It’s a journey I propose
Friday was orientation.
It was a get-to-know you kind of day with a lot of name exchanges. We talked about the program, it’s structure and met with the work group I’ll be primarily matched with for the summer. A good group of folks. I’m excited about all the prospects, or as a friend once said, the fluttering of possibilities. They are everywhere.
In an especially Berkeley moment, the director of our program read from a Nikki Giovanni poem, from the book Those Who Ride the Night Wind.
I liked it and wanted to share.
It’s a journey that I propose.
I have heard from previous visitors
the road washes out sometimes
and passengers are compelled
to continue going or turn back.
I am not afraid.
I am not afraid of rough spots
or lonely times.
I don’t fear the success of this endeavor.
I promise you nothing.
I accept your promise of the same.
We are simply riding a wave
that may carry or crash.
It’s a journey
and I want
to go.
- Jeff
Play with words
Many of my best ideas are not my own.
Teachers, as it goes, are thieves. We borrow and steal ideas – attributing them when it’s fitting and modifying them to be our own when it’s working. Then, when it makes sense, we share what works and it becomes part of our collective practice.
Through my three years teaching, I’ve taken a lot. Paying close attention to my mentors and their classrooms, my ears perk up when I hear a good idea. Familiar with the ins and outs of a middle school classroom (at my school, anyway), I can tell what will work and won’t. I pass on the ideas that seem short term and artificial, knowing my students will ignore it or feel limited by its use.
But when I hear an idea that stands out, you’ll see me writing it down for later reference and, after some deliberation and forethought, making it happen. Everything is an experiment. Sometimes it works like I imagine, other times it fails - unsalvageable. But most often, it just needs some adjustment to work for me and my students.
Such was the case with a recent acquisition. It was an idea I heard during my first year teaching, but it took a while to integrate into my classroom. It required space and some front-loaded time and patience to create. Like the refrigerator magnet poetry that made its way into every college dorm/20-something’s kitchen in the 90′s, this was an attempt to make words, and putting them together, fun.
At this age, a student’s vocabulary is expanding at the rate of nearly 7 new words a day. They aren’t writing these words down or repeating them in new sentences. They are hearing them used in dialogue, without definition. My school learning group recently read an article that made clear “people develop vocabulary effectively and almost effortlessly as long as they see words in meaningful contexts.” Adopting a more robust vocabulary is not something that needs to be done through repetition (although that might work at first).
Based in this research, most schools require teachers to post their content words in the classroom. Called a “word wall,” this space is meant to expose students to vocabulary that fills their classroom discussions. These word walls are usually bland things, written on index cards and stapled to the wall. So in an effort to accomodate my school’s word wall requirement, and add a level of meaning (and even fun) to the process, I took on this new idea.
The picture really tells it all. Basically, white index cards are cut to size for a variety of general and commonly used words and conjunctions. Once the common words are ready, just apply magnetic tape (get a role from a craft store for $2.99). Then, as your vocabulary list grows, just add colored index cards, cut to size, with the new words written on them. Suddenly, you have a life size word wall, fit for a kitchen fridge but applied to a classroom whiteboard.
I call it Playing with Words, and the kids love it. During the morning free time or after a test is done, or when I need a kid to refocus, they get to play. Some of the sentences are poorly crafted, others just plain inappropriate. Every now and then, though, I notice a new sentence and it makes my day.
It was a great idea that I took and made a reality and I’m glad I did. On a small scale, it made the words we use in class more accesible and fun.
By now, you’ve decided if this idea is something you like. If you do, take it. You can steal it, change it, try it and scrap it. Then share it.
- Jeff
Oprah baby
At some point during Oprah’s recent farewell saga, my mom sent me a text message.
“You’re an Oprah baby.”
It was one of those moments when my head actually pivoted, turning to the side. Huh? Perhaps her comma was missing.
“You’re an Oprah, baby.”
Maybe she had adopted Oprah’s name as a new brand of person. I was going to be the equivalent of Oprah one day? The thought has passed my mind a few times, so why not? But this was unlikely.
Then, in a matter of moments (it came and went quickly) I clung to the reality that perhaps my mother was, in fact, Oprah.
But alas, I was wrong on all counts. It didn’t take long to realize what she meant. Oprah’s first season on the air was the year I was born. The Oprah show followed soon after, on September 8th, just a few days before my birthday.
Aligning stars aside, my relationship with Oprah is strong. Anyone who knows me knows this. They can attest to my ongoing defense of her antics, my special edition DVD of her 20th anniversary (which, I might add, many people have borrowed over the years), and my fond recollection of her advice. I love her. I just do. I mean, I’m not alone, so it’s not as if I’m novel or anything. I just happened to develop a strong rapport with a television personality who happens to be really charismatic. Not out of the ordinary.
As a young kid growing up, I watched Oprah on a daily basis, coming home from school and hearing her listen to people’s stories, sometimes giving advice, but often just listening. I think I learned a lot from her. Empathy, compassion, emotional intelligence. She, along with my family, gave me a solid footing when it came to relationships with people. I saw people’s mistakes and triumphs on television and understood the importance of what she was doing for those people, and for me.
I was exposed to people’s stories from a young age and didn’t seem so surprised when the reality of adolescence set in. Divorce, poverty, coming out. All these challenges, wherever I saw them, were not unfamiliar or isolating. I had seen them all before and knew I was not alone in facing them. And that’s gotta be her appeal for most people. She made connections when we often are forced to do it alone, or not at all. For all that, I’m grateful she exists. Like many historical figures of importance, Oprah isn’t perfect or alway right or a saint but I can take from her what is useful and leave the rest.
I haven’t watched her show in years. Since college, she has become just a portrait or headline, usually accompanied by a story about her give-aways or proclamations. But despite this distance, she has remained relevant.
I think of her, among others, whenever I’m faced with challenges. How would Oprah handle this? How would she react? I don’t really know, and don’t really care. I find the fact I’m even asking the question means I’m on the right track. If Oprah inspired anything in me, it was to think, to consider, to ponder.
- Jeff
Four weeks and the next four years
We just finished our annual round of state tests in reading, math, science and writing. It was four weeks worth of proctoring and silence. On the days they felt restless and were searching for some purpose to their task, I tried to minimize the tests as something unimportant. I told them these tests don’t define them – that their scores, if believed to be a reflection of themselves, would just limit them.
But as much as I don’t want to care about these tests, I have to. The undeniable truth is that they have an enormous effect on my student’s educational trajectory – influencing their lives in ways that will have a long-term impact on the choices available to them so that they can determine their own life outcomes.
I’m not being dramatic. Unlike my educational upbringing, my students have to navigate a complicated system of schooling that includes a variety of options: charter schools, public magnet schools, neighborhood schools and the quickly-growing popularity of cyber school. For my students, these tests can mean the difference between attending a high-functioning, challenging and safe school or a crappy one. The truth of the matter is that many of Philadelphia’s best schools have requirements based on these tests.
I have one student, Brooks, who I have no doubt could be dropped in college and hold his own. He is bright, articulate, curious and really tall. At 6’3’’ Brooks carries himself like an adult, and people treat him like one. Despite this, I still think he should go to high school, but the point remains: he belongs at a school that will provide him the rigor he needs to stay stimulated and on the path to college.
His dream school, a place called Central – a high-profile high school that dominates as a pretty kick-ass institution – denied him admission based on his test scores. In a letter to his family, they cited his proficiency in reading as the criteria that barred him from making the cut. He was not advanced (the highest category). Granted, this is a competitive process with other variables involved. Attendance, grades over time, recommendations, interviews, visits – they all play a role. I don’t doubt that Central took time choosing their students and that it was likely a painful process. I’m sure that they believe Brooks will end up at another great high school near by. There are others, after all.
But what if he doesn’t? What if he ends up somewhere that will neglect his talents and drive? Someplace that sees his height as his strength rather than his mind? I hold onto a lot of hope that wherever he ends up, he will thrive. He’s been in hard situations before, so I’m sure he will adapt and find a path all his own. But I have 60 other 8th graders who are navigating the same system and having an equally hard time. They don’t have Brooks’ test scores or grades or charisma. So where are they going to end up?
I’ve spent that last few weeks writing letters of recommendation, calling charter schools to get information about lottery dates, emailing the district to get updates on their status, and feeling completely overwhelmed. How are families, and my kids, expected to figure all this out on their own? And how can I possibly try to convince my students that these tests don’t define them. It’s one thing to be optimistic, and it’s quite another to lie. These tests are important. Very, very important.
But they are only important because we’ve attached to them some very real consequences. The future of students like Brooks depends on these tests, plain and simple. More than a barometer of how much he has learned, these tests serve as a predictor of where and how much he will learn.
- Jeff
Amen
I took my students on our World Religions Tour field trip yesterday. We visited a Mosque, Synagogue and Buddhist Temple. It was, as it was last time, the best day all year.
The boys wore yamakas and everyone took off their shoes in the mosque and the temple.
They sat on pillows to meditate but started laughing half way through because they all don’t know how to concentrate yet.
They touched the Torah, which we all learned is made of animal skin.
Then they ate a kosher lunch and really liked it but they all wanted more cookies so I snuck my cookies to the kids with the best sad puppy eyes.
They sat on a giant prayer rug and watched one of their Muslim classmates demonstrate the prayer.
All the while recording their observations and asking questions like, “is it acceptable to marry more than one woman?” as they shattered stereotypes and cleared up misconceptions.
And the whole time they sat still, in suspension, not because we told them to, or threatened them with some consequence, or yelled. They sat there because all they wanted to do was learn something about something which they knew nothing about.
By the end of the day, what was foreign or maybe would have been called strange or weird, or even stupid – what might have caused confusion or fear, or worse yet, but all too common, hatred – was now all too improbable because the unknown was now a little less mysterious.
Which means the next time they see a Buddha in a Chinese restaurant or talk to a woman in a hijab who won’t at first look them in the eye or notice a little hat on the crown of a bearded man’s head, they won’t say “that’s weird,” or ask “why would someone do that?”
They will just know what it is. Or they will be brave enough to say, “Hi, I’ve got a question.”
And the wall that once separated them will have become a bridge, and they will, being the curious, spontaneous, brilliant people they are, walk across.
- Jeff
Unplanning the lesson plan
I write lesson plans every weekend. It takes about 2 hours to plan for 5 days, 2 preps a day = 10 unique lessons total. Mind you that’s just the plan. Then I have to create the stuff that makes the learning happen; the worksheets, the passages, the activities, the homework, the research, the assessments. It’s a process, but I actually enjoy it. I get to exercise my imagination in new ways on a weekly basis. With my students, there are few limits to what I can try – so even the risks aren’t as risky as they seem.
Every lesson starts with an objective – the learning goal we’ve got laid out beforehand – and you go from there. But sometimes, all that planning goes out the window. I’m starting to think it might be better that way.
Today, we were reading our most recent History Book Club novel, Does This Make My Head Look Big? and identifying examples of conflict. We got to a part when the characters (16 year old girls in high school) were impersonating one of their teachers. I looked around and they were all in it. They were in the story and reading and loving it. And it was 2:30 on a Friday and my room was kind of hot and muggy and I’m sure all that was on their mind was the weekend ahead. But they were reading with me – choosing to read with me. So we stopped reading.
And for the next 15 minutes they took turns impersonating their teachers.
For 15 minutes today, my students weren’t reading. They were characters in a book. Couldn’t have seen that coming and I sure didn’t write that in a lesson. But damnit it was the best teaching I’d done all week.
- Jeff
When it snows
With the inclement weather as of late, I’ve heard a lot of talk about how we teachers react to snow days. Personally, I love ‘em. I can’t imagine not loving them. Any constraint I might show at the announcement (or anticipation) of a snow day might cause some serious medical problems. Instead, I scream and shout and – for the 5 minutes following the news – get a little crazy. If I had hair to let, I’d let it all down.
But that’s just me. I have no doubt that there are others out there (teachers, leaders, even students and certainly parents) who aren’t as joyous. They have their reasons: students need to learn, we don’t want a longer school year, where am I going to find a sitter at this hour? Fine reasons, indeed. Worthy of attention and thought and reflection, these concerns are real and, to an extent, I share them.
Take for example the fear that our students are not learning today. First of all, I think it’s awfully presumptive of you to think they can’t learn without you. They are totally learning. They are exploring their neighborhoods and homes during times when they usually are tucked away in classrooms, behind books and indoors. They are interacting with people and spending time with family who they really don’t see that much during the week. It’s awesome. They will probably get into fights and resolve them. They are probably watching a daytime talk show that’s about some interesting dilemma. They are probably making their own snacks and lunch with what they can find in the fridge and cupboard. Sure there’s no accountability or word walls where they are right now, but there’s definitely something happening. It sounds like I’m making excuses, but I’ve got to believe this isn’t time wasted.
I could even see myself, thought – on something like the tenth consecutive snow day – getting a bit agitated. But today, right now, on our third snow day of the year, I feel relief. The largest contributing factor of that relief is that we, as teachers, work really hard. I find myself exhausted on a daily basis, and not because I don’t take care of myself or manage my time. In fact, I’ve got a pretty balanced life. Yet, the energy output during the school day is such that I return home completely deflated, emotionally drained and ready for a quiet night akin to what old men do in retirement. That is my reality. And so when I get news of the possibility of more rest, it’s satisfying. It has nothing to do with a hatred of my job. It’s not that I don’t want to be at school. It’s that I want to be at home. I suppose those are related, but I posit the relationship is more complicated than we make it.
Let’s not be confused: when I shout for joy it’s not because I hate my job. It’s because I love myself.
With that said, I hear there’s a snow storm coming on Wednesday.
- Jeff
Submit
I’ve been at this now for a few months – this planning for my future, trying to gauge the best next step. I always assumed there had to be a next step. In reality, I could be pretty happy where I am for a while longer. But it wouldn’t be what I want, and I’ve gotten in the habit of going for what I want.
And contrary to popular belief, I don’t always get what I want. In the last year alone I’ve been rejected from five different organizations. And every time, I walk away with a little bit of doubt. That maybe I’ve run my course, that I’m not as stellar as I’d like them to believe, that I don’t know anyone on the inside, so I might as well just stay put.
But fuck that shit. I’m not staying. I want something to grow into – that’s the way it’s always been. I feel like I’ve never been ready for what I get myself into, but I always end up figuring it out and then growing up into something else. Well, I’ve only been teaching for three years, but I’m getting that itch.
After months of writing and listening and thinking, I just submitted my last application. I want to learn what it means to be a leader at a school. And then I want to do it. Whoever lets me won’t regret it.
I just hope I’ve convinced them.
- Jeff
In case you’re wondering, my potential next steps:
Columbia, Summer Principal’s Academy
Visualizing the oil
I’ve been reading a lot about the BP oil spill lately, and crossed this website, which is helping people like me and you visualize the size and scope of the spill itself. It uses data about the spill’s breadth and maps it onto the zip code you choose using google maps. It offers a fresh perspective. Take a look for yourself.
- Jeff
1891
I’m an observant person. I tend to notice things when they are changed. Come in my room and move a few things, a book or a frame’s angle, and I’ll probably say something to myself. Something like, “that looks different.” Anyway, there’s something I’ve noticed a lot lately and I just have to say something about it.
I was updating a profile for an online purchase and had to input the usual personal info they ask for when you update things like that. Name, sex, birthdate, etc. And I noticed something funny about the birthday years.
Then, earlier today I was making a purchase on Southwest.com and noticed it again.
So I checked facebook and there it was.
All different. And without an explanation I can fathom.
You see, all these sites provide varied years that you can choose as your actual year of birth. The 12 month, 31 day option is standard, but it’s all up in the air when you click and scroll down to choose a year.
Southwest, for example:
1891. Weird, huh? Then I got to thinking, maybe they base it on the oldest person alive. That way, their options would be inclusive of all people on earth. Makes sense. Well, made sense to me.
So, naturally, I looked up the oldest person in the world. And they were not born in 1891. They were born in 1896. Her name is Eugenie Blanchard and she lives in France. I swear.
Maybe Southwest is just really making sure not to leave anyone out. Then again, that 5 year gap between the oldest living person and the 1891 scroll down option might just be for the hell of it.
To make things more complicated, I checked facebook. Their cutoff, to my surprise, was 1900. Now, the century-mark makes more sense than 1891, but then again, they’re leaving some folks out. No matter their reasons (it’s probably up to the engineer who makes the software), I’ll never stop wondering, or scrolling down to check each time I enter my birthdate. It will haunt me as a habit until I die.
And I can’t help but feel kinda bad for Eugenie. She can never have a real facebook account. She can fly, though, and that is something.
- Jeff
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