In order to review literary devices with my students we read Sandra Cisneros' short story "Eleven." It's the protagonist Rachel's eleventh birthday, but her day doesn't go as planned when the teacher makes her put on an old red sweater that isn't hers. Cisneros captures the flexibility of age, how just when we believe we've arrived at a particular age we bounce back to years before. In the story Rachel reverts to about three years old when she cries in front of her class, except she is clearly mature at the same time because she is able to recognize that she is not "acting her age."
The class always enjoys this story and it allows me to become more real to my students when I tell them that every once in a while they will catch me acting like a twelve year old. Like Rachel, I can see that I've slipped and will acknowledge that mistake. For example, I have a lovely student who is extremely outgoing and always willing to volunteer. She's the first to put her hand up and call out answers. Since I'm always trying to get more voices out in the classroom and hoping that others will share too, I sometimes have to ask her to wait (not unlike the time in college when my beloved professor silenced me by saying, "We know Sylvia has the answer, but let's hear from someone else"). My student not only puts her hand way up in the air and rises from her chair but calls out, "ooh ooh, ooh ooh" and waves her fingers at me. Well, the other day I slipped back in time and said, "I think it's funny how you always say ooh ooh, like it's gross." I said this in front of the class and thought nothing of it, until I heard her say under her breath, "That was rude." Thankfully, I recognized my mistake and later I pulled her aside and apologized. From all appearances on her part, I have been forgiven.
To anyone who thinks relationships are challenging, try maintaining 90 student-teacher relationships plus 18 colleague relationships with integrity, compassion, and love. It is no wonder I often feel like a therapist, but also need to visit one.
But back to the story of "Eleven." One of the devices I had students searching for in the short story was alliteration. Many of them struggled with the pronunciation of the word alliteration, but most of them were able to identify it, especially in Cisneros' work since her stories are simply poetry in disguise. My favorite moment of the day's class, however, was when a confident young woman said, "Ms. Barrett, there are lots of alligators in this story!"
A collective pause ensued as we all pieced together what she meant.
"Alligators? Do you mean alliteration?"
We all had a good laugh, not at the expense of the student but the play of language and the alliterating alligator, as if we were all eleven together, enjoying a children's book during story time.
Showing posts with label patterns of participation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patterns of participation. Show all posts
10 October 2009
03 October 2005
It is a question of survival
The only way to survive the first year of teaching is to find a supportive network of other teachers. I'm here now at the home of three of those supportive teachers for dinner, a little respite before we all head to our respective rooms for another two to three hours of work before bed. As I was leaving work today, one of my students was in the hallway still at school because he'd been on the courtyard playing basketball. He said, "You're leaving already?" It was after 5:00 p.m. and I'd been there since 7:15 a.m. In my head I thought, "Don't be a martyr, just smile and say yes." But what came out was, "Yep, I'm finally heading home to do some more work." He was surprised and I made my point, but I don't want to be the kind of teacher that makes my hard work the burden of my students.
These blogs are challenging. On my twenty to thirty minute drive home I recount the day and think about the critical incidents. Everything feels significant. It is hard for me to think past the severely difficult moment or, on the opposite side of the spectrum, the moments that made me smile (like the impromptu debate over whether there is such a thing as love at first sight that my afternoon students jumped into). There is always so much to say, but some of it probably doesn't need to be said. This morning the principal told me she appreciates my insights on individual students. In the last few weeks with the whole staff I've raised specific concerns about individual students that speak to big picture issues at our school. I would not be as in tune to those issues without these writings. She told me that the other ninth grade teachers are struggling too, and they are veterans with close to thirty years of experience between them. She said my "compassion index" is high. One of my mentors has pointed out that I hear things others miss and consider things deeply, but hearing this from someone who doesn't know me as well seems to confirm this. Later, the principal told the visiting superintendent that I was really reflective and capable of looking at individuals within a larger frame. She said, "She's going to make it." That's how tough this is, that we have to talk about it as if it were a terminal illness. Even with these feathers in my cap, by lunch I was in the staff bathroom considering the idea of never letting myself out. Another teacher came in and I said, "I'm thinking about hiding," and then the tears almost unleashed themselves. This is just too much, too hard, too sad.
But beyond me, what is critical? What do I need to write? Where will I find this research question I'm trying to stumble upon? Today in my attempt to bridge modern slang to Shakespeare, we got into a "discussion" about the dynamic nature of language. I was setting up an activity where students would brainstorm current slang words for categories like "sex," "being intoxicated," "someone good looking," etc. This was something I borrowed from a teacher with forty years of experience and saw it work successfully. But just before sending them off to make their lists, I decided to ask someone to define slang. I turned to a young woman who I know has only been in the U.S. for one year. She is fully literate in Spanish and way above grade level reading in her own language. She is doing well in my class, but it is clearly a big challenge for her to keep up and ego-deflating to go from writing sophisticated Spanish poetry to stumbling through English. We have talked to each other in both Spanish and English and I've checked in with her on the phone. I know that she is not confident yet with her spoken English. I know even more so that she is not likely to know how to define slang. As soon as I asked her in front of the class to explain slang I regretted it. My regret was underscored by a call out from one of her peers, the same young man who just called me racist the other day. He said, "Why you ask her? She barely knows what you are saying!" But she knew. She gasped out, "Hey," and the look on her face told me she knew exactly what he had said about her. I immediately jumped on it and said, "You should be supportive of her. She is trying very hard and doing well. You know how hard it is to learn English." I don't know what else I said, but I have a sense I made it worse. I think I asked him to apologize to her and he refused saying he didn't mean it as an insult. In the meantime, my young Salvadoran started to cry and then hide behind her Sponge Bob backpack while a few of the girls went over to comfort her. I called the young man into the hallway and he told me that he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings but was trying to tell me not to ask her the question because she couldn't answer it. It was a triangle of misunderstandings. Still, I encouraged him to apologize to her and he said he wouldn't because he'd meant no harm. I let it go, but inside the room as I was walking over to talk to her, I saw him apologize. Later, I went to her myself and said, "Tengo la culpa para preguntarte sobre esa palabra. Es una palabra deficil para todos. Lo siento." She seemed a little comforted.
What happened today is not the end of the world for my student or for me as her teacher, but it does remind me of the real value of the affective filter. I can do real damage by putting students on the spot who are not ready yet. But, it's a difficult balance. Some students will never answer unless called upon. Some students need to be pushed in order to challenge themselves. Maybe I was testing the waters with her, trying to see if the month she's been in high school had given her more confidence in her spoken English. More than ten of my students were gone today for CELDT testing (to be tested out of ELD status, to be labeled proficient English speakers in other words), and maybe I thought that with less students she would step forward. But I certainly asked her the wrong question and knew it as I was asking it.
This incident speaks to a larger issue I've written about before: patterns of verbal participation. Students are more likely to talk and participate in small groups, but my students are a wreck in groups. I can handle classroom chaos and yet group work with this class of students is impossible. Which brings me back to a much more traditional model of classroom instruction, one I don't like because it puts me in the middle of it. Kids rely on me to direct them instead of becoming the self-directed learners we all want them to be.
These blogs are challenging. On my twenty to thirty minute drive home I recount the day and think about the critical incidents. Everything feels significant. It is hard for me to think past the severely difficult moment or, on the opposite side of the spectrum, the moments that made me smile (like the impromptu debate over whether there is such a thing as love at first sight that my afternoon students jumped into). There is always so much to say, but some of it probably doesn't need to be said. This morning the principal told me she appreciates my insights on individual students. In the last few weeks with the whole staff I've raised specific concerns about individual students that speak to big picture issues at our school. I would not be as in tune to those issues without these writings. She told me that the other ninth grade teachers are struggling too, and they are veterans with close to thirty years of experience between them. She said my "compassion index" is high. One of my mentors has pointed out that I hear things others miss and consider things deeply, but hearing this from someone who doesn't know me as well seems to confirm this. Later, the principal told the visiting superintendent that I was really reflective and capable of looking at individuals within a larger frame. She said, "She's going to make it." That's how tough this is, that we have to talk about it as if it were a terminal illness. Even with these feathers in my cap, by lunch I was in the staff bathroom considering the idea of never letting myself out. Another teacher came in and I said, "I'm thinking about hiding," and then the tears almost unleashed themselves. This is just too much, too hard, too sad.
But beyond me, what is critical? What do I need to write? Where will I find this research question I'm trying to stumble upon? Today in my attempt to bridge modern slang to Shakespeare, we got into a "discussion" about the dynamic nature of language. I was setting up an activity where students would brainstorm current slang words for categories like "sex," "being intoxicated," "someone good looking," etc. This was something I borrowed from a teacher with forty years of experience and saw it work successfully. But just before sending them off to make their lists, I decided to ask someone to define slang. I turned to a young woman who I know has only been in the U.S. for one year. She is fully literate in Spanish and way above grade level reading in her own language. She is doing well in my class, but it is clearly a big challenge for her to keep up and ego-deflating to go from writing sophisticated Spanish poetry to stumbling through English. We have talked to each other in both Spanish and English and I've checked in with her on the phone. I know that she is not confident yet with her spoken English. I know even more so that she is not likely to know how to define slang. As soon as I asked her in front of the class to explain slang I regretted it. My regret was underscored by a call out from one of her peers, the same young man who just called me racist the other day. He said, "Why you ask her? She barely knows what you are saying!" But she knew. She gasped out, "Hey," and the look on her face told me she knew exactly what he had said about her. I immediately jumped on it and said, "You should be supportive of her. She is trying very hard and doing well. You know how hard it is to learn English." I don't know what else I said, but I have a sense I made it worse. I think I asked him to apologize to her and he refused saying he didn't mean it as an insult. In the meantime, my young Salvadoran started to cry and then hide behind her Sponge Bob backpack while a few of the girls went over to comfort her. I called the young man into the hallway and he told me that he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings but was trying to tell me not to ask her the question because she couldn't answer it. It was a triangle of misunderstandings. Still, I encouraged him to apologize to her and he said he wouldn't because he'd meant no harm. I let it go, but inside the room as I was walking over to talk to her, I saw him apologize. Later, I went to her myself and said, "Tengo la culpa para preguntarte sobre esa palabra. Es una palabra deficil para todos. Lo siento." She seemed a little comforted.
What happened today is not the end of the world for my student or for me as her teacher, but it does remind me of the real value of the affective filter. I can do real damage by putting students on the spot who are not ready yet. But, it's a difficult balance. Some students will never answer unless called upon. Some students need to be pushed in order to challenge themselves. Maybe I was testing the waters with her, trying to see if the month she's been in high school had given her more confidence in her spoken English. More than ten of my students were gone today for CELDT testing (to be tested out of ELD status, to be labeled proficient English speakers in other words), and maybe I thought that with less students she would step forward. But I certainly asked her the wrong question and knew it as I was asking it.
This incident speaks to a larger issue I've written about before: patterns of verbal participation. Students are more likely to talk and participate in small groups, but my students are a wreck in groups. I can handle classroom chaos and yet group work with this class of students is impossible. Which brings me back to a much more traditional model of classroom instruction, one I don't like because it puts me in the middle of it. Kids rely on me to direct them instead of becoming the self-directed learners we all want them to be.
19 September 2005
The "I don't know" syndrome.
How many students said, "I don't know" today? I don't know.
In the morning class there are about four students who regularly raise their hand to be called on, every time. There are about five more students who will respond if I call on them. The rest of the students, when I call on them say, "I don't know." At other points of the class there is a lot of calling out. The patterns of participation in my classroom are overly aggressive and passive. There is no in-between. In an attempt to establish an orderly classroom at the beginning, my teaching methods are becoming much more traditional than I find comfortable, and as a result traditional patterns of participation are occurring. I have tried cooperative group work, but it's not cooperative. Everything I try to do that doesn't fit the teacher-at-front model, is something that has worked well with tenth graders. Ninth graders are a whole different ball game. I managed to do some student-centered discussions in the ninth grade class I taught a year ago, but I'm realizing now that it worked perhaps only because I had eighteen, not thirty-two, students. I am struggling to find a model where students take turns, but do not talk only through me. I am tired of being the gatekeeper of conversation. More importantly I fear that I might actually be the teacher I repudiate in the opening of my "Teaching Philosophy" paper I submitted to my graduate program:
“'The unkindly spirit of the teacher is strikingly apparent; the pupils, being completely subjugated to her will, are silent and motionless, the spiritual atmosphere of the classroom is damp and chilly' (Zinn 257). In the alternative history A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn cites this classroom observation written by a journalist during the American Industrial Revolution. Education in America, as Zinn claimed, was initially an institution designed to subdue children of the working class to quiet obedience and eventually raise them into unquestioning adults. Education was not a place to encourage dissent, but rather a training ground for 'those who would be paid to keep the system going, to be loyal buffers against trouble'(257).
Even though much progress has been made in the field of education during the last 110 years, it’s no secret that many students and teachers alike still feel uninspired by school. But I believe it doesn’t need to be this way. I wish not to subjugate my students to the makings of calm, complacent, American citizens. Rather I aim to stir revolt in the soul, not a rebellion against this nation but a deep love for it, a love of its literature, landscape, and diversity. I believe that teachers have a responsibility to engage youth on a moral level, to ask them to seek out answers to society’s biggest problems. I believe the classroom should be a recurring, safe, and seminal locus of meaningful and explicit discussion about race, gender, sexuality, and language. Through these discussions, teachers should inspire students to question the status quo and decide for themselves the future of their country..."
In the morning class there are about four students who regularly raise their hand to be called on, every time. There are about five more students who will respond if I call on them. The rest of the students, when I call on them say, "I don't know." At other points of the class there is a lot of calling out. The patterns of participation in my classroom are overly aggressive and passive. There is no in-between. In an attempt to establish an orderly classroom at the beginning, my teaching methods are becoming much more traditional than I find comfortable, and as a result traditional patterns of participation are occurring. I have tried cooperative group work, but it's not cooperative. Everything I try to do that doesn't fit the teacher-at-front model, is something that has worked well with tenth graders. Ninth graders are a whole different ball game. I managed to do some student-centered discussions in the ninth grade class I taught a year ago, but I'm realizing now that it worked perhaps only because I had eighteen, not thirty-two, students. I am struggling to find a model where students take turns, but do not talk only through me. I am tired of being the gatekeeper of conversation. More importantly I fear that I might actually be the teacher I repudiate in the opening of my "Teaching Philosophy" paper I submitted to my graduate program:
“'The unkindly spirit of the teacher is strikingly apparent; the pupils, being completely subjugated to her will, are silent and motionless, the spiritual atmosphere of the classroom is damp and chilly' (Zinn 257). In the alternative history A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn cites this classroom observation written by a journalist during the American Industrial Revolution. Education in America, as Zinn claimed, was initially an institution designed to subdue children of the working class to quiet obedience and eventually raise them into unquestioning adults. Education was not a place to encourage dissent, but rather a training ground for 'those who would be paid to keep the system going, to be loyal buffers against trouble'(257).
Even though much progress has been made in the field of education during the last 110 years, it’s no secret that many students and teachers alike still feel uninspired by school. But I believe it doesn’t need to be this way. I wish not to subjugate my students to the makings of calm, complacent, American citizens. Rather I aim to stir revolt in the soul, not a rebellion against this nation but a deep love for it, a love of its literature, landscape, and diversity. I believe that teachers have a responsibility to engage youth on a moral level, to ask them to seek out answers to society’s biggest problems. I believe the classroom should be a recurring, safe, and seminal locus of meaningful and explicit discussion about race, gender, sexuality, and language. Through these discussions, teachers should inspire students to question the status quo and decide for themselves the future of their country..."
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