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And the Oscar goes to…

oscar-the-grouchThe Movie-in-a-Minute three-day blitz of movie making was successful. The best and worst of personalities came to light: the divas, dignitaries, and documentarians did their best. There were production over-runs, technical and emotional meltdowns, but I’ll be darned – they all completed it. Every single kid. And cared about it, too, and were worried and anxious if it didn’t seem like it was going to get done!

Now, I’m scratching my head. I told them this wasn’t graded. Why did they all do it, and do a really good job, and recognize where improvement is needed with honesty and accuracy? We teachers all know about motivation and engagement, but again I ponder – what have we been doing to kids? I asked one young lad, who has been having a lot of discipline issues over the past few months, why? Was he so afraid of failing that he just wouldn’t do anything? I am not kidding – he asked me if that was a trick question. Another student had to translate it for him. He wasn’t sure. He thought teachers just had it “in for him” and that’s why over time he just stopped doing assignments.

Now, I can’t make everything un-assessed (is that a word?). That’s not realistic for life. But for those of us who not only met the rubrics and mattrices of the world, but SOUGHT them, to measure our worth and value against them (yes, fellow over-achievers, I’m looking at you), what does this mean for many of our students who not only do not seek these measurement tools, but buck and fold beneath their weight? How can I tell them that most of the time, these measurements are just bloated, full of hot air, puffed up monsters?

I was very emotional last night over some small mistakes over a recent assessment I’ve taken. I mean, I was distraught. My husband for the umpteenth time had to remind me it’s a missile I’ve fired, fireworks that have been launched, and keys in the lava…baby, it’s GONE. And then all of a sudden, enter Miss Epiphany….NONE OF THE MISTAKES I MADE HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH HOW I AM AS A TEACHER. Not. A. Single. One.

So–perhaps we can let our students know–none of the mistakes you make have anything to do with you, either. They’re just a way to learn. They’re your mistakes, along with your successes. Both teach us. But who we are, well – that’s for you to measure.

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Movie-in-a-minute

movie clapboardWhat does one do with a flirtatious, frisky, and fidgety group of 8th grade students?

Well, what would Spielberg do?

He would make a movie, that’s what.

So, the challenge: In three days’ time, form a production company, write a script, cast parts, rehearse, film, edit, and post a one-minute film.

But it can’t be just some advant-garde staring-at-a-blank-wall-because-I’m-so-darned-full-of ennui-thing. Oh, contraire, Pierre! Zat ees not sineemah! It must have EXPOSITION! CONFLICT! RISING ACTIONS! CLIMAX! And, of course, a serving of resolution and dénouement, YOU! So far, so good. Aside from a few teachers understandably and respectfully requesting the enthusiastic filmmakers quiet their oeuvres,production seemed to run fairly smoothly. From what I can tell, we’re going to run the gamut; everything from re-enactments, documentaries, random dancing, saloon brawls, you name it. It’s going to be grand.

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Killing mockingbirds in secret gardens: Or, how books kick our fannies. (And Sammy Sosa, too.)

This is every teachers’ dream (or it should be): a student comes up to me this morning, and hands me back my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, telling me it “won.” He couldn’t finish it. He said he had to keep flipping back to the beginning to remember what was going on. He wasn’t assigned this book per se; it was intended for a novel project we’re working on over many weeks. He just had to find a ‘classic.’ He tried TKAM.  This particular student has enjoyed some notoriety of being the ‘smart one’ in his group. And for him to a. Remember to bring me back my book after a shortened spring break and b. Having attempted to read it, waved the white flag is remarkable. You’re thinking right now: Why is Mrs. Love happy about that? A kid gave up! He didn’t demonstrate stamina, or perseverance! But, he did do something I’ve been all about all…year…long:

meta-cognition

The ability to think about our thinking.

I shared with our young reader a shorter version of this tale: When I was around 8 or 9, my beloved great-grandmother Rushie, a fellow bibliophile, gave me a copy of The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I had a very high reading level, so the text itself wasn’t problematic. But when I began the novel, it tasted like bitter collard greens. What? She’s in India? Her parents died? She has NANNIES? And who is the little sick kid, and why does he whine so much? I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Rushie would give me something so boring and weird, but was conflicted because I loved her, and normally her gifts of books were big hits. (She also smelled of menthol cigarettes, book pages, and Avon lotion. I’m getting a little weepy just thinking about it. I miss you, Rushie!) Flash forward a few years, and I mean a few – I’m about 10. I have nothing else to read, and with a mixture of trust and boredom, pick up The Secret Garden again. Oh! I get it! I GET IT! This little bitter, sour girl warms and grows like a garden! They all learn to trust! They have friendship and warmth! And even death cannot conquer hope, and life! What a difference a few years make. Developmentally I may have been able to define words and read them with robotic fluency,

The Secret Garden

but I didn’t have the slight edge of life experience yet to appreciate or relate to the nuances of character, setting, mood, and conflict. I loved The Phantom Tollbooth when I was 10, too, but probably wouldn’t have understood the jokes at 8 either. I will never forget how intrinsically proud I was of myself for trying again, and being so greatly rewarded with a book such as The Secret Garden. I made this young man promise me at some point in the future, he would put up Mockingbird again, and he gave me his word.

The bigger “meta” in all this is WHAT IN THE NAME OF FRANCES HODGES BURNETT ARE WE DOING TO STUDENTS? There are two things I want to put out there for consideration:

1. Please don’t raise the bar so high, so developmentally inappropriate that a child has no hope in succeeding.

2. Please don’t give children a sense of false self-esteem that they believe all they have to do is show up and receive a reward. This goes for students of poverty and privilege: guilt feeds inauthentic self-esteems of poverty, and entitlement feeds the hubris of privilege.

 It’s a balancing act, folks. Getting rid of all drill and direct instruction is no more appropriate than just having children talk about how they “feel”about the number seven. You are all expert teachers and educators, right? So, do you know when a text is kicking your students’ fannies? Better yet, have you taught them how to recognize when THEY are in trouble, so they can readjust? And for the love of Twain don’t tell them just to re-read it. Case in point: today in reading group we’re reading a story about Sammy Sosa. I know the rudimentary basics of baseball. My small group of students knew less than I did. There was one pun in the story, “Sammy left the ring for the dimond.” Hardy-har-har- that was in reference to when Sammy went from a boxing RING to the baseball DIAMOND. Okay. Check. My background knowledge is secure in those. But then there was another question: How would you list some of the mistakes he made? And one of the answers had to do with “cutoff man.” What? Does he wear jean shorts? Does he sweep-kick players when the ref, um, I mean umpire, isn’t looking? So, it’s almost the end of class, and I’m tired. I was flipping through the glossary, and there, is a definition for cutoff man. Hey kids, you know what, I got in trouble here with my understanding of how to answer this question – work with me here. So we had a mock baseball game in the class. I was Sammy Sosa, of course, working the in-field, and having to make a judgement about who to throw the ball to. It all made perfect sense. I told everyone then to remember next time they read something they don’t understand – act it out, say it out, think it out. It takes practice, and time. But if we really want to give our students access, we need to check in with them from time to time. Don’t let it slide by. Be their cutoff man. Because not everyone can have a Rushie.

 

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Top Ten Reasons Why I Love My Job:

Rockwell painting Teacher Class

10. Standards and the structure and mandates of the state and Federal governments are really not all that bad, in fact, many of the standards, assessments, resources, and curriculum support have a lot of heart and soul, and their intent is really to prepare kids for life.

9. Collegial relationships: The professional relationships and collaboration I have enjoyed buoys my teaching spirit.

8. My classroom: I have a lot of creative control in designing the interior of my classroom. I have books, posters, quotes, and a collection of Archie McPhee’s novelty items that would be the envy of any clown. I recently asked an insurance agent how much it would be to cover loss and damages of rubber chickens. He said he’d get back to me.

7. Books, book, books: I love to read. And I have a job that basically pays me to read, and help others read, too. Whoa.

6. My family life: I know many of you would make this a much higher reason why you love teaching; don’t misunderstand me, when my family life is chaotic or messy, it can sometimes bleed over to my classroom. (I try diligently not to let that happen, though.) The teaching day and year is designed to give everyone opportunities for “life experiences” too. This does not mean to say that it won’t change–many schools are changing the agricultural model of starting school in fall, and ending in late spring/early summer. We all know we don’t have fields to harvest (well, most of us don’t–the big companies have taken over that one for us). However, we all need a mental and physical break–students included. I often use these breaks to develop new units/curriculum, read books that I think my students will also like, and attend writing workshops. But I also spend time with my own family, and support their endeavors. That’s priceless.

5. Perpetual learning: I attended the Puget Sound Writing Project invitational last summer, part of the National Writing Project. That means I get to hang out with some really, smart, creative people. No sarcasm here: I am living the dream!

4. Reading, Writing, Thinking, Communicating: My favorite things, all day!

3. Autonomy: I take it has a positive challenge to develop and create curriculum that helps my students learn, and I have a lot of say in how this is done. I am trusted and supported by administration, because I have demonstrated that I care, I know, and I am dedicated.

2. Creativity: This ties in with number 3: I get to use my creative skills to well, create! I’m off the charts with this one.

1. My students – well, duh!

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Resourceful.

Vintage Cowboy BootsI confess: sometimes I just want things handed to me, silver platter optional. No scrimping, saving, sawbucks or stinginess. Just spend-thriftiness. 

Recently, an esteemed colleague dispatched a plea requesting two pairs of used cowboy boots, sizes 11 and 12, for the run of a play. (She designs costumes, and is darn good at it.) She sent this missive on Saturday, the beginning of our shortened Spring Break, and lo and behold, received in abundance her request by the following Monday. Cynical me thought she might have to ask again, because not many people check their emails over the weekend, much less breaks, and certainly not during a shortened break, where teachers would be regrouping, reorganizing, and reaffirming as much as possible in the truncated time.

Admittedly, when making requests, my charm has not curried as much favor. I used to be charming. People used to like me. But I rarely ask anymore. I don’t want to be told “no.” It’s demoralizing and embarrassing. It’s made somewhat a Gollum out of me, “my precious…”

I understand and appreciate there are bigger issues at stake than what’s happening in my little swampy pond. Due to budget shortfalls, many districts are sending out surveys to communities requesting everyone make some tough choices (to me, it’s kind of like asking which little finger do you want chopped off, the left or the right?).

If I choose to buy pencils and composition books for all of my students, and then replace them as needed, that’s my choice. It’s not up to anyone to help out. When I choose to sweep and clean my own room because of budget cuts, it’s because providing a clean space for my day and my students is my priority, no one else.

Teachers are some of the most resourceful, creative, and innovative folks out there. We all roll up our shirt sleeves and lend a hand, if we can. It’s time to not only include them in the conversation, but perhaps actually listen. I can see how the divide happens, though. Teachers’ voices and opinions are often treated like children’s voices and opinions. Perhaps it’s that we never stop asking for things. Man, that must get old! We want smaller class sizes, we want to be paid a living wage, we want supplies for our students, blah blah blah. Our rooms are too hot, too cold, stepped on a rock, sun’s in my eyes! Oh, and does anyone have any shoeboxes? Soda pop cans? Collect all of the pencils after the test. Use department money to buy Post-Its. How much is my student loan payment again? How long can I get a deferment so I can stock up on pencils and composition books? (On that note: those composition books were the best investment I have made–no batteries that die, no lost chargers, no lost data.)

What’s my point? I don’t have one. I really don’t. I’m just being unattractive, but really–not ungrateful. Just because I admit that I want to be a spoiled, entitled brat sometimes doesn’t make me a bad person. I’m just being honest. But that’s a ‘be careful what I wish for’ kind of thing. I do appreciate the gifts and ‘just in time’ needs that are met when it’s thrown out there to the tribe. It takes the contrast of emotions to value the valuable.

On the last day of break, I’m off to Target to buy more composition books and pencils, my precious.