Written Jan. 24th 2009
True Love as described in an in-class essay by a 14-year-old Freshman girl, who is currently dating an 8th grade boy:
Last but not least, true love. Have you ever had that feeling that you'd love to be with someone everyday all day? That feeling you get when you like someone alot and everytime they're around you get huge butterflies and you can't stop thinking about how much you want to kiss the person? That my dear, is love... (Actually, love cannot be defined, but that's how I felt...) This person is most likely "The One," meaning you'd love to spend the rest of your life with them. The only person that makes you feel a certain happiness... A happiness you get and it just makes you feel so good and so right. It's amazing.
So in conclusion, without love, our world would be completely dull and retarted, because you wouldn't have the happiness you get from all the love.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Another student's thesis, responding to the prompt, "Is television a good thing, or would we be better off without it? Choose a side to argue and use specific examples to support your argument."
Although TV isn't terrific, it also isn't totally terrible. All in all, TV could be considered hardly better than neutral.
We've been working on creating arguable theses...
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
One kid responded to the prompt: "If you could make one change in your life, what would it be? Why would you choose to change that one thing? Use specific examples to explain why that change would be important."
He wrote that, if he could change anything about his life, he would choose to live somewhere else; he said that his neighborhood had between 5 and 7 gangs, and that he couldn't count how many times he's almost been robbed or shot. He described how noisy it got at night, with the sirens and yelling and gun-shots. "In the day its not so bad but at night you wish you didn't have ears."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
January 8, 2009
Dear Greta,
I would like to thank you for helping me in dance class. You have been a great partner and have been patient when I have made mistakes. It is nice to have a non-judgmental partner in such an environment where one is vulnerable such as when one dances with another.
I would also like to thank you for helping me deal with those that think it is okay to pass me up in the partnering line. That kind of incident makes me feel lower than dirt and you helped me get back on my feet and to come back strong.
I am truly glad to have you as a dance partner and as a teacher. May your future career in academics bring you good fortune and good times.
Sincerely,
B----- W.F. H----- Esq. The XLVIII
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Dragons and Dylan
Written on Jan. 15th 2009
Since I've confessed teaching fears and insecurities and difficult moments to you on this blog, will you forgive me for telling you about what feels like a smashing success? If at any point the gushing becomes unbearable, just refer back to this. You'll be properly reassured that there have been plenty of ghastly moments as well.
But not during the last two days.
The last two days have been AWESOME.
Viola tagged along on a theatre field trip to Port Townsend this week, which meant I had all of Wednesday and Thursday to instruct. These are both block days-- 90 minute periods. It was my first time teaching a 90 minute lesson, and only the second time I would be teaching without Viola nearby to crack the whip--which meant that I was knee-knocking nervous. She had asked me to teach them how to write an in-class essay. When I worked out the lesson plan, I kept feeling discouraged and hitting mental blocks. After phoning a friend (actually two: teaching-cohort friend Josh, and edgy-English-teacher friend Mark) for ideas, I'd worked out what I wanted to do.
Wednesday: wore a very grown-up outfit to help things.
We started with the main information: I'd written out the main points to think about when writing an in-class essay and we read over the sheet as a class. The Wednesday crew seemed to drag during this part, so for Thursday, I took out key words and replaced them with blanks. The kids guessed what the key words were supposed to be and "filled in the blanks" as we went along, which kept them engaged.
Then came the fun part. "You all know how much I love metaphors," I told them. "And I think of writing an in-class essay as being similar to heading into BATTLE! You want to nail this thing, conquer the beast! So if we're going into battle, the first thing we have to do is figure out what we're fighting-- we have to pick the prompt we want to take on. So if this is a battle, do we want to fight the evil sorcerer or the dragon?"
The classes all perked up at this part. Sorcerers? Dragons? The dragon beat out poor Voldemort every time.
"Okay-- forgive my artistic abilities guys, I'm not nearly the artist that most of you are." And I drew a BIG dragon on the board. The kids loved that.
"Give it wings! Give it a spiky tail! Wait, it looks too happy. That's better."
I labeled it PROMPT. "Okay. That's what we're taking on. Now what do we need if we're going to fight a DRAGON?"
"A weapon!"
"RIGHT! And the weapon is going to be our thesis statement, because there's no way you can successfully take on a prompt without a thesis. So what should we fight him with?"
We fought the dragon with a fire hose, ninja stars, a magical sword, and a nuclear bomb, for 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th period respectively.
The boots were the essay outline, since you can't move forward without boots. The helmet represented brainstorming. And the armor made up the supporting points. "And if you don't make sure ALL areas of your body are covered, the dragon's going to lop that part right off! And THERE goes an arm! And we might pretend it's not a big deal, but it would definitely be more than a flesh wound. Okay? You want to make sure that you back up your thesis with GOOD armor."
In 4th period, one of our most eccentric kids who has repeatedly failed our class, but who is a BRILLIANT artist scooted up and shooed me away from the white board. "I want to draw the dragon." His creation was hilarious and elaborate, and I was able to teach while he went to dragon town.
Then the kids drew their own. And they came up with the BEST analogies! One girl drew her make-up kit: the directions were the outline, since you needed to have some idea how to put your make-up on. The different pictures of how you could apply it represented brainstorming. The brush was the thesis statement, because you can't put makeup on without it, and the different colors of makeup were the supporting points. One African kid-- who often struggles in our class, because of his language difficulties-- drew a basketball hoop as the prompt, the ball as the thesis statement, his athletic positioning as the supporting points, and his shoes as the outline. It was spot on. When they were done, they went up front and explained their analogy-- and they were seriously GREAT! They totally got the concept, and by teaching it themselves, the different steps were repeatedly reinforced.
The next part of the lesson I had struggled with. I wanted to have them practice writing an essay in class, but on what? We finished our last book before break, and we'd only been looking at haiku in the last week. But how can you write an essay on a haiku? Then I remembered that my Wednesday sub was a guitar player who loved Bob Dylan.
So we busted out Bob Dylan.
After giving them some background on who Bob Dylan was, and the context in which he wrote his famous song, "Blowin' in the Wind," we played it for them, trading off verses, doing harmonies at the end, and Neil even did a sweet guitar solo. The kids loved it! Later in the day, in our mentoring class which normally just acts as a study hall, the kids all made me play more songs, and clamored about which one was their favorite. They liked my songs!!
After playing the Dylan song, I asked, "So what is this song about? What is Dylan saying with all this?" The kids have amazing poetic sensibilities, and they made some beautiful observations. One kid said that "blowin' in the wind" meant that, even though the answer is immediately in front of us, it would take work to CHASE after it-- and it's our laziness that results in all these continued problems. Another kid suggested that the line, "How many times must the white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?" referenced Noah's ark. "The flood came because of all the chaos in the world, so it's asking when the world will finally be peaceful enough for the waters to go down so the dove can land." Another kid observed that the line, "How many times must a man look up before he sees the sky?" implied that we were so consumed with our own comforts and the "being indoors" that we refused to look at what was real, what was high above us, what was clear.
GREAT stuff, right??
Then we wrote an essay together, examining what the line "The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind" might mean. We brainstormed, and then outlined, and picked a thesis. The kids contributed their ideas for supporting points, and picked lines from the song as evidence. I asked them, "So are you getting this? You're tracking? If you came in to an essay exam, do you feel like you would know how to start now?" They all nodded, nodded, yes, yes we would.
The last ten minutes, they read the haikus they had been assigned to write for homework. And they were beautiful. They were BEAUTIFUL. These are just... magic moments.
I felt like such a TEACHER! I joked with the students, but was very much the adult in the room, and they were respectful and attentive. The sub I had today told me, "You have an incredible rapport with these kids. They really respect you. I mean they REALLY respect you, you can see it."
"Really??" I asked, delighted. "That mutual respect thing is very important to me-- I don't feel I can ask for their respect unless I demonstrate that I respect them, so that's been something I've been really working towards..."
"Well you HAVE it," he said. "You have a great sense of how to work with them-- you know when to joke with them to get them to do something you need, but you also know when to get more serious-- your tone and the inflection of your voice guides them in just the way it needs to. I've never seen a student teacher who was able to handle the kids like you do."
He told me that!!!
I saw my dragon-artist in the hall later on, who is consistently a contrarian in class-- any point made will be rebutted by this student. But he's delightful. I told him, "Clark, thanks for the white board illustration today, that was fantastic. And I always enjoy hearing what you have to say. I know we sometimes give you a hard time for your quips, but you're very witty."
"Thaaaanks," he said, in his particular way of talking. "I like that you do metaphors, it makes it less boring." This is a kid that doesn't do ANY homework, and rarely does ANY of the in class work. And he thought my lesson was interesting!
Later on, two boys were talking outside of our swing dance class: Andre-- remember Andre? and this sweet African immigrant kid named Rakeesh, who's tall and athletic, and works really hard. Andre said as I approached, "Hey Greta, Rakeesh's talkin' smack about you, you know..."
"Whaaaat?" I said, grinning.
"No I did't! I was not!" Rakeesh said. And then in his halting English he said, "She's a...good singah', an', an', an' a GREAT teacher!"
HE SAID THAT!! My own student said that I'm a great teacher!!!
It was just an awesome two days. There have been so many times this year when I've felt discouraged, when I've felt exhausted, when I've wondered if I really want to have to plan lessons and grade papers for the rest of my life... But days like this remind me why I got into this in the first place. I do feel CALLED to this. And these magical moments... man! Honestly, there's nothing like it, feeling like you got THROUGH somehow-- feeling like YOU learned something from these amazing, angsty, hormone-ridden, stubborn, sensitive, unique, incredible individuals staring back at you from their desks.
I know more hard moments are coming, and that there will be many more points where I feel discouraged. But the last two days were just the best. And this blog will be my way of preserving it-- putting it in a Mason jar and sealing it tight, and keeping it in a place where I can pull it out when I need that extra sustenance.
I loved these days. I just loved them.
Since I've confessed teaching fears and insecurities and difficult moments to you on this blog, will you forgive me for telling you about what feels like a smashing success? If at any point the gushing becomes unbearable, just refer back to this. You'll be properly reassured that there have been plenty of ghastly moments as well.
But not during the last two days.
The last two days have been AWESOME.
Viola tagged along on a theatre field trip to Port Townsend this week, which meant I had all of Wednesday and Thursday to instruct. These are both block days-- 90 minute periods. It was my first time teaching a 90 minute lesson, and only the second time I would be teaching without Viola nearby to crack the whip--which meant that I was knee-knocking nervous. She had asked me to teach them how to write an in-class essay. When I worked out the lesson plan, I kept feeling discouraged and hitting mental blocks. After phoning a friend (actually two: teaching-cohort friend Josh, and edgy-English-teacher friend Mark) for ideas, I'd worked out what I wanted to do.
Wednesday: wore a very grown-up outfit to help things.
We started with the main information: I'd written out the main points to think about when writing an in-class essay and we read over the sheet as a class. The Wednesday crew seemed to drag during this part, so for Thursday, I took out key words and replaced them with blanks. The kids guessed what the key words were supposed to be and "filled in the blanks" as we went along, which kept them engaged.
Then came the fun part. "You all know how much I love metaphors," I told them. "And I think of writing an in-class essay as being similar to heading into BATTLE! You want to nail this thing, conquer the beast! So if we're going into battle, the first thing we have to do is figure out what we're fighting-- we have to pick the prompt we want to take on. So if this is a battle, do we want to fight the evil sorcerer or the dragon?"
The classes all perked up at this part. Sorcerers? Dragons? The dragon beat out poor Voldemort every time.
"Okay-- forgive my artistic abilities guys, I'm not nearly the artist that most of you are." And I drew a BIG dragon on the board. The kids loved that.
"Give it wings! Give it a spiky tail! Wait, it looks too happy. That's better."
I labeled it PROMPT. "Okay. That's what we're taking on. Now what do we need if we're going to fight a DRAGON?"
"A weapon!"
"RIGHT! And the weapon is going to be our thesis statement, because there's no way you can successfully take on a prompt without a thesis. So what should we fight him with?"
We fought the dragon with a fire hose, ninja stars, a magical sword, and a nuclear bomb, for 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th period respectively.
The boots were the essay outline, since you can't move forward without boots. The helmet represented brainstorming. And the armor made up the supporting points. "And if you don't make sure ALL areas of your body are covered, the dragon's going to lop that part right off! And THERE goes an arm! And we might pretend it's not a big deal, but it would definitely be more than a flesh wound. Okay? You want to make sure that you back up your thesis with GOOD armor."
In 4th period, one of our most eccentric kids who has repeatedly failed our class, but who is a BRILLIANT artist scooted up and shooed me away from the white board. "I want to draw the dragon." His creation was hilarious and elaborate, and I was able to teach while he went to dragon town.
Then the kids drew their own. And they came up with the BEST analogies! One girl drew her make-up kit: the directions were the outline, since you needed to have some idea how to put your make-up on. The different pictures of how you could apply it represented brainstorming. The brush was the thesis statement, because you can't put makeup on without it, and the different colors of makeup were the supporting points. One African kid-- who often struggles in our class, because of his language difficulties-- drew a basketball hoop as the prompt, the ball as the thesis statement, his athletic positioning as the supporting points, and his shoes as the outline. It was spot on. When they were done, they went up front and explained their analogy-- and they were seriously GREAT! They totally got the concept, and by teaching it themselves, the different steps were repeatedly reinforced.
The next part of the lesson I had struggled with. I wanted to have them practice writing an essay in class, but on what? We finished our last book before break, and we'd only been looking at haiku in the last week. But how can you write an essay on a haiku? Then I remembered that my Wednesday sub was a guitar player who loved Bob Dylan.
So we busted out Bob Dylan.
After giving them some background on who Bob Dylan was, and the context in which he wrote his famous song, "Blowin' in the Wind," we played it for them, trading off verses, doing harmonies at the end, and Neil even did a sweet guitar solo. The kids loved it! Later in the day, in our mentoring class which normally just acts as a study hall, the kids all made me play more songs, and clamored about which one was their favorite. They liked my songs!!
After playing the Dylan song, I asked, "So what is this song about? What is Dylan saying with all this?" The kids have amazing poetic sensibilities, and they made some beautiful observations. One kid said that "blowin' in the wind" meant that, even though the answer is immediately in front of us, it would take work to CHASE after it-- and it's our laziness that results in all these continued problems. Another kid suggested that the line, "How many times must the white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?" referenced Noah's ark. "The flood came because of all the chaos in the world, so it's asking when the world will finally be peaceful enough for the waters to go down so the dove can land." Another kid observed that the line, "How many times must a man look up before he sees the sky?" implied that we were so consumed with our own comforts and the "being indoors" that we refused to look at what was real, what was high above us, what was clear.
GREAT stuff, right??
Then we wrote an essay together, examining what the line "The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind" might mean. We brainstormed, and then outlined, and picked a thesis. The kids contributed their ideas for supporting points, and picked lines from the song as evidence. I asked them, "So are you getting this? You're tracking? If you came in to an essay exam, do you feel like you would know how to start now?" They all nodded, nodded, yes, yes we would.
The last ten minutes, they read the haikus they had been assigned to write for homework. And they were beautiful. They were BEAUTIFUL. These are just... magic moments.
I felt like such a TEACHER! I joked with the students, but was very much the adult in the room, and they were respectful and attentive. The sub I had today told me, "You have an incredible rapport with these kids. They really respect you. I mean they REALLY respect you, you can see it."
"Really??" I asked, delighted. "That mutual respect thing is very important to me-- I don't feel I can ask for their respect unless I demonstrate that I respect them, so that's been something I've been really working towards..."
"Well you HAVE it," he said. "You have a great sense of how to work with them-- you know when to joke with them to get them to do something you need, but you also know when to get more serious-- your tone and the inflection of your voice guides them in just the way it needs to. I've never seen a student teacher who was able to handle the kids like you do."
He told me that!!!
I saw my dragon-artist in the hall later on, who is consistently a contrarian in class-- any point made will be rebutted by this student. But he's delightful. I told him, "Clark, thanks for the white board illustration today, that was fantastic. And I always enjoy hearing what you have to say. I know we sometimes give you a hard time for your quips, but you're very witty."
"Thaaaanks," he said, in his particular way of talking. "I like that you do metaphors, it makes it less boring." This is a kid that doesn't do ANY homework, and rarely does ANY of the in class work. And he thought my lesson was interesting!
Later on, two boys were talking outside of our swing dance class: Andre-- remember Andre? and this sweet African immigrant kid named Rakeesh, who's tall and athletic, and works really hard. Andre said as I approached, "Hey Greta, Rakeesh's talkin' smack about you, you know..."
"Whaaaat?" I said, grinning.
"No I did't! I was not!" Rakeesh said. And then in his halting English he said, "She's a...good singah', an', an', an' a GREAT teacher!"
HE SAID THAT!! My own student said that I'm a great teacher!!!
It was just an awesome two days. There have been so many times this year when I've felt discouraged, when I've felt exhausted, when I've wondered if I really want to have to plan lessons and grade papers for the rest of my life... But days like this remind me why I got into this in the first place. I do feel CALLED to this. And these magical moments... man! Honestly, there's nothing like it, feeling like you got THROUGH somehow-- feeling like YOU learned something from these amazing, angsty, hormone-ridden, stubborn, sensitive, unique, incredible individuals staring back at you from their desks.
I know more hard moments are coming, and that there will be many more points where I feel discouraged. But the last two days were just the best. And this blog will be my way of preserving it-- putting it in a Mason jar and sealing it tight, and keeping it in a place where I can pull it out when I need that extra sustenance.
I loved these days. I just loved them.
Oh the Awkward.
Written on Jan. 6th 2009
Back to teaching stories. Cause we're back in school.
So: in some ways, being a young-looking 24-year-old has helped me connect with the students. I'm close enough to their ages that I'm able to draw lesson parallels to cultural examples that I know they'll find relevant. I'm able to translate concepts into vocabulary they'll understand. The students see me as approachable. The girls like my clothes. Etcetera.
However, sometimes the generational proximity is too close for comfort. And I'm beginning to realize that the discomfort occurs more often on THEIR side, than on mine. Examples:
One tall lanky kid is taking our class over again as a Senior (we teach 9th and 10th Language Arts), and I always think of him as the "adult-ish" one. Then one day, I realized that he's essentially the same age as my little brother-- the kid who I call "Paullywog," who I get piggy-backs from, who I joke around with, who I give a hard time to, who is just my favorite little buddy. That made this Senior far less intimidating to me. He's an affable kid, and one day-- trying to make conversation while walking with him and his teeny tiny girlfriend down a loooong empty hallway-- I made the mistake of trying to communicate this realization.
"Dylan! I realized the other day that you're basically the same age as my little brother!"
Bemused look from Tall Lanky and Teeny Tiny.
In an effort to explain myself: "That makes me feel like I can give you a hard time."
Skeptical looks from Tall Lanky and Teeny Tiny.
"You know. HA HA HA!"
Tall Lanky and Teeny Tiny exchange incredulous expressions.
"Ahem...nevermind."
Also, I'll sometimes use casual terms of address without thinking twice. I occasionally call the girls, "Darlin'" or "hon," like I would any of my girlfriends, and I sometimes call the guys, "Dude." Like, "Dude, I saw you do your homework yesterday. Why don't you have it?" To me, this is normal. I say "dude" all the time in real life. "What a nutty dude." "Hiiii dude!" "Dude. Cut it out." But the kids-- I'm realizing-- don't think of me as a real life kind of person. Or at least not one that should use their vernacular. I called one of the boys "Dude" the other afternoon and he replied, "Why you always call me that?" He was grumpy that day. But still. It made me realize that-- as much as I may still be a young adult that goes on dates, that goes to parties, that listens to KEXP, that calls her guy friends "dudes"-- the kids are seeing me as their TEACHER. And teachers don't use words like "dude." At least, not until they're old enough that it's funny again.
Yesterday, I passed a group of boys in the hallway and one of them said, "Whaaaasssssuuuuup!" These are boys in the L.A. class, and we've joked around before. Reflexively, I said, "What's uuuup!" and jokingly flashed a "W" with my fingers. You know, like "Word."
Are you cringing? Because I'm cringing thinking about it.
The boys' mouths dropped open and the one who had whaassuupp'ed me said, "Don't ever do that again!"
Ummm.... Yes.
Right.
WON'T.
The good news is: as young as I look, and as young as I FEEL, and as much as I've worried about that hampering the students' respect for me: all this indicates they see me as their TEACHER. One 9th grader asked me if I would be her reference for a job interview. Since when did I become old enough to be a reference?? But I love that she asked me. And I love that I AM an adult in their lives. I'm learning to cool down the slang terms in "school life," even if I keep them up in "real life" (although-- let's be honest-- I've always sucked at slang anyway), because at school, I'm not 24. I'm not Paullywog's big sister. I'm not some dude's gal pal. I'm the TEACHER. I think maybe I slipped into the trap of trying to be "cool" with these kids, which is just sort of silly. Their determinations of approval aren't coming from whether or not they'd want to hang out with me after school-- nor SHOULD they be. Yikes, that has "awkward" written all OVER it. Their respect has been garnered more after I've taught a solid lesson, or played them a song on guitar, or told them a traveling story. Which are all very ADULT things to do.
I like recognizing those perimeters. I like being the grown-up. I like that they're the teenagers. And that doesn't mean I won't still be intentional about talking to them as equals, but I like that there's an understood separation. I like that I'm the teacher.
Back to teaching stories. Cause we're back in school.
So: in some ways, being a young-looking 24-year-old has helped me connect with the students. I'm close enough to their ages that I'm able to draw lesson parallels to cultural examples that I know they'll find relevant. I'm able to translate concepts into vocabulary they'll understand. The students see me as approachable. The girls like my clothes. Etcetera.
However, sometimes the generational proximity is too close for comfort. And I'm beginning to realize that the discomfort occurs more often on THEIR side, than on mine. Examples:
One tall lanky kid is taking our class over again as a Senior (we teach 9th and 10th Language Arts), and I always think of him as the "adult-ish" one. Then one day, I realized that he's essentially the same age as my little brother-- the kid who I call "Paullywog," who I get piggy-backs from, who I joke around with, who I give a hard time to, who is just my favorite little buddy. That made this Senior far less intimidating to me. He's an affable kid, and one day-- trying to make conversation while walking with him and his teeny tiny girlfriend down a loooong empty hallway-- I made the mistake of trying to communicate this realization.
"Dylan! I realized the other day that you're basically the same age as my little brother!"
Bemused look from Tall Lanky and Teeny Tiny.
In an effort to explain myself: "That makes me feel like I can give you a hard time."
Skeptical looks from Tall Lanky and Teeny Tiny.
"You know. HA HA HA!"
Tall Lanky and Teeny Tiny exchange incredulous expressions.
"Ahem...nevermind."
Also, I'll sometimes use casual terms of address without thinking twice. I occasionally call the girls, "Darlin'" or "hon," like I would any of my girlfriends, and I sometimes call the guys, "Dude." Like, "Dude, I saw you do your homework yesterday. Why don't you have it?" To me, this is normal. I say "dude" all the time in real life. "What a nutty dude." "Hiiii dude!" "Dude. Cut it out." But the kids-- I'm realizing-- don't think of me as a real life kind of person. Or at least not one that should use their vernacular. I called one of the boys "Dude" the other afternoon and he replied, "Why you always call me that?" He was grumpy that day. But still. It made me realize that-- as much as I may still be a young adult that goes on dates, that goes to parties, that listens to KEXP, that calls her guy friends "dudes"-- the kids are seeing me as their TEACHER. And teachers don't use words like "dude." At least, not until they're old enough that it's funny again.
Yesterday, I passed a group of boys in the hallway and one of them said, "Whaaaasssssuuuuup!" These are boys in the L.A. class, and we've joked around before. Reflexively, I said, "What's uuuup!" and jokingly flashed a "W" with my fingers. You know, like "Word."
Are you cringing? Because I'm cringing thinking about it.
The boys' mouths dropped open and the one who had whaassuupp'ed me said, "Don't ever do that again!"
Ummm.... Yes.
Right.
WON'T.
The good news is: as young as I look, and as young as I FEEL, and as much as I've worried about that hampering the students' respect for me: all this indicates they see me as their TEACHER. One 9th grader asked me if I would be her reference for a job interview. Since when did I become old enough to be a reference?? But I love that she asked me. And I love that I AM an adult in their lives. I'm learning to cool down the slang terms in "school life," even if I keep them up in "real life" (although-- let's be honest-- I've always sucked at slang anyway), because at school, I'm not 24. I'm not Paullywog's big sister. I'm not some dude's gal pal. I'm the TEACHER. I think maybe I slipped into the trap of trying to be "cool" with these kids, which is just sort of silly. Their determinations of approval aren't coming from whether or not they'd want to hang out with me after school-- nor SHOULD they be. Yikes, that has "awkward" written all OVER it. Their respect has been garnered more after I've taught a solid lesson, or played them a song on guitar, or told them a traveling story. Which are all very ADULT things to do.
I like recognizing those perimeters. I like being the grown-up. I like that they're the teenagers. And that doesn't mean I won't still be intentional about talking to them as equals, but I like that there's an understood separation. I like that I'm the teacher.
Excuse The Interruption
Finals and snow days made for infrequent blogging during December. The four blogs above were posted to my personal blog in the last several weeks, since school started back up again. The original date of composition is noted beneath the title.
Happy second semester!
Happy second semester!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I'm Cool, See?
I have been trying to build meaningful connections with my students. I have been trying to impress upon them my genuine interest in their well-being, and earn the right to speak into their lives.
But sometimes, it works better just to moon walk.
Today I played the "Golden Deer" in Period 4's play. They'd needed an extra body for the part early on, and I agreed to do it temporarily-- but before I could stop them, they'd written my name into the script, and I was committed. In rehearsal, I'd done my deer-prancing with pointed toes. Viola had remembered my ballerina background and ordered me to do a leap-- and when this lady tells me to jump, I jump. Har har. Once I did the split leap.. It was all over. I was the hit of the play. The kids kept talking about how I was the BEST Golden Deer, and it was so cool when I did the leaping thing, and that I was their favorite part. I earned love and adoration for prancing around in gold lame.
Per. 6, the Swing Class, was won over when I did the moon walk. I did it as a joke one day at the end of class, and the kids flipped out. On Halloween, I tried to teach them-- I had extra slippery shoes on that day, so I figured out how to do it not only moving backwards, but staying in place. They couldn't stop talking about it. I was lauded and revered for my throwback to a Thriller dance I'd done in high-school, when I'd dressed up as a zombie and learned how to, you guessed it, moon walk.
How funny, you know? Who ever would have thought that playing a toothless zombie for a friend's senior dance project would set me up to be the Cool Teacher in town? Who ever would have guessed that ten years of ballet would prepare me, not to be the professional ballerina like I'd initially hoped, but the kick-a** Golden Deer for Period 4? I just think it's so funny.
But hey, if doing the moon walk gets me their respect, I'm not complaining. Wanna see my chaîné turns??
But sometimes, it works better just to moon walk.
Today I played the "Golden Deer" in Period 4's play. They'd needed an extra body for the part early on, and I agreed to do it temporarily-- but before I could stop them, they'd written my name into the script, and I was committed. In rehearsal, I'd done my deer-prancing with pointed toes. Viola had remembered my ballerina background and ordered me to do a leap-- and when this lady tells me to jump, I jump. Har har. Once I did the split leap.. It was all over. I was the hit of the play. The kids kept talking about how I was the BEST Golden Deer, and it was so cool when I did the leaping thing, and that I was their favorite part. I earned love and adoration for prancing around in gold lame.
Per. 6, the Swing Class, was won over when I did the moon walk. I did it as a joke one day at the end of class, and the kids flipped out. On Halloween, I tried to teach them-- I had extra slippery shoes on that day, so I figured out how to do it not only moving backwards, but staying in place. They couldn't stop talking about it. I was lauded and revered for my throwback to a Thriller dance I'd done in high-school, when I'd dressed up as a zombie and learned how to, you guessed it, moon walk.
How funny, you know? Who ever would have thought that playing a toothless zombie for a friend's senior dance project would set me up to be the Cool Teacher in town? Who ever would have guessed that ten years of ballet would prepare me, not to be the professional ballerina like I'd initially hoped, but the kick-a** Golden Deer for Period 4? I just think it's so funny.
But hey, if doing the moon walk gets me their respect, I'm not complaining. Wanna see my chaîné turns??
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Small Victories
Today, 3rd and 5th periods were supposed to perform their plays. These two periods have struggled more than any other; Viola even decided to cancel the audience she'd arranged for 5th period's play, since they were so behind. Regardless, today was the day to perform: ready or not, here they flounder.
5th period starting running through their scenes at the beginning of class for one last rehearsal. When it came time to run Isaac's scene, I watched for what he would do. On Monday, he'd been in a black mood and refused to take any of the direction we gave him. When I finally said, "What's going on Isaac??" he glowered, and said he didn't want to do the scene at all.
Viola told him, "That means you'll get a zero for your grade."
"Fine," he said, and walked off stage.
I watched him stalk off, and then stood up. "Come on Isaac," I said. We talked out in the hall. I finally told him to take a minute to just cool off and come back in. He ended up skipping the rest of the period, which ticked me off.
But teenagers-- especially the boys-- can be moody, and I hoped it would prove to have been a temporary "Black Monday" sort of thing. For all his attitude, I've got a soft spot for the footsie-ing, holstering twerp.
But when it came time to run his scene, Isaac came up to us. "They found someone else to do my part, so I don't have to do it," he said.
Viola was in yelling, wrangling, director mode. "That means you'll get a ZERO," she said loudly.
He shrugged, and his face got hard. "Fine."
"Then LEAVE. You can spend the rest of the class in the office," Viola said. "I don't want you here if you're going to take that attitude."
He shrugged again and started getting his stuff.
Viola sighed. "Do you want to talk to him?" she asked me. I followed him out into the hall.
Isaac is a little guy, and I've heard the other kids make fun of him for being so small. He compensates by wearing big sweatshirts, baggy shorts, and sporting a determined mustache. He has bright blue eyes that either twinkle or glower. I know he cares about his grades: he tries with the homework, and he gets super bummed over a bad test score. One day, he got a C grade on a packet he turned in, and ended up staying after school for an hour to improve it. He ended up getting a revised grade of 161 out of 165-- a high A. When I gave him the packet back, and he saw the new score, he was SO HAPPY. You should have seen it-- it was such an awesome moment for me. He was SO PUMPED that he'd gotten that grade up so high. On the first day that Isaac and his partner rehearsed their scene, Isaac played the king and his buddy Drew played the queen. K-- oh K...-- had scoffed from the audience. "Shouldn't ISAAC play the girl?? Kings are supposed to be GOOD-LOOKING." I chided K, but I saw that it stung Isaac. We've also heard from his little gal-pal that there's something going on with his family at home. I don't know how much of all this was a factor. I'm sure some of it was.
"Isaac... what's going on??"
He shrugged again and his face was sharp. "I don't wanna do it."
"But Isaac, that would mean the highest grade you could get this quarter is a C... And I KNOW you care about your grades."
"Viola's bein' stupid, she keeps yelling, she takes it so frickin' seriously... I don't wanna do it."
"Honestly dude, that's a pretty common mode for directors to take right before the show... I remember I once directed an assembly for the ASB officers when I was in high-school, and it was based on the Wizard of Oz... And I was in this big poofy pink dress, because I was supposed to be Glinda the Good Witch, and the middle-school boys could NOT get their part ready, and I just about lost it. I was like, 'FIGURE IT OUUUUT!'"
He didn't say anything.
I sighed. "I get that you don't agree with exactly how she's acting, but... That's kind of life, you know? There's always going to be someone that you have to toe the line for, and sometimes you'll like them and sometimes you won't. But... it doesn't hurt HER to give you a bad grade. EMOTIONALLY, it hurts us, because we care about you, and we want you to do well, but ultimately... You're the one that the bad grade impacts. And Isaac... I know you CARE about your grades. I still think of you coming in after school and working on that packet. You worked SO HARD, and that made me feel so good, like that was a good moment for ME, as a TEACHER. Because sometimes it's hard to get you guys to try. But you really did an amazing job with that packet."
He looked away, and his eyes were slits. I saw a water drop fall from the side of his face turned away from me.
"You don't have to ace this one, Isaac. I'm getting that the performance stuff isn't your thing. But... if you can just GET yourself through it... That would be really good."
He stayed silent.
"Is there something else going on Isaac...?"
He still looked hard at the wall, and narrowed his bright blue eyes, but there were tears coming out of both of them now. I sighed. "I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better." I paused. "Okay. Why don't you take five minutes, and just... think about it. And if you're not back in class in five minutes, then I'll go look for you in the office, and... we'll understand that you've made the decision to just not do it. Okay?" He nodded. I went back inside.
His friend Jessica asked to go talk to him, and she did. Viola asked how he was; I said he was upset. She went to go find him too. Jessica came back in and said, "I was starting to get him to laugh...! I think I could have maybe gotten him to come back in, but then Viola made me leave...!"
"It's okay," I told her. "Isaac needs to make his own choice, you know?"
Viola came back in. "He's coming," she said. "He's just going to do the crowd scenes."
And sure enough: Isaac did a crowd scene.
He got dressed in the Indian garb like everyone else, and even let our resident India-expert put a turban on him, and during the wedding scene he got up, and danced with everyone else.
And to me, that was a TRIUMPH.
As grad school interns, we're supposed to be collecting evidence of our students' work: evidence that will show we're impacting their learning. But most of the moments I'm most proud of have been when I've succeeded in just getting a kid to TURN THE WORK IN-- or in this case, to DO the performance. I can think of two boys that I hassled, and prodded, and encouraged, and spent hours working on drafts with so that they would TURN IN an essay. By the time they finally got them in, they were weeks late, and the boys only got between 25%-50%. But: they TURNED THEM IN. And that was such a great moment for me. We were only able to give Isaac 50% for his performance grade on this-- but he was IN the performance. He wore a green turban. He did the clapping dance in a circle. He came BACK into the classroom.
They're not much, but these small victories are seriously the moments that make me feel the best about teaching. I think of one of those two boys I'd mentioned, Adam, getting the paper back that he'd finally finally FINALLY turned in, and reading the comments that I'd written. His paper was ghastly-- truly-- but I'd written how proud I was of him for doing the work. Normally when Adam gets another failed assignment or test back, he crumples it up and throws it in the garbage. When I gave him that paper back, he looked at the comments for a long time, and then he carefully put the paper in his notebook. I LOVE that.
5th period made it through their performance-- and they had a small audience after all, of about 6 upperclassmen! They limped their way through, and during the last scene we all-- Viola, the kids, and me all together-- just cracked up because it was so haphazardly thrown together. But they actually did really well-- the play really came together pretty well! We had them all write their names on grading rubrics after class so that we could give them a score, and Isaac gave me his. "Thanks Isaac," I said, distractedly, collecting the others.
He started to walk away, but he looked back at the same moment I looked after him. "Thank you," I said. He gave a little nod of acknowledgment.
Small victories. But dang, do they make me feel good.
5th period starting running through their scenes at the beginning of class for one last rehearsal. When it came time to run Isaac's scene, I watched for what he would do. On Monday, he'd been in a black mood and refused to take any of the direction we gave him. When I finally said, "What's going on Isaac??" he glowered, and said he didn't want to do the scene at all.
Viola told him, "That means you'll get a zero for your grade."
"Fine," he said, and walked off stage.
I watched him stalk off, and then stood up. "Come on Isaac," I said. We talked out in the hall. I finally told him to take a minute to just cool off and come back in. He ended up skipping the rest of the period, which ticked me off.
But teenagers-- especially the boys-- can be moody, and I hoped it would prove to have been a temporary "Black Monday" sort of thing. For all his attitude, I've got a soft spot for the footsie-ing, holstering twerp.
But when it came time to run his scene, Isaac came up to us. "They found someone else to do my part, so I don't have to do it," he said.
Viola was in yelling, wrangling, director mode. "That means you'll get a ZERO," she said loudly.
He shrugged, and his face got hard. "Fine."
"Then LEAVE. You can spend the rest of the class in the office," Viola said. "I don't want you here if you're going to take that attitude."
He shrugged again and started getting his stuff.
Viola sighed. "Do you want to talk to him?" she asked me. I followed him out into the hall.
Isaac is a little guy, and I've heard the other kids make fun of him for being so small. He compensates by wearing big sweatshirts, baggy shorts, and sporting a determined mustache. He has bright blue eyes that either twinkle or glower. I know he cares about his grades: he tries with the homework, and he gets super bummed over a bad test score. One day, he got a C grade on a packet he turned in, and ended up staying after school for an hour to improve it. He ended up getting a revised grade of 161 out of 165-- a high A. When I gave him the packet back, and he saw the new score, he was SO HAPPY. You should have seen it-- it was such an awesome moment for me. He was SO PUMPED that he'd gotten that grade up so high. On the first day that Isaac and his partner rehearsed their scene, Isaac played the king and his buddy Drew played the queen. K-- oh K...-- had scoffed from the audience. "Shouldn't ISAAC play the girl?? Kings are supposed to be GOOD-LOOKING." I chided K, but I saw that it stung Isaac. We've also heard from his little gal-pal that there's something going on with his family at home. I don't know how much of all this was a factor. I'm sure some of it was.
"Isaac... what's going on??"
He shrugged again and his face was sharp. "I don't wanna do it."
"But Isaac, that would mean the highest grade you could get this quarter is a C... And I KNOW you care about your grades."
"Viola's bein' stupid, she keeps yelling, she takes it so frickin' seriously... I don't wanna do it."
"Honestly dude, that's a pretty common mode for directors to take right before the show... I remember I once directed an assembly for the ASB officers when I was in high-school, and it was based on the Wizard of Oz... And I was in this big poofy pink dress, because I was supposed to be Glinda the Good Witch, and the middle-school boys could NOT get their part ready, and I just about lost it. I was like, 'FIGURE IT OUUUUT!'"
He didn't say anything.
I sighed. "I get that you don't agree with exactly how she's acting, but... That's kind of life, you know? There's always going to be someone that you have to toe the line for, and sometimes you'll like them and sometimes you won't. But... it doesn't hurt HER to give you a bad grade. EMOTIONALLY, it hurts us, because we care about you, and we want you to do well, but ultimately... You're the one that the bad grade impacts. And Isaac... I know you CARE about your grades. I still think of you coming in after school and working on that packet. You worked SO HARD, and that made me feel so good, like that was a good moment for ME, as a TEACHER. Because sometimes it's hard to get you guys to try. But you really did an amazing job with that packet."
He looked away, and his eyes were slits. I saw a water drop fall from the side of his face turned away from me.
"You don't have to ace this one, Isaac. I'm getting that the performance stuff isn't your thing. But... if you can just GET yourself through it... That would be really good."
He stayed silent.
"Is there something else going on Isaac...?"
He still looked hard at the wall, and narrowed his bright blue eyes, but there were tears coming out of both of them now. I sighed. "I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better." I paused. "Okay. Why don't you take five minutes, and just... think about it. And if you're not back in class in five minutes, then I'll go look for you in the office, and... we'll understand that you've made the decision to just not do it. Okay?" He nodded. I went back inside.
His friend Jessica asked to go talk to him, and she did. Viola asked how he was; I said he was upset. She went to go find him too. Jessica came back in and said, "I was starting to get him to laugh...! I think I could have maybe gotten him to come back in, but then Viola made me leave...!"
"It's okay," I told her. "Isaac needs to make his own choice, you know?"
Viola came back in. "He's coming," she said. "He's just going to do the crowd scenes."
And sure enough: Isaac did a crowd scene.
He got dressed in the Indian garb like everyone else, and even let our resident India-expert put a turban on him, and during the wedding scene he got up, and danced with everyone else.
And to me, that was a TRIUMPH.
As grad school interns, we're supposed to be collecting evidence of our students' work: evidence that will show we're impacting their learning. But most of the moments I'm most proud of have been when I've succeeded in just getting a kid to TURN THE WORK IN-- or in this case, to DO the performance. I can think of two boys that I hassled, and prodded, and encouraged, and spent hours working on drafts with so that they would TURN IN an essay. By the time they finally got them in, they were weeks late, and the boys only got between 25%-50%. But: they TURNED THEM IN. And that was such a great moment for me. We were only able to give Isaac 50% for his performance grade on this-- but he was IN the performance. He wore a green turban. He did the clapping dance in a circle. He came BACK into the classroom.
They're not much, but these small victories are seriously the moments that make me feel the best about teaching. I think of one of those two boys I'd mentioned, Adam, getting the paper back that he'd finally finally FINALLY turned in, and reading the comments that I'd written. His paper was ghastly-- truly-- but I'd written how proud I was of him for doing the work. Normally when Adam gets another failed assignment or test back, he crumples it up and throws it in the garbage. When I gave him that paper back, he looked at the comments for a long time, and then he carefully put the paper in his notebook. I LOVE that.
5th period made it through their performance-- and they had a small audience after all, of about 6 upperclassmen! They limped their way through, and during the last scene we all-- Viola, the kids, and me all together-- just cracked up because it was so haphazardly thrown together. But they actually did really well-- the play really came together pretty well! We had them all write their names on grading rubrics after class so that we could give them a score, and Isaac gave me his. "Thanks Isaac," I said, distractedly, collecting the others.
He started to walk away, but he looked back at the same moment I looked after him. "Thank you," I said. He gave a little nod of acknowledgment.
Small victories. But dang, do they make me feel good.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
And... SCENE
This last week, we started trying to put together a play of The Ramayana, which is the Indian epic we just finished reading. Early in the week, Viola had mentioned that she might need to leave early. "That's fine!" I said. "I can take 5th period. It would probably good for me to get more face time with them before Matt observes me anyway."
But Viola hemmed and hawed, suggesting another teacher come lead the class, or that she get a sub. Finally, she said, "I'll just stay. It's fine." I admit I was a little disappointed-- I'm comfortable enough with our kids now that I'd love to start "stretching my wings." Plus, I was a theater major-- and we were running scenes! Obviously though, I respect Viola's leadership-- I'm her fourth intern, and she knows what to do with us.
I did ask her though, "I hope you feel comfortable leaving me with the kids... I want you to feel like you can trust me to do a good job with them!"
"Oh, absolutely I do!" she said. We left it at that.
Then I got my chance after all. :) When we started running scenes, I think Viola quickly realized that directing was something I'm very comfortable doing. I was giving the kids blocking (stage directions), and explaining that levels and placement on the stage can indicate more or less power, and I was giving them character directions, and all sorts of things. Working the scenes became very naturally shared between us-- she gave the kids a direction, and then I gave a direction, and us both supported the other. We only disagreed at one point: I encouraged the kids to build " the rickety bridge across the ocean" using chairs and tables, "And then, you know, just carefully traipse across them!" That was the only time Viola pulled rank.
"Liability!"
She was right, and we all knew it. We good-naturedly deferred, the kids giving me a, "Daaang," sort of grin.
Later at lunch, Jane the theatre teacher was complaining that our school sub wouldn't agree to cover her 6th period. "It's his birthday, so he's leaving early..."
"Greta could do it," Viola offered. "She was a theatre major! She was great working with the kids today."
Aww! "I wouldn't mind!" I said.
Jane paused, considering it. "Okay. That would be great."
So then I got to teach a theatre class all by myself! We ran the freshmen's mini-play, and then I worked with the seniors on their scenes. I got to direct almost every kid in some way or another, and I felt really good about how the scenes improved. Jane came in at the end and said, "So how'd it go?"
One girl, who had seemed frustrated that she hadn't gotten more attention earlier, said, "It was BORING."
Talk about raining on my parade. Jane reprimanded the girl, and then watched me finish giving direction to the seniors.
After class, I went to the student who had made the "boring" comment and I said, "Kaley, is everything okay? You seemed a little upset at the end of class."
She looked caught off-guard. "I'm okay."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to talk to me, if you had anything on your mind. My feelings were a little hurt when you said the class was boring, because I really did my best to make sure everyone had a chance to perform, and that you all got feedback."
"Sorry," she said.
"It's okay. I want you to know that I value your opinion, and that I'm open to talking with you, but I also appreciate your respect."
"Okay."
"Okay. Have a good afternoon."
I finished up with Jane, telling her the directions I'd given the kids. She nodded enthusiastically and affirmed the notes I'd given them. The week culminated with me teaching almost ALL the classes on Friday, because Viola was getting grades in, and she figured I could do it-- that I could run the scenes. And I did it! Even with the hard classes! YAY!!
And what's GREAT about that is that the kids are starting to get used to me as Viola's co-TEACHER, not just her assistant.
I'm loving the one-on-ones, as far as dealing with "attitudes" go. There was a lot of 'TUDE on Friday so I had several more chats, and the kids are just SO much better to talk to and relate to when you're chatting with them one-on-one, than when they're just trying to be a spectacle in class. I haven't mastered the en masse classroom management yet (though I'm definitely getting better), but because I've built relationships with most of these kids, it is SO GOOD talking to them one-on-one about their behavior in class. The conversations are typically polite, and open, and I'm usually able to joke with the kids a little, or at least show them that I empathize with what they're dealing with.
"Okay guys, we're going to do a theatre warm up to get us all a little more energized. Let's start in the neutral position-- arms at your side, legs shoulder-width apart, weight evenly spread-- K? Can you drop your arms to your side?"
(K has her arms crossed, and is SCOWLING. She LIFTS her eyebrow in a challenge when I ask her to drop her arms.)
"Please?"
(Rolls her eyes and flings down her arms.) K was my main antagonist on Week One, but she's been great since then. The fact that she was being contentious over standing in the "Neutral Position" obviously indicated she was in A MOOD.
After the circle broke up and the kids were getting into their groups, I called her over.
"Hon what's up? You seem kind of off today."
"I'm having a REALLY bad day," she said angrily, and started to tear up.
"Okay... Okay. I know how a crappy day can affect... everything. I'll try not to ask too much of you today, but if you are involved in something we're working on... Can you give it your best shot?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Do your thing. Feel better."
And off she went.
Anyway: point being: I love the one-on-ones. And I love the teaching!!
But Viola hemmed and hawed, suggesting another teacher come lead the class, or that she get a sub. Finally, she said, "I'll just stay. It's fine." I admit I was a little disappointed-- I'm comfortable enough with our kids now that I'd love to start "stretching my wings." Plus, I was a theater major-- and we were running scenes! Obviously though, I respect Viola's leadership-- I'm her fourth intern, and she knows what to do with us.
I did ask her though, "I hope you feel comfortable leaving me with the kids... I want you to feel like you can trust me to do a good job with them!"
"Oh, absolutely I do!" she said. We left it at that.
Then I got my chance after all. :) When we started running scenes, I think Viola quickly realized that directing was something I'm very comfortable doing. I was giving the kids blocking (stage directions), and explaining that levels and placement on the stage can indicate more or less power, and I was giving them character directions, and all sorts of things. Working the scenes became very naturally shared between us-- she gave the kids a direction, and then I gave a direction, and us both supported the other. We only disagreed at one point: I encouraged the kids to build " the rickety bridge across the ocean" using chairs and tables, "And then, you know, just carefully traipse across them!" That was the only time Viola pulled rank.
"Liability!"
She was right, and we all knew it. We good-naturedly deferred, the kids giving me a, "Daaang," sort of grin.
Later at lunch, Jane the theatre teacher was complaining that our school sub wouldn't agree to cover her 6th period. "It's his birthday, so he's leaving early..."
"Greta could do it," Viola offered. "She was a theatre major! She was great working with the kids today."
Aww! "I wouldn't mind!" I said.
Jane paused, considering it. "Okay. That would be great."
So then I got to teach a theatre class all by myself! We ran the freshmen's mini-play, and then I worked with the seniors on their scenes. I got to direct almost every kid in some way or another, and I felt really good about how the scenes improved. Jane came in at the end and said, "So how'd it go?"
One girl, who had seemed frustrated that she hadn't gotten more attention earlier, said, "It was BORING."
Talk about raining on my parade. Jane reprimanded the girl, and then watched me finish giving direction to the seniors.
After class, I went to the student who had made the "boring" comment and I said, "Kaley, is everything okay? You seemed a little upset at the end of class."
She looked caught off-guard. "I'm okay."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to talk to me, if you had anything on your mind. My feelings were a little hurt when you said the class was boring, because I really did my best to make sure everyone had a chance to perform, and that you all got feedback."
"Sorry," she said.
"It's okay. I want you to know that I value your opinion, and that I'm open to talking with you, but I also appreciate your respect."
"Okay."
"Okay. Have a good afternoon."
I finished up with Jane, telling her the directions I'd given the kids. She nodded enthusiastically and affirmed the notes I'd given them. The week culminated with me teaching almost ALL the classes on Friday, because Viola was getting grades in, and she figured I could do it-- that I could run the scenes. And I did it! Even with the hard classes! YAY!!
And what's GREAT about that is that the kids are starting to get used to me as Viola's co-TEACHER, not just her assistant.
I'm loving the one-on-ones, as far as dealing with "attitudes" go. There was a lot of 'TUDE on Friday so I had several more chats, and the kids are just SO much better to talk to and relate to when you're chatting with them one-on-one, than when they're just trying to be a spectacle in class. I haven't mastered the en masse classroom management yet (though I'm definitely getting better), but because I've built relationships with most of these kids, it is SO GOOD talking to them one-on-one about their behavior in class. The conversations are typically polite, and open, and I'm usually able to joke with the kids a little, or at least show them that I empathize with what they're dealing with.
"Okay guys, we're going to do a theatre warm up to get us all a little more energized. Let's start in the neutral position-- arms at your side, legs shoulder-width apart, weight evenly spread-- K? Can you drop your arms to your side?"
(K has her arms crossed, and is SCOWLING. She LIFTS her eyebrow in a challenge when I ask her to drop her arms.)
"Please?"
(Rolls her eyes and flings down her arms.) K was my main antagonist on Week One, but she's been great since then. The fact that she was being contentious over standing in the "Neutral Position" obviously indicated she was in A MOOD.
After the circle broke up and the kids were getting into their groups, I called her over.
"Hon what's up? You seem kind of off today."
"I'm having a REALLY bad day," she said angrily, and started to tear up.
"Okay... Okay. I know how a crappy day can affect... everything. I'll try not to ask too much of you today, but if you are involved in something we're working on... Can you give it your best shot?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Do your thing. Feel better."
And off she went.
Anyway: point being: I love the one-on-ones. And I love the teaching!!
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