My daughter Annie and her nephew, Joshua Michael Salsich (summer of '06)

The Circle of Westover: A Graduation Speech
May, 1993by Annie Salsich

Good morning Mr. & Mrs. Molder, faculty, students and friends. Two weeks ago the Class of 1993 attended a dinner with the Governors of Westover School. At this dinner we were formally welcomed into the world of the alumnae and informed that soon we would no longer be inside of Westover looking out but rather outside looking in. For myself and, I believe, for many of my classmates, this was the first time that I truly understood and even recognized my imminent departure from these yellow walls surrounding us today.

It is almost impossible to believe that in only a few hours we will no longer be students here at Westover School, that we will never again attend morning assembly to hear the amusing personals or to witness yet another bizarre Westover skit, nor will we gather together in the fall to watch and maybe join in as the new girls enthusiastically fill the quad with loud cheers for the team that they have chosen to be a part of during their years at Westovet. It is difficult to believe that we are leaving the place that has been “home” for us for either the past one, two, three or even four years.

Today we will all join hands on the soccer field while being held in by the secure circle of underclassmen around us. This will not be the first time that we gather in this way, joined together by the holding of hands, but it will be the last. We have all grown accustomed to speaking to each other, listening to each other. and singing within this familiar circular formation: throughour the year the Wests, the Overs, and the seniors gather around their trees to sing; we all learned to say what we felt and what we thought and to listen silently and thoughtfully as the entire school gathered in a circle in chapel in what we called a Quaker meeting; and only a few days ago ar the long awaited Lantern ceremony, we celebrated the transition of the new girls to old girls and welcomed them into the comfortable and secure circle of students and the faculty. Even in our everyday schedule we naturally form circles when communicating with each other, whether it is in classes, at lunch, in class meetings, in student council or senate, or out on the sports field when warming up.

Today we continue rhe tradition of holding hands and gathering together; yet, this is the last time that the 39 girls sitting in front of you today will take part in this Westover tradition. When we leave the circle, we will leave as graduates of Westover School, and for an extended moment there may arise in us a sort of panic or fear of what comes next and possibly a doubt of whether we will ever feel the same security that we feel in that circle. The time that we have spent here at Westover is unlike any other time. The friends that we have made, the classes that we have taken, the teachers that have taught us to appreciate and enjoy the education which we are receiving, are all things that have shaped us and helped us to find who and what we want to be an rc stan us on the road to achieving that.

As we encirded quad at the end of the Lantern ceremony with the light shining brightly from each of our lanterns, I realiced how, in a way, Westover and the time spent here is like a well-kept secret. The traditions that we go through hee cal-I only be understood and cherished by us. In the quad on ±ar quiet night. I realiced how extremely lucky we all are to be a parr of this secret, to he brought together with girls from different cultures and beliefs from all over the world, and to bec:rne a parr of their lives and their memories and they a part of ours- The security that we obtain here is one or many opporruniries, one that allows us to be an individual and vet, still be a pan of the united circle that is formed throughout \Vestover. Although it may seem when we depan from that circle today that we are leaving something precious and important behind, we will he taking with us the friendships, the knowledge and, most importantly, the securim- that we have gained here. When we join hands today inside the all-encompassing circle of Westover, we will never truly evet leave; we will always be a part of this School and of each other.

In our years at Westover, each one of us has changed and become someone confident and strong. With this strength and confidence we have gained, we are prepared to venture off and always cam- w-ith us our memories of Wesrover. Iris true that taday marks the end of our days at Westover and that we will soon depart from the circle that we have been a part of for some time. It is true that we will no longer be inside looking out but rather outside looking in; yet, just maybe when we look inside Westover next year and the years following, we will still see ourselves holding hands together in the center of the circle.

Today I spent a few beautiful hours with my son and grandson at Napatree Point, a lovely beach near Westerly. The weather was idyllic – cool, a soothing wind, enough sunshine to keep us thoroughly satisfied. We spent a good part of our time building a fort down by the water, including a fortification of driftwood to keep the incoming tide out. Noah loved it. He squealed each time the waves swept close, and sometimes shouted orders: “Water, stay back! Don’t even think about it!”

ON A SONNET BY LEAH GOLDBERG
by Anna Kamienska
translated from the Polish by Grazyna Drabik and David Curzon

Happily
happiness doesn't know justice
It comes when it wants
and it wants unjustly

Time for you to withdraw into the rustle
of black silk attire
rather than to dress up in smiles
But is it your fault
that like rain it caught you on the road by surprise
that you didn't have time to cover your silver head.

And now you stand like a lonely tree
open to all the winds and birds

And now you shine like a lake
and whether you want to or not
you reflect the sky

Note:

Leah Goldberg (1911-1970) was a Hebrew poet born in Lithuania; she came to Tel Aviv in 1935.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 18, September 28, 2007

Today I played "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day, and then asked the students to write quietly for about 10 minutes, just responding to the song. I told them they could write about a memory the song brings to mind, or the feelings the songs generates, or anything at all, as long as they did it in a focused and mindful way. As I rather expected, the assignment produced some noteworthy writing. David wrote a long rhymed poem that fit into the hip-hop style, a poem that grew stronger as it went along. Phil wrote a dark, enigmatic poem about an "It" that "suffocates you and everyone else." Alexis, although she claimed it was a "dumb" poem, wrote a few elegantly simple lines, and Maria wrote a charming and poignant poem (which I had to beg her to let me read to the class).

Here are a few quotes:

"losing love from a girl you care about

miss her without a doubt

never look back

September is gone, that's a fact"

"The seasons come and go

the year moves on so slow

I don't know what to expect

and if I'll have any regret"

"The lyrics, 'like my father come to pass' remind of when my father died four years ago. It is kind of like a mist in the back of my mind that fades away once in a while, but is always there."

"Time slips through groping fingers

floating away, hands pleading outstretched,

but it won't return,

wasted minutes, never reclaimed."

"…and the dry leaves blow across the grass,

the same leaves I listened to, lying in the grass."

MASTERFUL
by Gabriel Spera

Though it's a city job, Carlos isn't wearing
his orange vest and yellow hardhat,
but clomps around in tan ranchero hat
and washed-out denim shirt. The foreman
warns him once again, as he must, and Carlos
swears he won't forget again tomorrow.
He straps himself in to the motor grader,
skims a glove across the fat black knobs,
and eases forth with a mule-driver's patience,
leveling truck-dumped piles of raw fill
smoother than the sea of Cortez.
Maybe it's a gift, such effortless grace,
such seamless union of man and machine,
and maybe it's a sign how every morning,
punctual as the lunch truck with its
shave-and-a-haircut horn, he kills the engine,
clambers down, struts up close to a massive
chevron-treaded tire and just starts peeing,
as though the whole site weren't naked
as a soccer field, boxed along three sides
by green glass towers. Not that it matters—
the soil he darkens will be asphalted over
soon enough, and even now, here comes
the water-tank truck, spewing like a fire plug
wrenched open in the mid-city heat.
Small hot-pink pennants still mark
the heavy conduit we sank just yesterday,
and we've got planks on edge, framing
where the walkway's going to be.
The cement mixer inches up, its great drum
putting like a clock hand teasing toward the hour.
And Hector levers the crusty sluice above
the ready beds, the newsprint-colored mortar
plopping like horseshit to the ground.
And Manny makes quick work of it, his trowel
and squeegee broom drawing it so tight,
a dropped dime would roll to a standing stop
and never topple over. There is a thin line
between miracle and mastery. Even
Carlos stands, hat off with the rest of us,
nodding as with subtle understanding.

Ford Madox Brown (English, 1821-1893), Carrying Corn

I was listening to a Beethoven sonata for violin and piano the other day, and it led me to thinking about my work in the classroom. The piano and violin are completely different instruments, and yet, when they play together in the sonata, they blend together perfectly. As I listen, I can clearly hear each instrument making its own special kind of sound, and yet there’s also an even more beautiful sound made by the intermingling of the two. Even though they play totally different melodies, the melodies come together in an exquisite amalgamation and unity. This is always my hope for my classroom – that my students and I can make this kind of harmonious music. We are each as unlike as different musical instruments, and yet it’s possible that our dissimilar ideas and feelings can blend together to make a lovely song each day. When we discuss a chapter in a book, we can disagree, go in different directions, argue, and get aggravated, and yet still produce learning that’s pleasant and satisfying. While each playing our own unique “song”, we can make an agreeable melody together. I need to constantly remind my students of this possibility. I’m sure they haven’t thought deeply about the fact that minds that are “poles apart” can blend together as one and still maintain their individuality, that “music” can be made by bringing the most disparate ideas together into a pleasing concord. I hope it can happen in my classroom every day, and I hope my students can come to appreciate it.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 17, September 27, 2007

Stephen had a major success today. I returned an essay to him that was far better than anything he has ever written for me -- a lucid, tidy, and intelligent high school paper. There were a few problems scattered around, but in general it was an essay that any high school teacher would appreciate -- certainly not an 'A' paper, but one that wouldn't be out of place in any freshman English class. I was so amazed by it that I even checked with Chris to see if he had helped him with it -- but no, Stephen apparently created this startling success by himself.

* * * * *

Jill had a wild ride in class today. At the start, I passed back a set of essays, and she immediately plunged into the depths of melancholy because of her disappointing grade. (I could easily see it her face.) However, a few minutes later, when we began discussing Great Expectations, she suddenly became the star of the class. Her comments about last night's reading assignment grew more insightful and erudite as the minutes passed. Even her classmates were astonished as they listened to her discuss minuscule details in the chapter that no one but she had noticed. As I listened, I thought she sounded more like a college student than a 9th grader. I spoke to her after class, pointing out how this often happens in life -- discouragement one minute and great triumph the next. We laughed together about it.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 16, September 26, 2007

Today, because of a scheduling change, I had English class with the entire 9th grade at last period. With the large class, we had to meet in the Board Room, which was a stuffy, sultry place on this warm afternoon. To aggravate the situation, the students were exhausted from an all-day trip to an island with the 1st graders, and surely did not look forward to a forty-minute period of wearisome English work. However, much to my surprise, it was a fairly efficient and enriching class. I think it helped that I acknowledged, at the start, their right to be tired and hot, and that I asked for their help in making the best of an uncomfortable situation. They pitched in and made a dogged effort to stay alert, despite their sleepy eyes and the sticky, motionless air.

* * * * *

One of my goals this year is to make observations of four students each day. I choose the names in the morning, and then I try my best to pay particular attention to them during the day. Thus far, I have had little success, mostly because I promptly forget about this goal once the classes actually start! I guess I get so wrapped up in making sure I achieve all the objectives of the lesson that the names of the students quickly slip away. I'll keep trying, though. I'm sure a little practice and resolve will help the activity become a habit.

George Inness, "Moonrise"

The last two mornings, my five a.m. walk up and down the hill in front of my house has taken place beneath a full moon floating above the homes in the still dark sky. The glow from the moon and the soft shine of the streetlights lent a sense of mystery to my exercise. I hiked up the hill like I was alive in a special and strange universe, which I am. The poem below, from www.poems.com, captures some of this feeling.

**********************
Lullaby
by Paul Guest

for Brett

Of salt's place in ancient Roman currency,
paid out in rough burlap bags

to soldiers bearing the weight of empire,
I'll speak for a while tonight.
For as long as I can recall some scrap
of trivia, I'll utter circa, anno domini,
I'll trace the bloody lines of Caesars
and serve garum, a sauce of fish
left to curdle in the light of that bronze sun,
which I know only as much of
as childhood reading could teach me.
I care even less for it, it must be said, tonight,
while you sleep on the couch,
your body careless and dreaming,
calm, lulled by my invocation
of the useless, the quotidian, the dust-deep
particulars which I've stored
against—what? A winter so long
we forget our names, our numbers,
our address here in this town
that won't do us the sweet favor of fading?
No, there is no reason to know
any of this, to say
not gesundheit or God bless you or even yuck
to the machine gun sneezer
across the dinner table last night
but rather to offer
in perfect serenity to the half-deaf world
the average speed of the human sneeze
as it leaves the nose like a shinkansen,
the Japanese word for their hurtling bullet trains.
Which leads me to say how kamikaze
means divine wind, a fact I loved
before I loved you. And there I go, rattling
like an old fan. And still you sleep,
small and warm, having asked
in your drowsing slip of a voice
that I talk and talk, quietly, without cease,
about anything, anything at all,
until you drift and I am at last the one you dream of.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

G is for Grace

For me, the word “grace” applies to teaching in many ways. To start with, the word suggests seemingly effortless beauty or charm of form or proportion, which is certainly what I want to promote in my students’ reading. My hope is that they can learn to read books like To Kill a Mockingbird, Great Expectations, or Macbeth with a relaxed open-mindedness, and that their reading-journal entries can begin to have a dignified and orderly quality. I want them to keep a sense of balance as they read, immersing themselves in the flow of the words but at the same time remaining calmly objective so as to better appreciate the overall artistic quality of the work. In addition, I would like my students’ essays to have a touch of “grace”, a feeling of fitness and propriety. Every word should be perfectly suitable for its position in the sentence, and the overall piece should give an impression of decorum, of writing done in a distinguished manner for distinguished readers. The sentences and paragraphs should move along with as much grace as a royal procession. Finally, of course, I would like there always to be a friendly atmosphere in my classroom, a spirit of good grace, a disposition to be generous or helpful. I would hope that my students and I would always treat each other with graceful generosity, and that visitors would come away with a feeling of honest goodwill. English class can sometimes be an exercise in tedium, but, tedious or fascinating, I hope my classes can always be in a happy state of grace.

"Indian Summer," by Sanford Robinson Gifford

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 15, September 24, 2007

Today at first period I took the 8^th graders outside for a "walking class" in grammar. We first unclipped a few appropriate pages from our loose-leaf textbook, and then strolled along in the mild morning air, reading from the pages and doing some of the exercises. Every so often I stopped and talked to the kids as a group, and then we continued to walk and talk. I though the students were remarkably attentive. I had counseled them to beware of distractions, and without doubt they followed my advice. They did a superb job of staying focused on the grammar at hand. The moderate breezes and widespread sunshine made it one of the most "beautiful" grammar classes I've ever taught.

* * * * *

I must be alert to quickly head off any silliness by the 9th grade boys. It's good to laugh in class (in fact, laughter is a major boon to learning), but silliness is another story altogether. I love having fun while I teach, but I have no time for teenage inanity. I'll have to make that clear to the boys, once again, sometime soon.

* * * * *

I'm growing mildly concerned that perhaps some of the 9th graders are not reading the Great Expectations chapters carefully. I'm not sure where my suspicions arise from, but I need to address them so as to be sure all the kids are giving the chapters their full consideration. In class, I will look carefully at their MRJs, ask pointed questions, and collect and grade their MRJs.

* * * * *

Why do I continue to forget to do some of the things I planned? They are written in my plan book, often underlined or in bold, and yet today I completely overlooked some important parts of my plans. As I mentioned last week, I think it stems from a certain anxiety I feel when I'm teaching, even after these 40+ years! I look down at the lesson, and sometimes I don't see what's written right before my eyes. I guess I'll just have to continue to work on staying relaxed and mindful and composed as I'm teaching. Since "equanimity" has always been one of my favorite words, I should try to exhibit some of that spirit during my classes.

Two Poems by John Hewitt

Landscape

For a countryman the living landscape is
a map of kinship at one level,
at another, just below this, a chart of use,
never at any level a fine view:
sky is a handbook of labour or idleness;
wind in one airt is the lapping of hay,
in another a long day at turf on the moss;
landscape is families, and a lone man
boiling a small pot, and letters once a year;
it is also, underpinning this, good corn
and summer grazing for sheep free of scab
and fallow acres waiting for the lint.
So talk of weather is also talk of life,
and life is man and place and these have names.

The Search

for Shirley and Darryl

We left the western island to live among strangers
in a city older by centuries
than the market town which we had come from
where the slow river spills out between green hills
and gulls perch on the bannered poles.

It is a hard responsibility to be a stranger;
to hear your speech sounding at odds with your neighbours';
holding your tongue from quick comparisons;
remembering that you are a guest in the house.

Often you will regret the voyage,
wakening in the dark night to recall that other place
or glimpsing the moon rising and recollecting
that it is also rising over named hills,
shining on known waters.

But sometimes the thought
that you have not come away from, but returned,
to this older place whose landmarks are yours also,
occurs when you look down a long street remarking
the architectural styles or move through a landscape
with wheat ripening in large fields.

Yet you may not rest here, having come back,
for this is not your abiding place, either.
The authorities declare that in former days
the western island was uninhabited,
just as where you reside now was once tundra,
and what you seek may be no more than
a broken circle of stones on a rough hillside, somewhere.

"Cattle in the Marsh, Near a Fence," by Martin J. Heade, oil on canvas, 13 by 26 inches, circa 1866-1876

I had a very relaxing weekend. On Saturday I drove up to visit with my Luke, Krissy, Josh, and Kaylee, and, as usual, the drive through the early morning countryside was a peaceful one. The mists of autumn were spread across the roads and fields and trees, but they slowly dispersed as I drove, disclosing what promised to be a warm and sunny last day of summer. We all went to Kaylee’s soccer game, where Luke and I had a chance to chat as the girls and boys dashed up and down the field. Then yesterday, Noah and Jaimie and Jan meet me out at Napatree on the shore for a glorious morning of beach fun. It had to be one of the prettiest days of the season – temperature in the comfortable 60s, a mild breeze blowing, and sunshine everywhere. Noah was beside himself with glee. He buried Jan’s legs, looked everywhere with wonder, laughed and smiled without pause, examined miniscule jelly fish in his bucket, and filled us all with delight. The only mistake of the morning was made by me. I left after only an hour, thinking I’d better go to school and grade some papers. I need to get my priorities straight. When my grandson wants to frolic on a beautiful beach with me, the papers can wait.

"Sunny Day on the Marsh (Newburyport Meadows)," by Martin J. Heade, oil on canvas, circa 1871-5

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

F is for flow

A popular writer on education has said that teachers should try to get students into the “flow” of activities so that they “lose” themselves in learning, but I’m more interested in helping my students occasionally step out of the flow and find a special kind of learning. There’s something troubling, in fact, about the idea of losing ourselves, since in many cases it leads to danger and even disaster. It’s all too common for people to “lose themselves” in credit card spending, television watching, video game playing, drugging, and drinking. Most violent crimes are committed by people who temporarily lose themselves in hatred and destructiveness. So, no, I’m not all that interested in promoting a sense of loss of self, a sense of being involuntarily carried along by some powerful force. I would rather help my students step away from the powerful forces that churn through their lives so they can get “the big picture” and begin to understand how those forces work, and, more importantly, how to use them to their advantage. For instance, I want to help them learn how to get a certain distance from their own writing so they can analyze its strengths and weaknesses. Only by looking at their essays objectively, with some detachment, can they calmly assess its merits. If they’re always caught in the “flow” of the writing, this kind of impartiality is impossible. Likewise, I want to show them how to occasionally use a kind of remote objectivity when reading a classic work of literature. Certainly I want them to become immersed in the power of the words and themes of the writing, but it’s also essential to intermittently move back from the intensity of the writing so as to better appreciate the overall artistry of the work. One of the surprising benefits of this detachment is the increased sense of relaxation that may arise when my students realize that they don’t have to get “swept up” in the turbulence of “creating” their essays or reading a challenging book. My students might begin to see, from this distant point of view, that their essays are something like sand castles: fun to build, completely ephemeral, and not really very important, in the big picture. Perhaps they’ll see books the same way, as intriguing artistic puzzles that might be solved by them, but might not – and, again, it’s not all that important. A certain dispassionate and comforting coolness is indispensable in an earnest writer and reader, and in any earnest student in my English classes.

Vincent Van Gogh, "Autumn Landscape"

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 14, September 21, 2007

I realized today that I didn't adequately explain the current writing assignment to the 9th graders. I'm afraid I fell into an old familiar trap of mine -- rushing. When I gave the assignment on Tuesday, I think I felt like I was falling behind in the lesson I had planned, and so I cut short my explanation of the assignment. Instead of spending a few productive moments answering their questions and clarifying the details of the assignment, I basically read it to them, asked if they understood, and moved on to the next step in the lesson. Instead of thoroughly preparing the ground for a good crop of essays, I just tossed the "seeds" down on rock-hard soil. I shouldn't be surprised, then, if the harvest is less than bounteous.

* * * * *

During our "committee" groups today, I noticed that Dale initiated the conversation in his group. This might appear to be an insignificant detail, but in Dale's case, it's a major step.

* * * * *

In several classes, we held our “committees” (discussion groups of 3 or 4) outside, and, in one instance, I quickly grew impatient as the groups wasted time selecting a place to sit, talking about unrelated topics, and choosing who would speak first. Luckily, however, I gained the upper-hand of my impulses and refrained from saying anything. Sure enough, before long I saw that all the groups had settled into thoughtful discussions.

Bonnie Mincu, "Autumn Gardener"

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER
Day 13, September 20, 2007

Today I introduced two activities that I've never done before -- and I thought they worked reasonably well. First, I told the students about the daily job called "Positive Note Taker". I've done this for the past few years, but this year the student note-taker will type the notes on my laptop. For about 15 minutes in each class, the assigned note-taker will sit beside me and record the contributions and positive actions of the students. He or she will type these directly into "Gradequick", on each student's page -- just quick notes like "9-20 -- Anna compared Dill to a character in a movie". It was quite successful today. The note-takers did an capable job, the students were eager to contribute (perhaps to get their comments duly noted), and I think the note-takers felt distinguished to be such an important part of the class. The beauty of it is that, when I print out a progress report for the students, their daily contributions will be there for them to read and take home to parents.

I also introduced the "assistant teacher" role. Almost every day, I plan to have one student be the assistant teacher for about ten minutes. At that time, I will sit at the student's place and play the role of a student, and the assistant teacher will lead the class in the discussion. Today I was very pleased with how well it worked. Hannah, in particular, was delighted to get a chance to be an assistant teacher.

Vasile Hutopila, "Autumn in Bukovina", oil on canvas, 1993

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 12, September 19, 2007

I try hard to be a peaceful teacher instead of a belligerent one, but today, at one point, I failed. An 8^th grade girl came to me to discuss a grade on a paper, and she seemed to have a rather off-putting attitude. It was obvious that she had not carefully read my comments and that she was primarily interested in getting me to raise her grade. However, instead of treating her attitude like a river flowing harmlessly around me and disappearing in the distance (which would be the peaceful way), I let my feelings control me for a moment, and I reacted in a somewhat hostile manner. I raised my voice slightly and spoke in an uncharacteristically irritated way to the girl. It lasted only a few moments, and I soon calmed down, but the damage was done. The student had seen an irate, undisciplined adult instead of a sensible and temperate one. It's disappointing to me.
(But I tell my students that every mistake has a gift for us in its hands, so I guess I better start looking for mine.)

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

E is for Easy

I would like my English classes to be known as both easy and hard. The “easy” part would stem, first, from the fact that students, I hope, feel comfortable in my classes. My goal is to create an easygoing, casual atmosphere, where kids can feel somewhat relaxed and even cozy. In a way, I try to make my classroom feel as much like a “home” as possible, a place where life is as uncomplicated as it is in the students’ own living room. Then again, I would also like kids to think of my classes as hard. Most students appreciate a teacher who gives them arduous tasks to complete, makes them climb steep and severe academic trails. I wouldn’t mind if my classes were thought of as inconvenient, troublesome, demanding, even occasionally backbreaking, for setting high standards is a major part of my responsibility as a teacher. Still, I would hope there would always be a sense of comfort and ease underneath, or behind, all the rigorous work. I want my students to become effortless writers and fluid readers, so that any future English classes might be almost painless and stress-free. I want them to feel a laid-back gracefulness, both in my class and in themselves as students of English. I want them to work hard, yes, but in an easy and poised way.

Alfred Sisley, "Autumn: Banks of the Seine near Bougival", 1873

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 11, September 18, 2007

Today was one of the best days of teaching I can recall. Everything went the way I always dream it will happen: students happy and attentive, the lesson a clear and reasonable one, and everything moving along like the parts of an oiled machine. As the classes came and went, I couldn't believe it was happening so well. (It rarely does.) It was like I was a passenger on a ship -- I often think of this analogy -- manned by a wise and able captain. I was just along for the ride. (Actually, I think part of the success of the day was due to sensible lesson plans -- ones that set goals that could actually be reached in 45 minutes. This is something I'm getting better at.)

* * * * *

I've been impressed with the work of the 9th grade boys. Today, one boy, especially, was attentive and mature in his approach to class. After going over an assignment, I asked if there were any questions, and he immediately raised his hand. After pausing for a moment and furrowing his brow in reflection, he asked a very cogent question of clarification. Last year he wouldn't have done anything like this.

* * * * *

September 1913
by William Butler Yeats

WHAT need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;	5
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.
Yet they were of a different kind
The names that stilled your childish play,	10
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman’s rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save:
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,	15
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.
Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,	20
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave;
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.
Yet could we turn the years again,	25
And call those exiles as they were,
In all their loneliness and pain
You’d cry ‘Some woman’s yellow hair
Has maddened every mother’s son’:
They weighed so lightly what they gave,	30
But let them be, they’re dead and gone,
They’re with O’Leary in the grave.

Alfred Sisley, Garden Path in Louveciennes, 1873

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

D is for Decisive

I have mixed feelings about teaching my students to be decisive. On the one hand, certainly I want them to develop the ability to make up their minds about something and then hold firmly to their judgment. When we’re reading a novel, I would like them to be able to form opinions about it and be resolute in their defense of their opinions. In their writing, I hope they learn to be definitive in their choice of a thesis, and then unwavering in their development of it. On the other hand, I also see great merit in helping my students develop their ability to remain indecisive. The fact is that young people tend to make decisions way too quickly; for them, being decisive is, in some sense, a way of life. They instantly decide to like this person and dislike that one, to love this book and hate that book. What I would like to do is to help them see the value of hesitancy, caution, and uncertainty. The universe is an infinitely confusing place, and a good way to live is to accept the confusion and remaining calmly uncertain and nonjudgmental. I hope the word “may” can become important for my students. This may be a person to avoid becoming friends with, but maybe not. This may be a dull book, but maybe not. A little of this kind of indecision may aid my students in appreciating the beautiful complexity of the world they live in. And then again, maybe not.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 10, September 16

I notice that two boys always just stay in their seats during breaks. The other kids can't wait to go outside or in the hall, but these boys simply sit quietly and read. I guess everyone relaxes in different ways.

* * * * *

Oddly enough, I continue to struggle with staying "on track" during class. I make detailed lesson plans, but for some reason, when I'm in the middle of class, I often become a bit befuddled about exactly where I am in the lesson and what the next step should be. It seems like it's almost a case of nervousness, as though, after all these years, I still get butterflies when I'm in front of my students. They're all looking at me, waiting for me to say what the next step is, and sometimes I almost freeze up. I look down at my meticulous lesson plan and it almost swims before my eyes. What I have to do, I think, is develop a better way of diagramming my plans, so that I can systematically check them off as I go along. I'll start working on that immediately.

* * * * *

The cast for this year's musical was announced today, and I noticed that many of the same kids that have had good roles in the past will be starring again this year. I think that's just and proper, and I'm glad the directors handle it that way. Some of our students are exceptionally talented actors and singers, and it's fitting that they get the best roles. I put only the best writing up on the board in the hall, and our theater people put only the most talented kids in the lead roles. Each of our students has talents that will shine, one way or the other, at one time or another. The musical is a chance for a few kids to be in the spotlight, but all of our students (if we teachers do our jobs) will, at different times throughout the year, be front and center and taking a bow.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

C is for Calm

I would like my classroom to be a place of utter calmness. In their hectic adolescent lives, I hope my students can discover the power of serenity in my room. Perhaps my English class, if it isn’t the most thrilling experience of their day, can at least be among the most tranquil. When they enter my classroom, I hope the students breathe a sigh of relief and say, “Ah, quietness and peace for the next 48 minutes!” Needless to say, I have to be a reliable model of this calmness, and that means building a good foundation of serenity in my life. When I’m planning a lesson, for instance, I must pacify my tendency to fret and worry about whether I’m teaching the right material or enough material, and just peacefully accept whatever ideas come to me. When I’m teaching, I need to soothe my worries about whether I’m doing a good job and just trust the power of each present moment. Indeed, the greatest power in the universe is the power of calmness. The universe goes serenely about its business each moment, and so should I. Stars keep quietly spinning, seasons keep quietly changing, dawns keep quietly arising, and my classes should keep quietly flowing like an imperturbable river. The students deserve that. As frantic as their young lives are, they ought to have a few untroubled, halcyon places in their lives, and my classroom, I hope, can be one of them.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

B is for Belief

As a teacher, I must always keep in mind the power of my students’ beliefs about themselves. At every moment during English class, my students are believing something about their own powers, and these beliefs affect all their work in class. The fact is that there’s an enormous power constantly at work inside them, and it’s simply the power of belief. Their success or failure in English depends primarily on what they’re believing. My job as one of their teachers is to assist them in developing positive beliefs about themselves, particularly about their ability to be excellent high school readers and writers. I want them to deem themselves worthy students of English, and to develop the habit of placing trust in their own abilities. If they believe they can understand Dickens and write sophisticated literary essays, they’ll be half way to the goal. It would be wonderful if, as the year progresses, the idea in each of my students that he or she can be a brilliant reader and writer gains gradual credence. It would be wonderful if the students, little by little, give credit to themselves as exemplary readers and writers. I guess I’m talking about simple faith – the faith that they can accomplish more than they ever thought possible in English class. If they believe they can do it, they more than likely will.

Pierre Bonnard, "The Open Window" (1919)

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

A – allow

This year I would like to do more allowing, and less preventing. I would like to do more “letting things happen”, more permitting, as in, “This year I will permit you to develop wonderful ideas.” Too often in the past my students have seen me as someone who spends more time impeding, or correcting, faulty academic work than enabling successful work. They’ve seen me as more red light than green. This year I want to be an enabler in the best sense of that word. I want to give authority to my students – tell them that they have my permission to show all of their brilliance each day. I want to give them the means, ability, and opportunity to blossom in their own distinctive ways. I want to authorize and empower them, and thereby allow them to be the infinitely competent and gifted people they are.

Ruth Cole, "Country Village Landscape"

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 9, September 14, 2007

I guess every teacher has to deal with the tendency to focus more on the content of his curriculum than on his individual students. After all, it's much easier to work step by step through a lesson plan than to pay close attention to the individual lives of 12 students. Lesson plans are orderly and understandable, whereas students, like all human beings, are enigmatic and ultimately unfathomable. What I notice in my teaching, already this year, is that I'm once again being more attentive to my systematic, detailed lessons than to the individual students sitting in front of me. I don't like to admit that, but it's the truth. If you asked me after a class what a particular student was wearing or what expression she had on her face, I probably wouldn't have a clue. I was too busy teaching my curriculum. That's strange and sad.

* * * * *

I can't imagine having more respectful students than those at Pine Point. In my classes, the students make me feel like an important dignitary. (Does my advanced age have something to do with that??) They are cordial, kind, and always courteous. Anyone would be extremely fortunate to spend four class periods each day with such considerate children.

* * * * *

The break times during class are becoming very revealing for me. Today, while the other kids were relaxing outside, one girl sat at the table with a downcast expression. When I asked her if she was all right, I could see that she was on the edge of tears. I just nodded, and smiled, and stayed quiet.

Isaac Levitan, "Autumn Day"

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 8, September 13, 2007

At chorus this morning, I was impressed with how many kids were singing heartily. Even the 9th grade boys were enjoying themselves. They giggled and whispered in between songs, but when the music began again, they got seriously into it. As far as I could tell, the great majority of kids in the room were singing with considerable interest and delight.

* * * * *

I wonder about the students who always seem alone. In this year's 8th grade, several kids seem to be forever by themselves. I see this often at our brief break-time during class, when the students have one or two minutes to hang out and chill. This morning at least two kids just stood alone during the break-time while the others gathered in groups to unwind. It starts me wondering: What is it like for a teenager to always be alone? Do these solitary kids necessarily feel lonely, or do some young people actually enjoy their solitude? Is there anything I, as a teacher, can do to bring these loners into some kind of camaraderie with their class? (The small-group work probably helps somewhat.)

* * * * *

Several students in the 9th grade have assumed a greater leadership role this year. Perhaps leadership is not the perfect word here. Maybe earnestness would be better, for these students seem to be far more earnest than they were last year. They seem to have become, over the summer months, more serious and intense, less inclined to silliness and more interested in seeing how well they can do in school. It's a notable transformation.

* * * * *

I insist that my students show an alert posture in class, and the 8th graders are catching on quickly. I do notice, though, that some have a habit of leaning their chin on their hand during class, which might give the appearance that they are bored. I'll have to talk to them about this. It's ok to feel bored or uninterested (it happens to all of us), but it's not ok to show it.

* * * * *

Carolyn Meyer, "Napa Taffy II" 20" x 20" oil

A Poem for Today:

SEPTEMBER 1815

          WHILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,
       With ripening harvest prodigally fair,
       In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,
       Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
       His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields
       Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;
       And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare
       Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."
       For me, who under kindlier laws belong
       To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry                10
       Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky,
       Announce a season potent to renew,
       'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,
       And nobler cares than listless summer knew.

 -- William Wordsworth

Brenda Bickerstaff-Stanley, "Bright Sunlit Cottage"

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 7, September 12, 2007

During morning meeting today, I surveyed the audience at one point, and I must admit to being surprised that a large percentage of the students were looking directly at the speaker. I'm afraid I've often assumed a negative mindset about student attentiveness, taking it for granted that most of the kids are not particularly attentive during large meetings. So I was a bit startled this morning to see nearly the entire middle school with faces alertly forward. I need to remember this when I get into one of my pessimistic attitudes about kids' ability to attend. They actually do it amazingly well, probably better than many adults.

* * * * *

I'm starting to identify the 8th graders and new students who find it extra-difficult to stay focused. A few of them, for instance, obviously find it almost impossible to look at a textbook when I'm reading aloud from it. I've noticed them nearly always looking around the room or out the window -- anywhere but at the textbook. This is rare among our students, so it tends to stand out. In a class of 12 where most of the kids are able to be alert most of the time, the few whose minds are drifting are conspicuous. The challenge for me is to help these kids, by April, become really good at staying attentive. (Hand-signals and quick reminders before class should help.)

In this connection, my use of a timer will help, I think. This year, I've been saying to the class, "I'm going to set the timer for a certain time [eg., 17 minutes] and I want your total attention for that time. When the bell rings, we'll take a 1-minute relaxing break. So give it your best!" It seems to be working. (By the way, I got the timer idea from my son, who teachers 8th grade English in Plainfield, CT.)

* * * * *

A poem for today...

The Father

By Joshua Sylvester (1563–1618)

ALPHA and Omega, God alone:
Eloi, My God, the Holy-One;
Whose Power is Omnipotence:
Whose Wisedome is Omni-science:
Whose Beeing is All Soveraigne Blisse:	5
Whose Worke Perfection’s Fulnesse is;
Under All things, not under-cast;
Over All things, not over-plac’t;
Within All things, not there included;
Without All things, not thence excluded:	10
Above All, over All things raigning;
Beneath All, All things aye sustayning:
Without All, All conteyning sole:
Within All, filling-full the Whole:
Within All, no where comprehended;	15
Without All, no where more extended;
Under, by nothing over-topped:
Over, by nothing under-propped:
Unmov’d, Thou mov’st the World about;
Unplac’t, Within it, or Without:	20
Unchanged, time-lesse, Time Thou changest:
Th’ unstable, Thou, still stable, rangest;
No outward Force, nor inward Fate,
Can Thy drad Essence alterate:
To-day, To-morrow, yester-day,	25
With Thee are One, and instant aye;
Aye undivided, ended never:
To-day, with Thee, indures for-ever.
Thou, Father, mad’st this mighty Ball;
Of nothing thou created’st All,	30
After th’ Idea of thy Minde,
Conferring Forme to every kinde.
Thou wert, Thou art, Thou wilt be ever:
And Thine Elect, rejectest never.

Frank C.Peyraud, (American, b. 1858), "Early Autumn Landscape", c.1910

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 6, September 11, 2007

Today a soft, steady rain fell, so I couldn't ride or walk to school. I missed the feeling of arriving at my classroom after being out in the new morning air for 30-60 minutes. I guess I'll have to acquire the proper rain gear so I can come effortlessly even through a storm, walking or riding, to start my school day.

* * * * *

A boy was acting silly during a serious point in the class, and I talked to him in the hall about it. Unfortunately, there was a slight tone of anger in my voice, instead of the quiet strength that I always aim for. Anger serves no purpose other than to make students equally angry, or fearful, or both. What does serve a purpose is gentle power, the kind of power that comes forth when a teacher speaks softly but strongly. A teacher can reprimand a student with both strength and love, both intensity and gentleness -- which is what I didn't do today.

* * * * *

This morning I noticed how utterly exhausted my students looked -- and it was only 9:00 a.m.! Many of them could barely hold their heads up in class. They did their best to be politely attentive, but I could tell that much of my carefully-planned lesson was sinking into the swamp of their tiredness. And this, I'm sure, is the way they feel during much of the school day. The students must get literally sick and tired of hearing their teachers talk, talk, talk, talk all day long. -- another reason for getting them up and moving around at least a bit during each class. To paraphrase John Dewey, kids can't learn anything very well without moving their bodies.

In this connection, I'm pleased with the way the small-group "committees" are working this year. For about 10 minutes in each class, the kids gather in groups of three or four and discuss specific topics. At the end, each committee gives a brief, orderly, dignified report to the class. We're just getting started, so the students are occasionally interrupting each other and getting off the track, but I think they've made a great start. By April, my hope is that the committees will be running very smoothly. Instead of me talking for 40 minutes and the committees for 10, I'd like the situation to be much more balanced by the time spring is here. We'll see…

* * * * *