's 18 or shows a record of better judgment. She gets under my skin like none other.
The other blow came with the after-school program I work on that's geared to helping high achievers maintain their high scores or do even better on the test. We got their test results
back many of my students went down over the course of the program. Which kind of shakes my confidence in whatever the hell we've been doing for three months but also confirms my belief that the tests are just so frustratingly temperamental and coincidental... it's not like the kids un-learned stuff, it's not like they got dumber or forgot what they learned... so why are we so bound to these scores? Can we take credit for a four point improvement? Can we penalize ourselves for a four-point drop? Like Corky says, if we're talking about margins that slim, it probably has more to do with whether or not the kid ate an extra cheerio that day than it does with anything in particular that we're doing
or not doing...
Anyway, partly I think as a result of the monthly festival of womanhood, and partly because of the rain and partly because of stuffing my round soul into ucomfortable square-shaped test prep shoes, I felt all out of sorts come 5pm. And, noticing this, in a touching and undeserved display of empathy and affection, Corky invited me to sleep over and get my grad school paper done in the company of a friend, leftover appetizers from her party and night-time mimosas. So it looks like once again, all will be well after all.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Pity party
If you would indulge me, I'd like to take a brief dip in a pity puddle.
You'd think, the week before vacation, that I'd be in a fairly positive frame of mind, ready to coast through 5 more days of school and then punch out until Easter. The problem is, the week ahead is shaping up to be more mountain that molehill, and like most teachers this time of year, I'm feeling burnt - running on fumes, scraping the bottom of the barrel. I am the dregs of me.
Just logged a six-hour work session at Pheobe's. And while I got a lot done, there is, as ever, so much more to do... I feel torn, stretched, pulled in so many different directions - there is something of a cyclone going on inside my mind, various tasks and to-dos and don't forgets keep cycling through my brain. Items of Critical Importance keep coming and going, fading in and out of the forefront of my consciousness. I can't seem to escape from them. I am overwhelmed.
We're starting the much-anticipated and dreaded Test Prep unit tomorrow, which basically disrupts every routine I've had in place since the beginning of the year. I'm in the middle of data collection for my thesis, for which I must write a reflection paper this week, and my other grad school class has blithely assigned a group project, the most heinous type of assignment for its utter inconvenience with the added guilt that if you slack off and do the bare minimum amount of work at the last possible minute (which by the way, has been my M.O. for surviving all the grad classes so far) it affects other people who actually care about their grades. Then there is the matter of finding or making a darth vader costume for the pep rally, which is Tuesday (I'm realizing, or perhaps remembering, why most teachers don't like to take on extra assignments unnecessarily). Plus there are a thousand and one showers and birthday parties and other surprise events coming up in the next couple of months that I am intricately involved in trying to sort out while not spoiling the various surprises - who knows about what or is in charge of the planning and which life event we are celebrating when... just keeping track is a full time job.
And then there are these other things that just hang over my head like a cartoon raincloud - my horrifically overdue Americorps paper work, submitting timesheets for the two after-school programs that I both plan and teach, the filing of taxes right around the corner, "publishing" the kids' stupid newspaper, registering for graduation and the NY state licensing exams, buying new sheets and watering the plants, and trying to make my bedroom look like somewhere the Unabomber doesn't live, so my cousin will not be tempted to notify the authorities when she comes to visit me next weekend. Sleeping and eating feel incidental to all this other bullshit I have going on. And it's been a solid fortnight since I've managed to grace the gym with my presence, which might explain my debilitating lethargy today.
I feel like silly putty when you pull and pull and it gets so thin it's translucent, or maybe like one of those spin-art machines where the drop of paint splatters far and wide across the page.
When all of these engagements are pulling at my coattails, I find that I tend to "ostrich" away from some of them... there doesn't seem to be room for all of it in my head, so I kind of try to will it away - ignore it and maybe it will somehow get taken care of, perhaps a white knight will come or a reprieve will be issued, factory recall for a couple thousand agenda items.
Perhaps a more organized person would have like, a spreadsheet, a color-coded calendar of what to do when, deadlines and important dates and break-downs of what needs to happen when, an i-phone app to remind them about their well-thought out plan for the week. But what I'm also realizing is that I'm not, nor have I ever been, that organized or systematic or methodical of a person.
I'm always late, I procrastinate, I start things without finishing them, I bite off more than I can chew, I stick my iron into a lot of different fires and then run around like a chicken with my head cut off. I say yes when I should say no. I have ideas but lack follow-through. A person with more discipline and better time management skills would not even be typing this blog entry right now...
I know I have a lot to work on as a professional and as a human being. But I'm also realizing, part of me is kind of ok with it. Maybe one day I'll find a really great house husband who will cook and clean and file taxes and pay bills and pack lunches (not sure exactly what I'd bring to such a relationship, but a girl can dream)...but then again, maybe I won't. Either way, I get by. Maybe it ain't so pretty at times, but a certain level of craziness is also part of my me-ness. It makes me think of of the hilarious, whimsical series Walter the Farting Dog. Walter's greatest weakness - his potent farts - also turn out to be his greatest strength. Somehow, in bizarre and unorthodox ways, his farts always end up saving the day.
So I guess I'm kind of like Walter the Farting Dog. I might be inconsistent and distractable and punctually-challenged... but I'm also spontaneous and adaptable and creative and can think on my feet. I don't know that I could be some of those things without being the others.
And the other thing that helps me keep my chin up at times like this is the concept of "happy-ish," coined by a very brilliant soul-searcher/philosopher I know. The idea is that, okay, maybe there's a pothole or a rough patch, maybe sometimes you're sucking in exhaust on the Jersey Turnpike of life... but overall, all things considered is the trend of your life looking good? Do you like where you are and where you are going? Are you headed vaguely in the right direction? Are there little things each day that make you smile, and bigger things to look forward to on the horizon? Maybe today you feel irked or unhappy, but in general, in life, are you happyish?
And I'd have to say, despite standardized tests and group projects and taxes and data collection, the answer is definitely yes.
You'd think, the week before vacation, that I'd be in a fairly positive frame of mind, ready to coast through 5 more days of school and then punch out until Easter. The problem is, the week ahead is shaping up to be more mountain that molehill, and like most teachers this time of year, I'm feeling burnt - running on fumes, scraping the bottom of the barrel. I am the dregs of me.
Just logged a six-hour work session at Pheobe's. And while I got a lot done, there is, as ever, so much more to do... I feel torn, stretched, pulled in so many different directions - there is something of a cyclone going on inside my mind, various tasks and to-dos and don't forgets keep cycling through my brain. Items of Critical Importance keep coming and going, fading in and out of the forefront of my consciousness. I can't seem to escape from them. I am overwhelmed.
We're starting the much-anticipated and dreaded Test Prep unit tomorrow, which basically disrupts every routine I've had in place since the beginning of the year. I'm in the middle of data collection for my thesis, for which I must write a reflection paper this week, and my other grad school class has blithely assigned a group project, the most heinous type of assignment for its utter inconvenience with the added guilt that if you slack off and do the bare minimum amount of work at the last possible minute (which by the way, has been my M.O. for surviving all the grad classes so far) it affects other people who actually care about their grades. Then there is the matter of finding or making a darth vader costume for the pep rally, which is Tuesday (I'm realizing, or perhaps remembering, why most teachers don't like to take on extra assignments unnecessarily). Plus there are a thousand and one showers and birthday parties and other surprise events coming up in the next couple of months that I am intricately involved in trying to sort out while not spoiling the various surprises - who knows about what or is in charge of the planning and which life event we are celebrating when... just keeping track is a full time job.
And then there are these other things that just hang over my head like a cartoon raincloud - my horrifically overdue Americorps paper work, submitting timesheets for the two after-school programs that I both plan and teach, the filing of taxes right around the corner, "publishing" the kids' stupid newspaper, registering for graduation and the NY state licensing exams, buying new sheets and watering the plants, and trying to make my bedroom look like somewhere the Unabomber doesn't live, so my cousin will not be tempted to notify the authorities when she comes to visit me next weekend. Sleeping and eating feel incidental to all this other bullshit I have going on. And it's been a solid fortnight since I've managed to grace the gym with my presence, which might explain my debilitating lethargy today.
I feel like silly putty when you pull and pull and it gets so thin it's translucent, or maybe like one of those spin-art machines where the drop of paint splatters far and wide across the page.
When all of these engagements are pulling at my coattails, I find that I tend to "ostrich" away from some of them... there doesn't seem to be room for all of it in my head, so I kind of try to will it away - ignore it and maybe it will somehow get taken care of, perhaps a white knight will come or a reprieve will be issued, factory recall for a couple thousand agenda items.
Perhaps a more organized person would have like, a spreadsheet, a color-coded calendar of what to do when, deadlines and important dates and break-downs of what needs to happen when, an i-phone app to remind them about their well-thought out plan for the week. But what I'm also realizing is that I'm not, nor have I ever been, that organized or systematic or methodical of a person.
I'm always late, I procrastinate, I start things without finishing them, I bite off more than I can chew, I stick my iron into a lot of different fires and then run around like a chicken with my head cut off. I say yes when I should say no. I have ideas but lack follow-through. A person with more discipline and better time management skills would not even be typing this blog entry right now...
I know I have a lot to work on as a professional and as a human being. But I'm also realizing, part of me is kind of ok with it. Maybe one day I'll find a really great house husband who will cook and clean and file taxes and pay bills and pack lunches (not sure exactly what I'd bring to such a relationship, but a girl can dream)...but then again, maybe I won't. Either way, I get by. Maybe it ain't so pretty at times, but a certain level of craziness is also part of my me-ness. It makes me think of of the hilarious, whimsical series Walter the Farting Dog. Walter's greatest weakness - his potent farts - also turn out to be his greatest strength. Somehow, in bizarre and unorthodox ways, his farts always end up saving the day.
So I guess I'm kind of like Walter the Farting Dog. I might be inconsistent and distractable and punctually-challenged... but I'm also spontaneous and adaptable and creative and can think on my feet. I don't know that I could be some of those things without being the others.
And the other thing that helps me keep my chin up at times like this is the concept of "happy-ish," coined by a very brilliant soul-searcher/philosopher I know. The idea is that, okay, maybe there's a pothole or a rough patch, maybe sometimes you're sucking in exhaust on the Jersey Turnpike of life... but overall, all things considered is the trend of your life looking good? Do you like where you are and where you are going? Are you headed vaguely in the right direction? Are there little things each day that make you smile, and bigger things to look forward to on the horizon? Maybe today you feel irked or unhappy, but in general, in life, are you happyish?
And I'd have to say, despite standardized tests and group projects and taxes and data collection, the answer is definitely yes.
Friday, March 19, 2010
escape from data-drive
One of my favorite parts of teaching is the rare opportunities to, um... *not* teach. That is, at least where "teach" is defined by our bastardized, stifling, starchy, ratings-bound version of the TC Workshop Model.
The irony of it is, the reason I wanted to be a teacher was because I love kids (and kind of am one, a large one). But as it happened, much of teaching turned out to be finding novel was to suppress their innate kidishness, to squelch their verve, straighten their kinks and quirks, extinguish their unpredictable flare-ups. I hadn't considered that part of my job description would be squishing them into dress shoes and uniforms and molding them into productive little societally-approved capitalist cogs. (Naturally I am doing my best to undermine the status quo, but these things take time. Progress is a slow but persistent whittle.)
It feels slightly profane to be systematically uprooting the very tendencies that define, in my mind, being a kid. Sitting still for long periods of time, keeping quiet when your brain lights up with an idea, keeping your hands to yourself, being orderly, slow and careful instead of wild, fast and carefree... none of these exactly fit with my (admittedly idealized) notion of childhood.
So it is refreshing when I get to do things that don't follow the prescribed architecture, when there is no script to follow or checklist of approved teaching behaviors. We took the kids on a bowling field trip yesterday, and although it had little to no educational value in my mind, it was so delightful to see them being loud and boisterous, jumping up and down, squealing and high-fiving with the triumph of a strike, and falling to the floor in the agony of a split. It felt so good not to "shush" them. It felt so good for sound and motion to be ok. And by the way, if you ever need a few chuckles, go and watch some shrimpy kids with almost no experience hurl bowling balls jubilantly, yet oh-so-ungracefully, down a greased lane toward some pins.
Today also, we celebrated the end of the biography and literary essay units. I was pleasantly surprised when the kids voted to celebrate their writing in our traditional way, simply by reading and writing compliments about each other's work... It was so gratifying to see evidence that they care about their writing (and each other's), that they're proud of it, that they've invested parts of themselves in it (as well any writer should, I just wasn't convinced it could really happen for 28 pre-pubescent balls of id).
Out of context, if you suggested to an average 10-year old, hey, how would you like to read five or six literary essays in a row? I can't imagine they would respond with much enthusiasm. But here they were, racing each other and elbowing one another out of the way to get to a particular writer's piece first, effortlessly quiet and fully engaged for at least a half hour or more. Cha-ching!
To celebrate reading, we made comic-book biographies of either our own lives or a friend's, or someone they learned about in their reading. D-- made one about me! Quite good, actually. Many of them chose autobiographies. It was so fascinating to peer into their lives through these little windows, to be privy to their defining moments thus far. Moving to India and back, immigration stories, traumatic accidents, the death of a father meaning a switch from a private Bengali performing arts school to public school... it was facinating and gratifying to have a chance to know them as something other than their reading level or math ability, to find out what has been important to them as people... I was thinking, if I could do things MY way, this is much closer to what I'd want it to be like every day.
And then there was Pretzel Club, which felt great for the same uninhibited, unconfined reasons, and because I finally feel like I'm gaining some traction with my mentee, J--. It took some time to get a groove going, to find something that really made him light up, but as it turns out, he's a budding artist. I've been scouring my bookshelves and the library and bookstores, finding graphic novels and comic books for kids. It felt so nice to just. read. with him... we read the clever and adorable Sticky Burr together this afternoon. J-- is usually the main character and I do a variety of ridiculous voices as the rest of the cast of characters. I think hearing me act a fool and have fun with the voices helps him loosen up and read with some expression, too.
It felt great to be unbound by Teaching Points, conference notes, and other TC protocol, and not have to interrupt the enjoyment of the story with strategy-talk. I boosted him along when he got stuck and, like, gave him some helpful hints and all, but I didn't have to make a big DEAL out of it, which you kind of do in an official TC-style One-on-One Reading Conference. What I was doing was helping him learn to read for pleasure and enjoyment, which is what I think he probably needs as a reader as much as decoding strategies or comprehension work. The payoff? With twenty minutes to go I asked if he wanted to stop and work on his own comic, and he chose instead to finish the book with me. Score one for the teacher.
So yeah. Best part of teaching? Seizing the opportunities to not "let data drive my instruction," and instead, hitting cruise control and following my human instincts towards what my heart already knows kids need, but "data" has not yet gotten around to proving.
The irony of it is, the reason I wanted to be a teacher was because I love kids (and kind of am one, a large one). But as it happened, much of teaching turned out to be finding novel was to suppress their innate kidishness, to squelch their verve, straighten their kinks and quirks, extinguish their unpredictable flare-ups. I hadn't considered that part of my job description would be squishing them into dress shoes and uniforms and molding them into productive little societally-approved capitalist cogs. (Naturally I am doing my best to undermine the status quo, but these things take time. Progress is a slow but persistent whittle.)
It feels slightly profane to be systematically uprooting the very tendencies that define, in my mind, being a kid. Sitting still for long periods of time, keeping quiet when your brain lights up with an idea, keeping your hands to yourself, being orderly, slow and careful instead of wild, fast and carefree... none of these exactly fit with my (admittedly idealized) notion of childhood.
So it is refreshing when I get to do things that don't follow the prescribed architecture, when there is no script to follow or checklist of approved teaching behaviors. We took the kids on a bowling field trip yesterday, and although it had little to no educational value in my mind, it was so delightful to see them being loud and boisterous, jumping up and down, squealing and high-fiving with the triumph of a strike, and falling to the floor in the agony of a split. It felt so good not to "shush" them. It felt so good for sound and motion to be ok. And by the way, if you ever need a few chuckles, go and watch some shrimpy kids with almost no experience hurl bowling balls jubilantly, yet oh-so-ungracefully, down a greased lane toward some pins.
Today also, we celebrated the end of the biography and literary essay units. I was pleasantly surprised when the kids voted to celebrate their writing in our traditional way, simply by reading and writing compliments about each other's work... It was so gratifying to see evidence that they care about their writing (and each other's), that they're proud of it, that they've invested parts of themselves in it (as well any writer should, I just wasn't convinced it could really happen for 28 pre-pubescent balls of id).
Out of context, if you suggested to an average 10-year old, hey, how would you like to read five or six literary essays in a row? I can't imagine they would respond with much enthusiasm. But here they were, racing each other and elbowing one another out of the way to get to a particular writer's piece first, effortlessly quiet and fully engaged for at least a half hour or more. Cha-ching!
To celebrate reading, we made comic-book biographies of either our own lives or a friend's, or someone they learned about in their reading. D-- made one about me! Quite good, actually. Many of them chose autobiographies. It was so fascinating to peer into their lives through these little windows, to be privy to their defining moments thus far. Moving to India and back, immigration stories, traumatic accidents, the death of a father meaning a switch from a private Bengali performing arts school to public school... it was facinating and gratifying to have a chance to know them as something other than their reading level or math ability, to find out what has been important to them as people... I was thinking, if I could do things MY way, this is much closer to what I'd want it to be like every day.
And then there was Pretzel Club, which felt great for the same uninhibited, unconfined reasons, and because I finally feel like I'm gaining some traction with my mentee, J--. It took some time to get a groove going, to find something that really made him light up, but as it turns out, he's a budding artist. I've been scouring my bookshelves and the library and bookstores, finding graphic novels and comic books for kids. It felt so nice to just. read. with him... we read the clever and adorable Sticky Burr together this afternoon. J-- is usually the main character and I do a variety of ridiculous voices as the rest of the cast of characters. I think hearing me act a fool and have fun with the voices helps him loosen up and read with some expression, too.
It felt great to be unbound by Teaching Points, conference notes, and other TC protocol, and not have to interrupt the enjoyment of the story with strategy-talk. I boosted him along when he got stuck and, like, gave him some helpful hints and all, but I didn't have to make a big DEAL out of it, which you kind of do in an official TC-style One-on-One Reading Conference. What I was doing was helping him learn to read for pleasure and enjoyment, which is what I think he probably needs as a reader as much as decoding strategies or comprehension work. The payoff? With twenty minutes to go I asked if he wanted to stop and work on his own comic, and he chose instead to finish the book with me. Score one for the teacher.
So yeah. Best part of teaching? Seizing the opportunities to not "let data drive my instruction," and instead, hitting cruise control and following my human instincts towards what my heart already knows kids need, but "data" has not yet gotten around to proving.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)