On TEACHING: Duty in the Classroom

A sense of duty should play a significant role in my 8th and 9th grade classroom. To begin with, certainly my students should feel a sense of duty. They should understand that, as one dictionary puts it, a definite “course of action is required” of them in my classroom. They have duties to perform each day in English class, just as a soldier does, just as a mother does, just as a courtroom judge does. The word “required” is important in the definition; my students’ duties are not simply encouraged or suggested if they are to prove themselves to be admirable students. The duties are absolutely required. They are part of the job. However, a more important aspect of duty for my students is their sense of duty to themselves. Because of the very fact that they are living, breathing human beings, they owe it to themselves to become the finest human beings they can possibly be. They have a sworn duty, you might say, to educate themselves as thoroughly as possible. For me, though, the most important duty in my classroom is carried out by myself. I am, in many ways, like an officer in the military who has taken an oath to uphold the duties of his office. My job is every bit important as a commanding officer in a war zone. I have the minds of 42 children under my care and protection, and it is my solemn duty to see that they are meticulously educated in the ways of high school English. I wear a bow tie and jacket each day. Duty-bound officers have their uniforms, and I have mine.

Journal: 11/29/05

Spring paid its November visit today. By noon, the temperature was in the pleasant 60’s, and some of us at school, I’m sure, felt like skipping across the grass instead of sitting in an airless classroom. My students handled it well, though. They were fairly alert and responsive, even though they could, I’m sure, almost feel that warm air outside as the breeze rustled the trees in the garden.

On Teaching: CHOOSE A FEW DIAMONDS

Yesterday, as I was teaching one of my 9th grade English classes, this wonderful truth suddenly came to me: I can’t teach my students everything there is to know about high school English. The truth was utterly clear in its simplicity and power. I realized that there are a thousand, or maybe a million, possible items related to English that a teacher could select for his students to learn, and that, given just 48 minutes per day for 170 days, I can only hope to successfully teach a small number of them. It’s an unavoidable fact, and the truth of it appeared to me in stark clarity as I was talking with my students about A Tale of Two Cities. This realization had an immediate calming effect on me. After all, if I can’t teach all 2,546 important English items to my students, then it doesn’t really matter how many I teach. If I successfully teach them 421 items – great. Or if I only teach them 86 – great too. What I realized, sitting there with my students, is that what’s important is how thoroughly I teach each item to my students. If I teach 86 items all year, but teach them in a loving, meticulous, painstaking, detailed and exhaustive manner, perhaps I will have been a successful teacher. Or if I only teach 28 items, even then I will have done my students a large favor, because I taught the items with precision and thoroughness. As I thought about it, a helpful analogy occurred to me. A high school English teacher is like a person surrounded by a million diamonds, but he has only a short period of time to select some to give to his students. He knows all of the diamonds will be available to the students in their future years, if and when they need them. He knows he doesn’t have time to give all of them to his students in one short year, so he relaxes, chooses a few of his favorite diamonds, and spends the time happily bestowing them upon the lucky young people in his class.

Poem: AT 5:16 AM

Nothing makes any difference.
You can rub your eyes,
or get up and walk around,
or splash ice water on your face.
It’s still the same.
Nothing has changed.
The planet is still spinning
as though it loves
what it’s doing,
your heart is still rising
and falling with unhampered freedom,
and the clock is still telling
its story
that never started
and will never end,
no matter what tricks you try.

Journal: 11/28/05

I have discovered a wonderful way to exercise during these chilly months. For the last few weeks, I have been climbing the steps in the park for about thirty minutes, and it’s actually been fun. Yes, it’s work, too, because my legs feel the strain of going up and down those steps over and over, and at the end, my heart seems almost out of control and my lungs can barely bring in air. But it’s a happy kind of work, unlike the disheartening and cheerless work I have often done at the gym. For one thing, I don’t rush as I climb and descend the steps. I take my time, allowing my legs and the steps to gradually get their work done. I don’t push, race, struggle, or strain; I just keep going. This allows the workout to be more of a pleasure than a problem, more satisfying than tedious. I also love the surroundings. Wilcox Park is one of the loveliest small parks I have ever seen, and it’s especially so at this time of year. There seems to be a silvery shine on everything – the stripped trees, the frozen pond, the stiff and frosty grass. As I reach the top of the steps and pause briefly for a view of the park, I sometimes fantasize that it’s all mine. The park is owned by a prince, and the prince is out for his daily exercise on the royal stairs.

Journal: 11/27/05

Yesterday I spent my 64th birthday in as perfect a way as I could have planned. First, in the early morning, around 5:00 am, I sat quietly under the soft light of my lamp and read and wrote for about an hour. For me, there is no happier way to start a day. With the darkness of the coming morning outside and peaceful silence inside, I read some inspiring pages and wrote a few imperfect but heartening paragraphs. Later, after a wonderful breakfast of oatmeal (with raisins and pears) and steaming coffee, I spent a few ideal hours at school getting organized for the coming week. It’s hard for many people to understand, but this is precisely the way I love to spend my Saturday mornings. I feel like an artist planning a major painting, or a football coach strategizing for some important up-coming games. All alone in my classroom on my birthday, I rejoiced to have this time to prepare to be the best teacher I can possibly be. In the afternoon, I did another all-time favorite activity of mine: I watched a football game with one of my sons. The day was gray and frosty outside, but inside Matt and I had our friendship and the thrill of a fine game. I sat in the comfy chair and couldn’t help but think, in between plays, about the comfortableness of my life – and the utter rightness of this marvelous birthday.

Journal: 11/26/05

Yesterday there seemed to be a brightness shining through all the hours. I noticed it first as I was driving up to visit Luke, Krissy, and Kaylee. The sunlight was soft and uniform across the landscape, which gave everything a quiet shine. Even the roads, with their streaks of white salt and gray pavement, seemed especially bright. At Luke and Krissy’s, I spent a few hours helping Luke paint Kaylee’s bedroom a soft blue color. There is only one small window in the room, but I thought the paint still seemed unusually vivid. As I glanced at the walls occasionally, they seemed to almost radiate with an inner luster. Later, when I was relaxing at home, I lit a few candles as darkness came on. It’s astonishing what that can do toward bringing brightness to an early winter nightfall. Two glowing candle flames seemed to transform my little apartment into a warm and cheery place where life is lived at its best – which is the way my life seems to be lived nearly always.

Journal: 11/25/05

Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, I had a perfect day of joy and gratitude in Brooklyn, CT, with Matt, Jaimie, Jess, and Noah. Matt and I made the early morning drive up to Brooklyn, and, as usual, it was a lovely trip. The trees were dressed in their beautiful winter bareness, and the landscape was covered with a thin robe of snow. As we drove, we had a fruitful conversation about teaching, in which I picked up several helpful hints that I intend to use in my classroom next week. When we arrived at the cozy house in Brooklyn, our perfect Thanksgiving Day continued. Matt and I spent much of the morning playing with our favorite little friend, Noah – building towers and knocking them down, running around like we were riding horses, and pushing buttons on an electronic numbers board. Best of all was when we went outside and made snowballs and a snowman. Noah was beside himself with happiness. He gazed around at the snow in utter astonishment, and spent most of the time simply gathering the white stuff in his mittened hands and examining it. Matt and I were also beside ourselves with happiness just to be spending time with such an astounding little person. The best time of the entire day, though, was the elegant meal that Jaimie and Jess had prepared. Jaimie had grilled the 12 pound turkey outside (starting at around 9:00 am), and it was totally delicious. In addition, Jess laid out a table of brussel sprouts, squash, wild rice, mashed potatoes, and the most luscious homemade cranberry sauce, followed, at the end, by pumpkin pie and pear tart. It was a memorable feast on a memorable day – a day when all five of us, in our own way, gave thanks for the innumerable gifts of life.

Journal: 11/23/05

A number of surprising things happened yesterday. First of all, I had a completely unforeseen visit from a girl who transferred out of our school last year before I had a chance to teach her in the 8th grade. I had gotten to know her through some poetry-writing classes I occasionally teach in the lower grades, but I had not heard from her since last June. Then suddenly, yesterday afternoon, she bounded into my classroom. She had come to spend time with some of her old friends, but she sat with me in my classroom for a few minutes and we talked about poetry, popular music, and other things. It was wonderful to see her, and such a surprise. I received another shock when the parent of one of my students informed me that he had purchased a bunch of tickets to see the popular band “Cold Play”, and he had one especially for me! We had talked informally about this many weeks ago, but I had long since forgotten about it. As I talked with this parent, it was amazing to think that I, at the age of 64, would actually be attending a rock concert! Finally, the biggest surprise yesterday was the birthday party my students gave for me. At 2:30, several students came to my classroom asking for help with “participles, gerunds, and hard stuff like that”, as they put it. I realize, looking back, that they were just trying to detain me until another room could be prepared for the party. After a few minutes, a student rushed into my room and said the principal wanted to see me in the library immediately. Suspecting nothing, I walked quickly over to the library, where I was greeted by about 50 students jumping and shouting “Happy birthday!” I was totally shocked – and also totally thrilled. It was a surprising and wonderful finish to a rather astonishing day at school.

Poem: ONE MORNING

ONE MORNING

He lit three candles
because he had three thoughts.
Then the thoughts
began to glow like the candles.
Then flames of more thoughts
flared up in his mind.
He walked around his kitchen
holding his thoughts steady.
He walked outside
in the early morning darkness.
He wondered if someone in a house
might seem him walking
with his many lights,
might see a miracle
moving along the dark street.

Journal: 11/22/05

I wonder why I’m the victim of illusions so often. Yesterday it happened on several occasions. Before the annual Hunger Banquet at school, I worried about the possibility of kids being silly at the banquet and perhaps ruining the serious atmosphere of the occasion. I had a picture in my mind of a few kids giggling or whispering or taking extra cups of rice, and I was deluded, momentarily, into thinking the banquet might be a failure. It was anything but. As I spoke to the students from the podium, I saw only earnestness and attentiveness in their looks. The illusion was gone, and the reality of well-behaved, serious-minded students had taken its place. It happened again in my 9th grade class. I decided to read aloud my essay about thankfulness, but I was worried that the kids might be bored and unresponsive. I pictured them yawning, gazing out the window, or shuffling papers as I read. Once again, however, the illusion disappeared rather quickly. As I read the essay, there was utter silence in the room. I looked up now and then, and all I saw were eyes staring at me in thoughtfulness. Never mind my illusions about them; this was how my students really were. It was as if a veil had dropped from my eyes -- something that, fortunately, happens to me many times each day.

Poem: MOST MORNINGS

If he presses a button,
the coffee starts cooking.
If he sits in his black chair,
it supports him as a friend would.
If he taps on the computer keys,
words step across the screen
like hikers
heading into the wilderness.
If he follows them,
he sometimes arrives
at a small poem,
a silent pond by the trail
where he can rest
with his coffee,
which is always ready by then.

Journal: 11/21/05

My son Matt and I have been having a wonderful time watching some nature DVDs on my big new TV. He gets them from Netflix – astonishingly filmed studies of the natural world, everything from the life under the Arctic ice to the life-cycle of blind underground creatures. We often have our dinner (me with my beloved glass of wine) as we watch one of these films, and I can’t think of a better aid to digestion.

I trudged up and down the steps in the park 22 times yesterday. It was a chilly day (too chilly for the shorts I was wearing), but the sun was shining on the almost bare trees, giving a look of liveliness and warmth to the park. Whenever I reached the top of the stairs, I paused for a bit to enjoy the scene – the silvery pond, the trees spread out in the park, the rolling gray lawns, a few bundled folks stepping briskly along.

I’m making progress in my reading of Spenser’s The Faerie Queen. I find it to be an amazing collection of luxuriant, melodious poems – some of the best I’ve ever read. I can see why so many poets have taken Spenser as one of their important mentors.

A Poem: WHAT HE WILL DO

WHAT HE WILL DO

When the sun comes up,
he will parade down to the park
and pretend that he owns it.
He will speak to the trees
as if they are friends
visiting from afar.
He will ask the last leaves
to fall to his open hands.
He will see the sunshine
standing around him impressively.
He will know the truth.

Journal: 11/20/05

Yesterday there was frost all around in the early morning. For the first time this year, I had to start the car and then go inside and wait for the windows to defrost. The car was warm and snug as I drove to school to do my usual Saturday work.
Around noon, I came home, bundled up in layers of shirts, and hiked up and down the steps in the park about 20 times. It was a lovely autumn day, and each time I reached the top of the steps, I got a wonderful view of the almost stripped trees and a few still-shining golden ones spread out below me in the park. I worked hard on the steps, and was exhausted and gasping after about 30 minutes.
I watched Notre Dame successfully handle Syracuse in the afternoon. That has to be one of my all-time favorite pastimes – relaxing in a comfy chair and doing a little paper work while watching a college football game. I am a very fortunate person.

Journal: 11/19/05

I had another wonderful day of teaching yesterday. The students were alert, polite, attentive, and energetic. In each of my classes, every student contributed something to the success of the class, which is a goal I would like to consistently aim for.

It was a beautiful mid-autumn day. The trees are almost totally stripped of their leaves, revealing the regal beauty of their bare limbs. A gray sky and a brisk, chilly wind added to the appropriate atmosphere for November. I took a walk in the park around 4:30, just as dusk was beginning to settle in. I was astonished by the solemn beauty of the place. The pond had a silent, silvery surface and wore the golden reflections of some lights from the street beyond.

On Teaching: GETTING STRONG THROUGH WEAKNESS

“The weaker I get, the stronger I become.” -- 2 Corinthians 12:10

It’s a strange paradox that the more I feel like a failure as a teacher, the better teacher I become. I’ve seen it happen again and again. When I end a school day feeling like this teaching thing is just too immense, too complex, too mysterious for little, ignorant me, the next day is almost always a day when I do some of my best teaching. I go from total lack of confidence one day to a strange kind of supreme confidence the next. I think what happens is that, by realizing that I can’t possibly, by myself, figure out the complexities of teaching another human being, I become aware, once again, of another, much higher power, that can do this. By getting my self out of the way, I make room for the infinite, all-powerful intelligence (some people call it God) that’s available to all of us. By feeling completely power-less, I enable myself to feel the power-full nature of this measureless and intelligent universe we live in. So I guess I should be thankful for those disastrous days when nothing goes right in my classroom. Those are the days when I am being taught the most important lesson of all – the great truth that I can do nothing by myself. Those bad days remind me that a teacher is like a man sailing a small boat on a day of brisk wind. If he tries to control the wind, to do all the sailing by himself, to literally push and pull his boat across the water, he will inevitably fail. He will inevitably feel weak and incompetent. But that’s precisely when he might, if he is lucky, be able to gets his little, isolated ego out of the way and recognize the immense power – the wind – that’s ready to help him, that’s ready, in fact, to do all the work. That’s when he finds that sailing can be an utterly relaxing sport. I want to understand that the same is true of the wonderful sport of teaching.

Journal: 11/17/05

Yesterday the weather went back to its old summery ways. By 11:00, I had the door to the garden outside my classroom standing open so my students and I could feel the mild air. Every so often the hall door would slam shut in the breeze, just as it often does on warm days in April. You could have easily convinced me that it was mid-spring instead of mid-November.

I had some astonishing classes yesterday. The 9th grade classes were especially rewarding. The students came loaded with thoughts about A Tale of Two Cities, and our discussion was almost unruly due to everyone’s desire to speak their opinion about last night’s reading. At several points, I had at least ten hands waving passionately in the air.

I was reminded last night that I need to do more quiet thinking. I need to find the time to simply sit still and do nothing but think. No reading, no writing, just thinking. It’s a lost art, and I want to find it again.

On Teaching: WHO THEY ARE, WHERE THEY ARE GOING

There are really only two things my students need to know in order to be successful in my class: who they are and where they are going. Someone might say, “Well, what about how to write and read? Isn’t that important?” – and I would say of course, but if they don’t know their inner strengths and talents and where they are going in the course, the learning to write and read will only be superficial and ephemeral. They will learn and forget. They will write the dozens of essays and read the difficult books, and when the course is over they will forget them all and be no different than they were before my English class. I want them to have a foundation beneath their learning; I want them to learn because they know who they are and where they are going. I want them to understand, in a very deep way, that they are boundlessly talented creations in an infinitely astonishing universe. I want them to feel, every time they write or read in my class, that they are performing marvelous feats in a marvelous world. But I also want them to have a clear sense of where my course is taking them, and that’s something I need to work on. At this point in the year, my students do not know the destination of the course, because I have simply not made it clear. We have proceded in a “day by day” manner, with no eye on the distant road, the long-term goal. I need to start working on that immediately. I need to show the kids, a few times each week, where this course is hoping to take them. If I can do that, and if the students can keep in mind how strong and blessed they really are, then we have a chance of making this a miraculous year in Room 2.

Journal: 11/16/05

Matt, my youngest son, is climbing steadily toward his Masters in teaching, and will, perhaps by next September, be settled into his own elementary classroom. I am amazed at the kind of effort he’s putting into his graduate studies. He sits at the computer night and day, thinking through complex assignments and slowly producing thoughtful papers. He seems to be driven by a desire to learn as much as he possibly can about this work he has chosen. As his father, I am proud of him, but as a fellow teacher and a colleague, I am thrilled to welcome him into the ranks of this noble profession of teaching. I can’t imagine a greater blessing for a parent than to have your son or daughter follow your footsteps in a career. I envision countless discussions with Matty – discussions about everything from how to teach the use of commas, to what is the nature of the student-teacher relationship, to what is the very meaning of life. I am a lucky person – amazingly so. I am given the gift of 42 wonderful students and a beautiful classroom each day, and now I am being given the gift of another son beside me in the ranks. (His brother Jaimie is already a marvelous 8th grade English teacher.) We’ll share the struggles and the triumphs of this splendid work of teaching – this work that bewilders and thrills me each and every day.

On Teaching: A GOOD DAY

Today I had four marvelous classes. I wish I could, as they say, bottle up the formula for these classes and use it every day. The kids were fantastic, and I guess I was, too. Everything happened just as any teacher would hope -- lessons were covered thoroughly and efficiently, everyone (everyone!) participated in the discussions, and we had ample time for a thoughtful discussion of Macbeth and A Tale of Two Cities. When the kids left after each class, I thanked them for being wonderful students -- and I meant it sincerely. My big question (and I've asked it for years) is why does this happen on some days and not on other days? Given the same amount of careful planning, why is it that two days in my English class can sometimes seem so different -- one day a major success (like today), and another day an utter disaster? I guess it goes back to the great mystery that teaching ultimately is. I can pretend all I want that I know exactly what I'm doing as a teacher, but when I'm being completely honest, I have to admit that teaching teenagers is like navigating through the vastness of outer space. You hope you turn the ship in the right direction. You hope these speeding asteroids and stars don't smash you to bits. You hope -- and, in the meantime, you go right on enjoying the company of your astonishing students. And today, I thoroughly enjoyed them.

Journal: 11/15/05

I had an especially fine day yesterday – mostly, I think, because I got off to a wonderful start. I awoke at my usual time – 3:30 am – and got right to work on some helpful reading and writing. I love that silent, tranquil time, when the house is quiet and the busy day is several hours away from getting started. I sat under the lamplight and read some inspiring pages and wrote a few sensible, straightforward paragraphs. I also managed to write a short poem, which always makes me feel like I’m sort of skipping into the morning, instead of walking and stumbling. This good start led to some good classes at school, hour after hour. In one sense, they weren’t perfect, by any means, but in another sense, I had the feeling that the classes were happening just as they should, and that every word and every activity was somehow right and just. Perhaps my own personal goals weren’t always met in each class, but perhaps other important and good results were reached, results which I am completely unaware of. I know this: each moment of the classes felt right, and that’s a great feeling for a teacher to have. Now here I am this morning, at 4:44 am, sitting at the keyboard, typing out sentences that I hope will help me get another fine day started. All is dark outside and peaceful inside. A candle quietly burns on a small table beside me.

On Teaching: DOING JUSTICE

This week’s theme in my classes is “justice”, and this morning I’m thinking about how the word applies to my teaching. I’m wondering if I do “do justice”, in the sense of treating everything involved with my work adequately, fairly, and with full appreciation. I wonder, for instance, if I do justice to my students. Do I do treat them “adequately” – in other words, with careful attention and honest concern? Do I treat them “fairly”, giving each student the same amount of consideration, and the kind of consideration each one deserves? Most importantly, do I treat my students “with full appreciation”, constantly focusing on their wonderful strengths and talents? (We talk of “appreciating” a work of art, which is precisely the sense in which I should appreciate my students – as astonishing and unique creations.) However, I am also wondering whether I do justice to my curriculum. At the end of a day, I often find that I have rushed through a lesson or skimmed across some part of my plans, which is certainly not “doing justice” to my subject. Being just means doing things “the right way”, and skipping through lesson plans is not the right way. I need to remind myself, every day, that the subject I teach – English – is one of great value and beauty, and justice should be done to it. Like my students, every aspect of my curriculum should be treated adequately, fairly, and with full appreciation.

Journal: 11/14/05

I enjoyed a very relaxing weekend. On Saturday, I worked at school for a few hours, as I usually do. Occasionally I sensed a passing feeling of guilt – a feeling that I should be out doing some “fun” activity like most other guys are doing on a weekend morning. However, those feelings disappeared fairly quickly when I remembered that working in my classroom is fun for me – a huge amount of fun, in fact. I also spent some relaxing moments at the park this weekend, as I’ve often been doing lately. The trees are especially majestic at this time of year, with their leaves mostly gone and their undressed branches poised proudly in the air for all to see. At one point, I sat on the bench by the pond and simply took in, for a few minutes, the calm magnificence of a huge old oak on a hillside. Then, yesterday morning, I felt thoroughly calm (and magnificent, come to think of it) as I visited with Jimmy, Jess, and Noah. The little fellow was in his usual happy, cordial mood, and our time together was peaceful and satisfying. Even the long drive back to Westerly was a pleasure, passing the undisturbed fields and woods in their autumn beauty.

On Teaching: WHOLENESS

I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of “wholeness”, and have discovered some interesting connections with my teaching. First of all, the concept of wholeness implies “togetherness”, something every teenager surely wants to feel. If a classroom has an atmosphere of wholeness, togetherness, support, collaboration – an atmosphere, you might say, of a club or a team – then the students are certainly going to enjoy it more than they might. Every young person wants to feel like they are a “part” of something important, and it might be that I can provide them with that in my classroom. I would also like to build an atmosphere of togetherness, or unity, between my students and me. It’s important that I not see myself as separate from my students – as an unconnected physical being who is “in charge” of them and required to control and manipulate them. The scientific fact is that we, my students and I, are as together as waves in the sea or breezes in the air. Every slightest thing that happens to one of us affects all of us, though often in ways that my students are not aware of. I'm afraid they are also not often aware of the wholeness of my curriculum, which I suppose often seems disjointed and fractured to them. My hope is that I can gradually bring them to see that each step I take in a lesson is naturally related to every other step. This, of course, necessitates that I see that relationship -- that wholeness in my teaching -- and see it clearly, day in and day out.

Journal: 11/12/05

Yesterday seemed more like January than November. A numbing wind swirled across the campus of our little school, making a short walk between buildings seem like a north woods adventure. Where did summer and fall go so suddenly?

I’m annoyed with myself for not being a more observant teacher. The fact is that I notice almost nothing while I am teaching. I am so focused on my lesson plan (and, in a sense, on myself as I try to get through the lesson) that I actually pay very little attention to my students. Yes, I call on them and listen to what they have to say, but I don’t really notice them, study them, take in their uniqueness. How was Julie’s posture during class? What was Johnny wearing? Did Melanie seem sad or happy today? What was the expression on George’s face as we were talking about Macbeth? These are questions to which I have no answer – and I’m mad at myself because of it.

On Teaching: EQUABILITY

I love the word “equable”, especially as it applies to teaching. It means, according to one dictionary,“unvarying, steady, free from extremes, not easily disturbed.” I would like my students to see me this way. In this world of fickleness and caprice bordering on chaos, my young students desperately need to be in the presence of adults who are stable, composed, and resolute. They need to see that some things – and people – do not change like the weather. They need to know that some people are predictably strong and calm, hour after hour, day after day. I would like to be one of those people for my students. Of course, it’s not easy. Equability is not like a suit of clothes one can simply put on and magically become serene and steady. It has to come from inside, from a deep understanding of the basic equability of the universe. Everything, from the farthest star to the smallest cell inside us, moves in steady harmony, doing exactly what it must do no matter what happens around it. And indeed, whatever happens around it is also happening exactly as it must, and in perfect harmony, no matter what appearances seem to suggest. If I can gradually come to a thorough understanding that I am part of this kind of equable universe, then, and only then, can I be a serene and steady teacher for my students. Then I can be, perhaps, like the reliable clock that keeps ticking at its quiet, steady pace in even the wildest storm. There would be something valuable in being that kind of teacher.

Journal: 11/11/05

I had an exceptionally tranquil day yesterday. It was parent conference day, and, since I am fortunate enough to have diligent and fairly successful students for advisees, my conferences were thoroughly enjoyable. We sat in my cheery, brightly-lit classroom and chatted amiably. I’m sure the students were a little uncomfortable (these conferences are always somewhat unsettling for the kids), but there was a spirit of cordiality present that made the meetings seem like a gathering of good friends. Later, after the conferences, I sat in my room listening to quiet classical music and grading papers. For some reason, the room seemed unusually bright. Outside, the day was blustery and gray, but there was a shine in my classroom that was pleasant to behold. I had an especially fine time reading A Tale of Two Cities with my new highlighter pen. As I read, I highlighted sentences with the bright yellow ink, and it seemed to make both the reading flow more easily and the meaning unfold more clearly. When I finished reading, I then went back with a pencil and annotated the highlighted parts, and then did my SRJ notes. All the while, the lights were glowing in my bright and inviting classroom.

Journal: 11/9/05

This morning I held my weekly “English with Donuts” class before school, at 7:45. A few kids shuffled in with sleepy looks but quiet enthusiasm, and we went over the rules for commas while munching on donuts and enjoying hot chocolate. It was a quiet, fruitful twenty minutes, and I think the kids benefited from it.

The cold of winter blew in today. The temperature must have dropped most of the day, because it seemed frostier each time I went outside. As I walked down the walkway, kids and teachers rushed past me like winter travelers eager to find some warmth.

ON TEACHING: Each Word a Gift

"Say only what helps, each word a gift.” --Ephesians 4:29

I wonder how many words I say to my students each day. Hundreds of thousands? Millions? It’s surely an enormous number, and, as Paul reminds me this morning, each word I speak should be a “gift” to my students. Each of my words should be spoken as if I am giving a present to the students – something I have wrapped especially for them to open and enjoy. Some teachers give stickers as gifts; I give my spoken words. I give my words in the sense that I place them in the “hands” of the students so they can make use of them. Just as I might give a pencil to a student to use on an essay, so each word I say in class can, hopefully, be used by the students to make their lives a little better, a little happier. I place each word in their hands like a practical tool. My words today should be so carefully chosen that they can also act like good medicine. The doctor gives cough medicine to her patient, and I give kind and gentle words to my students. We both administer "medication" in the hopes of healing lives.

Journal: 11/09/05

Yesterday my gratitude felt almost overwhelming. Everything that happened to me seemed like a stunning gift. My 8th grade students, as usual, were polite, cordial, and eager. They smiled at me whenever I looked at them, and their participation in class was sincere and energetic. They even complimented me several times, in their shy, youthful way – and many of them said “thank you” as they left class. In the 9th grade classes, it was more of the same, although in different ways. Several of the girls had written extremely strong poems, which I read aloud to a rapt audience. Then we laughed for a few moments as we reminisced about some of the fun we have had over the last year and a half. (We did finally get going on the lesson I had planned!) One final thing: When I was in the grocery store, I met the mother of a girl I had taught five years ago. It was a grand reunion, with hugs and smiles and laughter. For a few good moments, standing beside the grapes and melons, we talked about the great days when her daughter was in my class. I drove home from the store through the soft evening air feeling as grateful as I’ve ever felt in my life.

ON TEACHING: A Sheer Gift

“It came as a sheer gift to me, a real surprise, God handling all the details.” -- Ephesians 3:7

When I read this passage in the Bible this morning, I realized that it was precisely what I needed to overcome my sense of discouragement about my teaching. For many years, I have been trying to “make myself” into a super teacher, which has inevitably led to periods of discouragement. I guess I have thought of myself as a sculptor trying to mold a statue of a perfect teacher, or as a director trying to make a film about perfect teaching, and discouragement has always set in when I have seen that the goal is a long way off. I have seen myself, in other words, as the creator, the boss, the president, the guy in charge – with all the pressure and occasional discouragement those labels suggest. This wonderful statement by Paul in his letter to the Ephesians helps me to understand that I have been completely wrong, utterly misguided, in my approach to teaching. What happens in my classroom does not happen because of me. In fact, I am simply a part of what happens, just as a small branch on a tree is a part of the whole tree as it rustles in a breeze. The Universe (what some people call God) “handles all the details”, as Paul puts it. The grand, infinite, and ever-harmonious Universe – the master sculptor and film director – "gives" each thought and action that occurs in the classroom. It’s not something I create or plan or organize or control or am responsible for or need to feel guilty about. It’s God’s gift, moment after moment, all a “sheer surprise”. Understanding this marvelous truth this morning, I can be totally relaxed as I enter the classroom today – just as relaxed as I would be walking into a movie theater. What wonderful surprises are in store for me today? What has the grand film-maker, the Universe, planned for my students and me today?

Journal: 11/07/05

Another splendid day yesterday. I had lunch with friends over in the Borough, and we ate beside an open window through which a pleasing breeze was flowing. It would have been hard to convince it wasn’t April instead of November. I felt refreshed and stress-free as we enjoyed the fine food and conversation beside the window. Later, I walked over to the park with my hands-free cell phone and called my mother from a bench by the fountain. As we talked, I couldn’t take my eyes off a small Japanese maple that was absolutely shimmering beside the fountain. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tree more on fire with the colors of autumn. Still later, after watching a football game and getting some reading done, I walked to the park again and took an unhurried stroll. I felt like I was walking in a wonderland of some sort. The multihued trees were silent and motionless in the restful air, which gave me good opportunity to study them as I passed. It was as if I was surrounded by dozens of bright paintings in a gallery.

Journal: 11/05/05

This was another in a string of mild, summery days in mid-autumn. I awoke to a spring-like breeze coming through the window, and by 8:00 am, as I worked at school, I had my door wide open to catch the balmy breezes. We held our annual fall sports tournament today, and many people were ambling along the sidelines in shorts and sandals. In fact, the thought occurred to me that it would be a great day to head to the beach – in November! In the early evening, I walked around the park a few times, and it was one of the most tranquil and lovely walks I’ve ever taken. The trees were at their peak of autumn radiance -- including two small trees that seemed on fire with color – and the air had the soft feel of springtime. I was almost alone as I strolled along, just me and an occasional drifting leaf and a sky spread with sunset colors. Before I left, I sat for a while on one of the benches and thought a few heartening thoughts. Indeed, it’s easy to pull lovely thoughts out of the air on an evening like that, when peacefulness seems to reign all around. I paid special attention to a golden tree in the distance, whose limbs were softly shaking, just about as softly as my thoughts were coming. I didn’t want to leave.

Journal: 11/05/05

Yesterday I realized, as I do nearly every day, how fortunate I am to teach at my little school. Everything seemed to happen as perfectly as if the Universe had specifically planned it that way (which it had). I felt like I was riding in a boat on the smoothest of rivers with an experienced captain at the helm. My classes drifted along toward learning in the most peaceable way. A good example was the 8th grade classes, which, as usual, were orderly and pleasant. These children are among the most earnest and attentive students I have ever taught. Yesterday, as they always do, they sat up straight, listened attentively, participated wisely, and – wonder of wonders – thanked me as they left. Later, the 9th grade classes surpassed even that. Many of the students expressed great admiration for the book we are reading (“A Tale of Two Cities”), which would thrill any English teacher, and then, when we listened to a song in order to study its literary value, several students began crying. I can’t remember the last time so much emotion was expressed in my classes. It was astonishing, and it reminded me, again, of how much I have to be thankful for.

On Teaching: A Light in the Classroom

I was thinking this morning that a good teacher is like a light in the classroom. What’s interesting about this analogy is that a light, in a sense, doesn’t have to do any work. It simply shines in a quiet, unvarying manner. When you enter a class room filled with light, you don’t get the sense that the light is laboring to make the room bright. No, it just glows in its unassuming manner, and in doing so, enables the students to both see and be seen. And isn’t that what teaching is all about? Isn’t a teacher’s job, really, to make it easier for his students to see – to clearly perceive what’s true, what’s important, what’s necessary, and how things should be done? Students, in a way, are like people living in a darkness which the light of the teacher slowly dispels. A teacher’s light, though, can also perform another wonderful task: it can bring out the beauty of the students. Just as a good light can reveal the colors in a sweater or a shirt, so the light of a good teacher uncovers the subtle radiance of his students. The teacher doesn’t have to rush about and make the students lives beautiful; they already are. The teacher simply has to keep shining quietly and steadily so that the loveliness of his students will be ever more clearly seen.

On Teaching: The Grand Canyon and Room 2

Today I had a wonderful day of teaching, mainly because I remembered to think of the Grand Canyon. Sometimes I worry about my teaching -- whether I'm a good teacher, whether my students are learning what they need to learn, whether I should maybe retire and turn this teaching business over to a younger person who might have some real talent for it. Today I didn’t worry. Today I kept the Grand Canyon in mind. I held in thought a picture of the spectacular canyon in Arizona, and that helped me have a spectacular day in the classroom. How did it work? Simple -- I just reminded myself that the Grand Canyon can't help but be an amazing canyon, day in and day out, moment after moment. It's always beautiful -- in rain, wind, snow, sunshine, or bitter cold. The nature of the Grand Canyon is to be stunning and sensational -- a totally "successful" canyon -- at all times and in all situations. I then simply reminded myself that my students and I are every bit as beautiful as the Grand Canyon, and, like the Canyon, we are always beautiful. We can't help it. No matter what happens in class, rare and wonderful beauty will be there in Room 2. It may not always be the exact kind of beauty I planned for or expected, but it will definitely be beauty -- and beauty of an extravagant kind. The Grand Canyon is a thing of splendor in any weather and in any situation, and so are my students and I. In my classroom today, I just kept this in mind, and sure enough, I felt like I was watching something magnificent unfold before my eyes.

Journal: 11/03/05

We enjoyed another mild day yesterday. The temperature rose probably into the 60’s, and pleasant sunshine was with us all day. I took one of my classes outside for a brief respite from the stuffy classroom, and we all took pleasure in the fresh, brisk air. We read a short passage from “Macbeth”, in which the “heaven’s breath” is described as smelling “wooingly”. I think the students benefited from hearing that passage read aloud in the outdoors on a “wooingly” spring-like day.

Journal: 11/02/05

Yesterday Noah and Jess came down for some afternoon fun with Matt on the day before his birthday. It was a lovely, balmy day, so we started with a pleasant walk in Wilcox Park. The leaves were plentiful, and we kicked them up as we walked and occasionally tossed them up like colorful fountains. We walked fairly slowly, enjoying the perfect fall weather, but now and then little Noah sprinted ahead and I dashed (as best I could) after the squealing, laughing fellow. Next we went up to the children’s room in the library, where we looked at a peacefully resting bunny in a cage, an enormous stuffed dragon, and a fat, puffy monkey on a shelf. We also sat on a couch and looked at picture books, with Noah every so often dancing a bit and wandering around and then coming back to the couch. Our final treat was pizza and pasta across the street at the restaurant. Noah entertained us by repeatedly asking us to “blow on it”, even though his pasta noodles cooled quite quickly. He also entertained us by simply being the sweet, inspiring, miraculous boy that he is. After dinner, we strolled under some early stars back to my apartment, where we hugged and kissed and sent the travelers on their way back up the country roads to Brooklyn, Connecticut.