This afternoon some strange waves of sleepiness passed through my life. It began after school as I was driving up to see my grandson and his family in Brooklyn, CT. I was never in danger of falling asleep at the wheel, but I did feel wondrously peaceful as I was driving – peaceful and serene and almost, but not quite, drowsy. Perhaps it was the lazy look of the countryside, with leaves sailing here and there and the bright trees standing motionless in the sunlight, that filled me with this sluggish spirit. I felt utterly peaceable and satisfied, just the way the fields and hills looked. At Jaimie and Jess’s, too, I felt that same sense of almost-falling-asleep. As I read some books to 4-year-old Noah, my eyes grew heavier with each turn of the page. Then, after dinner, when Jess brought little Ava (6 months old) over to me for a goodnight kiss, her eyes almost closed in sleep as she looked at me. Luckily, I came alive a little when I was driving home. I got to thinking about some appealing ideas and soon I was fully awake and enjoying the evening light as the sunshine slowly disappeared. Now I’m sitting at my computer (at 7:30 pm), and I’m starting once again to sense the sleepiness approaching to carry me off to some fine hours of rest.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 38, Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Today I felt myself drifting over into an old familiar role, one I have assiduously tried to leave behind. I guess you could call it the "sage on the stage" role, as it's often known in educational circles. At times today I became more a performer than a teacher, more an actor than an academic guide for young people. I never completely abandoned my role as a dignified, sensible adult, but there were times when I came close to being more entertaining than wise, more spectacular than enlightening. I don't admire this kind of teaching, one that I unfortunately employed with regularity in long gone days. I thought I had put it behind me, but perhaps not. Perhaps I have to be more vigilant to prevent this disingenuous "sage on the stage' from making any further appearances in my classroom.

This morning I read, again, these wonderful lines from Keats:

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. 5 Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways 10 Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils 15 With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make ’Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms 20 We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink. Nor do we merely feel these essences 25 For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light 30 Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast, That, whether there be shine, or gloom o’ercast, They alway must be with us, or we die. --from "Endymion" by John Keats

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 37, Monday, October 29, 2007

This morning, in reading over a chapter in To Kill a Mockingbird, I came across some particularly lovely writing, and I immediately thought about having the students imitate it. This is a teaching technique I've used too infrequently over the years -- having the students write a sentence or paragraph in which they replicate, as closely as possible, the structure and style of an author. Every time I've used this method of teaching writing, it's been extremely successful. The students enjoy having a specific, closely controlled task (imitating the exact structure and style of a writer) while still being able to express their own thoughts about a topic. When we do it in class, I always find that the kids work silently and industriously on the assignment and love to share the results. Plus, there's no doubt that it teaches important lessons. After all, if you want to learn to write well, doesn't it make sense to imitate the masters? Why don't I do this exercise more often??

* * * * *

Today I felt relaxed as I was teaching, primarily because I hadn't planned too much to cover in my lessons. I didn't have to rush, which is a wonderful luxury for anyone these days, especially a teacher. Perhaps school, as well as being a shelter for kids from chaos and uproar and violence, should also be an oasis of calm in the midst of the frenzied lifestyle of the times. It might be a real blessing for kids to see a teacher who moves calmly and evenly through a lesson -- to a see a teacher who refuses to rush and yet still covers a significant amount of material. Perhaps it sets a good example for the kids, proof that a rich life can be lived without dashing and fretting.

After a long stretch of balmy, beautiful autumn days, the cold has come this morning. I just finished a brisk pre-dawn 30 minute walk up and down the hill in front of my house, and I was bundled up as if for winter: three layers of shirts, a warm hat, and gloves. It was an enlivening, awakening walk, the kind that my dad would have said “gets the blood pumping”. I felt good, but I also felt cold. The clear sky somehow had a frigid appearance, as if the last few stars were struggling to keep their lights lit in the cold. Cars rushed past me as if they couldn’t wait to get somewhere warmer.

Reading poetry this afternoon, I came upon these lines. They express so well what life should be for all of us:

Let there nothing be

More boisterous than a lover’s bended knee;

Nought more ungentle than the placid look

Of one who leans upon a closed book;

Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes

Between two hills.

-- John Keats, “Sleep and Poetry”

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 36, Friday, October 26

Today we spent about five minutes in each class reviewing the entire week's lessons, and it was time well-spent. It was good for the kids to flip back through the four lessons, reminding themselves of what they had learned during the week. I think it gave them a sense of accomplishment, a sense that there was a purpose for all the work they had done. It was a relaxing few minutes -- no pressure, no quiz, just a casual look back at our achievements.

* * * * *

While I was passing out papers for a creative writing exercise, I made a "spur of the moment" decision to allow the kids to not write anything, if they would prefer to just listen to the music. Bad decision, Ham! It turned out that fully half the students decided not to write, which made the exercise more a failure than a success. Half of the class simply listened to the song and then sat quietly while others wrote. When will I learn that impulsive decisions never work ? When will I learn to think carefully before I decide to do anything in the classroom?? Yikes!

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

J is for Just

I might do well to give some attention to the word “just” as I go about my teaching duties, for, though it seems to be an insignificant word, it can carry surprising meaning for a teacher. For instance, I don’t have to be a perfect teacher for 48 minutes of every class period throughout the year; I just have to be a perfect teacher right now, at whatever present moment I happen to be teaching. Teaching is not really about the year or the semester or the week; it’s just about now. The big question is: Can I just focus my attention on this one moment in the classroom? The word “just” can also be used to make a statement stronger, as in these declarations I’ve often made to myself: “Today I just can’t seem to teach effectively” (probably because teaching is one of the most complex jobs on the planet), or “Teaching is just too complicated for me” (probably because it is rocket science). I often feel that I just don’t understand teenagers (or much of anything), and that perhaps I’ll just never be a genuinely good teacher. However, I comfort myself with another use of the word “just” – to suggest that something is not earth-shakingly important. I remind myself that I’m just teaching kids how to read and write a little better, not how to live good lives. Far from revealing to them the mysteries of the universe, I just want to show them a few simple tricks to use when interpreting literature and composing essays. On their essays, I just make a few relatively inconsequential comments, because I’m just one high-school English teacher in a measureless and unfathomable universe. Those simple truths are always just what I need.

ONE TEACHER'S ALPHABET

J is for Jump

Probing in the American Heritage dictionary, I found some intriguing definitions for the word “jump”, many of which made me think about my work as a teacher. One definition is “to move involuntarily, as in surprise: He jumped when the phone rang.” It occurs to me that surprise should be (and probably is) a regular part of my English classes, mostly because my students, being teenagers and often being fairly sleepy, need to occasionally be jolted out of their reveries. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to cause them to “jump” now and then by making a shocking statement or taking a sudden sharp turn in the lesson. Of course, reading aloud a startling sentence or line of poetry could also be a effective way to get the students jumping, in this sense of the word. Another definition is “to move quickly; hustle: Jump when I give you an order.” My classes are not military boot camps, but they are, and should be, orderly, efficient, and rather intense training grounds for future English scholars. There’s no time for dilly-dallying in my classes. As a teacher, I have a responsibility to prepare my students to be accomplished readers and writers, and for this to happen, the students must follow my leadership instantly and precisely. They need to do a lot of this kind of jumping, from the first moment of class to the last. If they do follow my guidance in this way, they may see wonderful rewards in their paths, and, to use another definition of the word “jump”, they may “take prompt advantage; respond quickly: jump at a bargain.” It’s every teacher’s dream that his students will realize the many benefits to be derived from his class and quickly take advantage of them. He visualizes his students, like shoppers at a fantastic sale, going wild with all the “bargains” in knowledge offered in his class. “You’ll love his class”, he hears them saying in his mind. “He has all kinds of wonderful ideas available, at very reasonable prices!”

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 35, Thursday, October 25, 2007

At my school, if you need some inspiration, or you just want to start your Thursday on a high-flying note, you can stop in to listen to the middle school chorus at 8:20. I did that this morning, and I can't imagine getting my day up and running in a more heartening way. As I watched and listened, it was obvious to me that almost all the boys and girls were singing at their best level (many with pure pleasure and abandon), and the songs were a joy to hear. I don't recall hearing a PPS chorus sing any better. Outside, the trees were glowing in the morning darkness, while in the music room there was a glow of another kind.

* * * * *

One of my students asked me several weeks ago if I would like to watch one of her piano lessons, so yesterday morning, before school, I quietly entered the practice room where she was working at the piano with her teacher. And working is the right word. As I watched her practice, I could easily see how hard she was laboring as she tried to play what seemed like a very challenging piece. She was trying to make her hands and fingers perform new and intricate maneuvers, and it was obviously not easy. Her head and shoulders jerked and bobbed as she worked on the keys, and every so often I heard short bursts of sighs and groans. It struck me, as I watched, that she was toiling to learn this new piece in much the same way my students labor to put words and sentences together for essays. For her practice session, she was forcing her fingers to learn new habits, and for my writing assignments the students must force new ideas into new words, and then into new arrangements. What she was hoping was that her fingers would soon acquire the habit of playing this piece, just as I hope my students will slowly develop the habit of writing orderly and clear essays. Both tasks require a struggle -- often an extreme one -- at the start (as I saw with my student at the piano), but both tasks also can be bountifully rewarding when the habit has been entirely embedded. Then a Mozart sonata or a seven paragraph essay can be almost an effortless undertaking -- almost, indeed, a delight.

Day 33, Tuesday, October 23, 2007

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 33

In the 8th grade classes, we started working today on asking good questions of each other in discussions. I introduced them to two questions that we will be asking each other throughout the year: What do you mean? and How do you know? I found these questions in one of the books on teaching I read this summer, and they immediately seemed to be fundamental questions that should be woven through any intelligent conversation. They are questions that invite a classmate to continue talking because we are interested in what he or she is saying. When these questions (or paraphrases of them) are used regularly, a discussion has a chance to be more than just a podium for one student after another to voice a personal opinion. With questions like these, there's an opportunity for the students to build something together during a discussion. Instead of each going down his or her own private trail, the group, through intelligent listening and questioning, can move together up a single trail toward the truth.

A POEM FOR TODAY

China Map

by J. Allyn Rosser

I was worn out, lost, and sixteen
in China at 6 p.m., everyone
suddenly in a purchasing frenzy,
when he stopped me with a smile
that just turned me upside down:
gold caps on one side, gaps on the other.
I could tell he was more human
than most people, or more kind.
He was old the way everyone is old
when you're sixteen: maybe fifty, or seventy.
I had passed through the village of pork,
the village of shoes, the village of cotton shirts
and linen. Each few blocks the commodity
changed, the sounds and smells trans-laundered
the air you walked in. He held out to me
a section of the oddly shaped fruit
with a rough, nubbly green rind,
smooth amber glistening inside,
a taste divine, beyond my tongue.
He was a busy man with buyers,
we were smack at the core of the village
of fruit. All of his globes were selling.
I was a ready target, fanning out
the colored bills, raising my brows.
He looked at my hotel's card,
looked into both of my eyes, as if to say
it was going to get dark fast,
and sat us down on two crates side by side,
and stopped his hawking then to draw,
in deft, meticulous detail, a map
to get me back: the splashing fountain
with the fish inside the osprey's mouth,
the statue of the sword-bearing giant,
the dog-legging street that led
to a cat's-paw alley just before the really
sharp turn. When he drew an intersection,
the stoplight had all three circles
with diagonal hyphens radiating out—
and that fountain! He spent a lot of time
making it sparkle on the paper bag
under his knife-sharpened, spit-greased pencil.
I remember his ropy hand veins working.
I remember this fruit I carried back
to my hotel and up the stairs, glowing and round
like the truth. Like the globe of the truth
of everything in the whole wide world.
I didn't know how to go about eating it
when I got back to my room:
no knife, no dish, no napkin.
I sat and watched it ripen in the dusk,
breathing its aroma, which seemed
the antidote to every wrong thing.
In the morning I can't believe I just
left it behind. That fruit.
Also, doubtless, the map.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 34, Wednesday, October 24, 2007

We do a few minutes of silent reading at the start of my classes, and today I took a moment to look up from my book (Jane Austen's Emma) and take in the tranquility of the scene. I had soft classical music playing, and most of the students seemed fairly immersed in their books. It was the kind of serenity that is probably somewhat rare in today's world -- no talking, no noise, no doing this and that, just calm melodies and stress-free reading. It was a pleasure to sip my ice water (provided by the server) and appreciate this peaceful start to another English class.

* * * * *

Today I did something I had not planned to do, and it worked out well. I had planned to have very brief conferences (like one minute) with each student about their portfolio paragraphs, but after doing it in the classroom fairly unsuccessfully with the first-period 9th grade section, I made an impromptu decision to hold the rest of the conferences in the hall. There happened to be a comfortable chair outside my room, so I pulled another chair out and the students and I had informative and profitable one-on-one discussions. It helped me to see, once again, how valuable conferences can be. I was able to point out specific strengths and weaknesses in each paragraph, and, more importantly, I gave specific face-to-face praise to each student, which everyone appreciates. Because of these longer hallway conferences, my lessons plans had to be shelved, but I believe it was a change worth making. Yes, I switched horses in midstream (which I normally hate to do), but the new horse proved to be a considerable upgrade.

I've been reading Thoreau lately, and this morning I came across this quote from his essay called "Walking": "To enjoy a thing exclusively is commonly to exclude yourself from the true enjoyment of it." I think of this often as I'm walking past the huge homes in my town. The residents own these homes "exclusively" (I am not free to wander across their property), but I wonder how many of them have a "true enjoyment" of it. Perhaps, just strolling past it, I actually enjoy their property more than they do.

I wonder if I could eliminate most of the pressure in my life by simply not applying it. This thought came to me as I was grading papers the other day. As usual, I was writing my comments with a pencil, and, as usual, I was pressing down rather hard, literally pushing the pencil tip into the paper as I wrote. My fingers were gripping the pencil forcefully, almost squeezing it. In fact, the muscles of my entire hand and arm were tense and contracted as they focused on this “severe” task of writing. For some reason, though, I suddenly relaxed. I loosened my grip, calmed my hand and arm, and just allowed the pencil to move easily across the paper. I think I even took a deep breath, as though I had stopped laboring and was now settling in for some recreation. Surprisingly, I found that my handwriting improved when I wrote in this tranquil way. The letters and words were more precise and graceful, and there was a curious elegance in the flow of the letters. It was as if the pencil, freed from the pressure of my tight grip, could now perform its task with its natural fluidity. As I say, this started me thinking about all kinds of pressure in my life, and whether most (or all) of that pressure comes from me. Perhaps I am always holding the “pencil” too tightly. Perhaps I generally need to “loosen my grip”, whether I’m teaching, talking to someone, reading, or just walking down the hall. Perhaps life works best when its allowed to be its efficient self, like my pencil swaying gracefully in the margins of a student’s essay.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 32, October 22, 2007

Today, for several reasons, I fell behind in teaching my planned lessons, and I also found a few careless errors in the written lessons I passed out to students. These are just a few of the reasons why I would not call myself a particularly good teacher today. I felt sort of ineffective all day, like a car that's barely managing to move down the road on low tires and a lousy engine. At the end of the day, though, I did something that always helps me recover from feelings of ineptitude: I performed some ordinary actions in a thorough way. I slowly and carefully stacked the chairs in my room, and I did it perfectly. I may not have been an excellent teacher today, but I was an excellent stacker of chairs. Then I walked down the hall, and I did the walking flawlessly; I was a first-rate walker-down-the-hall. Also, no one can drink water from a fountain better than I did, and outside, I turned my face up to the warm sunshine in a faultless manner.

After a day of what seemed like substandard teaching, it felt good to do a few simple things with excellence and grace.

George Inness, "Pond in Autumn"

October 21, 2007

Yesterday I attended my grand-daughter’s birthday party in Millbury, MA, and, as a supplementary blessing, witnessed the autumn colors at their finest. I first noticed the trees on my drive up the highway in the morning. The early light made the leaves shine, and I saw many yards and fields simply glowing with color. At Kaylee’s soccer game (which many in the family attended before the party), I enjoyed the radiant look of the trees surrounding the field as much as I did the game itself. The little players seemed surrounded by the red and orange intensity of the trees. It was as though the kids were on a stage with the luminous trees as background scenery. When the happy party was over, I drove home by some remote back-roads, and I’m glad I did, because the late sunlight lit up the autumn trees like flares. I actually stopped several times to stare in astonishment at a tree and snap a few pictures. I rode joyfully along, feeling like I was driving down avenues lined with flags flying just for me.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Yesterday I felt the meaning of the old saying that “if one of us succeeds, we all do”. After a somewhat discouraging week of teaching (I felt like I had completely blown several lessons on writing), I was grading essays yesterday morning, and growing even more dispirited. One after another of them seemed disorganized and bland, and, as I always do, I began blaming myself. I’ve always felt that if my students aren’t learning how to write, the buck stops at the my desk, so I started beating myself up yesterday morning: Geez, Salsich, don’t you know anything about teaching writing?? Fortuitously, however, in the midst of my gloominess I came upon a perfectly graceful and elegant essay by an 8^th grade girl. I was enthralled as I read it. She had obviously followed my instructions meticulously, and she used almost all the techniques I had recently taught the class. The writing charmed me with its orderliness and elegance. When I finished reading it, I set it down, took a deep breath of reassurance, and smiled. Perhaps I wasn’t such a feeble writing teacher after all. My student had succeeded, and therefore, to some degree, so had I. Perhaps if one of us succeeds, we all do.

October 20, 2007

I’ve enjoyed the soft, steady rain that has soaked our area the last two days. Yesterday morning, for instance, I did my usual brisk walking in a continuous shower, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I recall the refreshing feel of the cool rain on my face (it was a somewhat warm morning) as I strode up and down the steep street near my apartment. In the gutters beside the sidewalk, the water was flashing past me like a small stream, and I took pleasure in watching the ripples gleam in the light from the street lamps as I walked along. I did the same walk this morning, in a lighter rain, and again appreciated the fresh feel of the rain on my shirt. I also appreciated the rain that fell all day at school yesterday, mostly because I think it made my lessons a bit easier for the students to take. After all, there is something soothing about the sound of showers on bushes and grass, and perhaps it helped my teaching be a little less wearisome for the kids. Perhaps the drumming of raindrops outside provided a restful musical background for our study of less-than-inspirational English topics. I do know this: the mild music of the rain made a marvelous sleep-inducing environment last night. I drifted quietly off to paradise around 9:30 while listening to a fine and slow drizzle of melodies outside my window.

Day 30, October 18, 2007

* * * * *

The two Janes had some triumphs today. Jane P. stood at the podium in a dignified manner and recited her required poem without hesitation or error. I found myself tensing up as I listened, hoping she could get all the way through -- and she did. I wanted to jump and shout in praise when she finished. Instead, I just thanked her, and we all clapped. A bit later, Jane S. performed in an astonishing manner in class. We had read a lengthy and convoluted chapter in our book last night, and most of the kids had missed some implied meanings. Jane, however, held forth on these hidden ideas quite confidently, and in some detail. As she spoke, it became clear to me that she was one of only two students (out of 21) in the class who understood the significance of some important parts of the chapter.

* * * * *

In our "committees" today, Joey, showing politeness and good discussion skills, asked Ralph what he thought about the topic.

* * * * *

Lisa is one of the most perceptive and meticulous readers in her class. Today she amazed all of us with her ability to recall the smallest details from the assigned chapter in the book. She remembered more from the chapter than even I did. When I asked if she had gotten help on the chapter, she replied, "Nope. I just read it carefully."

Day 29, October 17, 2007

Today I was once again fairly successful in observing and taking notes on eight students, and it made me realize, about half way through the day, that my attention to those students seemed to be making them better students. As strange as it sounds, the fact that I was focusing on them, looking for good things to record about them, appeared to magically elevate them to an unusually high level of English work. Almost all of the eight students participated actively, above and beyond their normal level, and many of them actually were the stars of the class.

Here are some examples:

Jimmie came briskly into the classroom and proudly showed me his homework, which had not been very good the day before. He also participated enthusiastically in our discussion of Ch. 9 of Great Expectations.

Barb was excited about the GE chapter, and worked very diligently on the "letter to herself", which we wrote during class. (This is a brief letter the students write to themselves after getting graded papers back, detailing three weaknesses they need to work on for their next assignment.)

Eugene was the absolute star of his class. His hand was constantly waving during our discussion of Mockingbird.

Warren, who has been very quiet in most of the classes, raised his hand twice and made thoughtful comments about the novel.

Denise, too, was a bright star. Normally she's a bit reticent, but today she practically led the entire discussion in her class.

Day 28, October 16, 2007

Today I took the 9th grade out on the grass to do some notetaking for an up-coming descriptive essay, and it reminded me, again, of how effective guided practice can be. It's helpful, of course, to send kids home to practice their writing or reading in the evening, but it usually doesn't reap the rewards of quiet, focused work under the teacher's supervision. Today the kids sat silently in a small area where I could oversee them, and for about ten minutes they simply looked and listened, and wrote down what they saw and heard. Because I was there, the silence was complete and the focus was fairly concentrated. Their pencils were moving almost constantly, and when we went back to the classroom for the last few minutes, they shared some very detailed notes. Had they done this exercise at home, I doubt whether many of them could have matched the observant and detailed work they did in my outdoor classroom today.

* * * * *

I'm pleased that I was able to focus today on the students that I had selected for special attention. Each day I select 9 students to pay special attention to, not because they are particularly needy but just because all of my students deserve to be individually attended to. In this way, I can observe and take notes on each of my students one day each week. In the excitement and busyness of a class, it's often hard for me to remember to observe and take notes on the selected kids, but I can see that I'm getting better at it. Today I did an fairly thorough job.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

H is for Horizontal

I realize, more and more lately, that I enjoy the horizontal aspect of teaching more than the vertical. When I think of vertical teaching, I picture teachers pushing their students up steep slopes of learning. Vertical teachers are relentlessly ambitious to reach the next summit, and as soon as they arrive they start their students off on another climb toward the next summit. For vertical teachers, there’s no looking sideways, no stopping for a lengthy gaze around at what they and their students have achieved. In their desire to help their students accomplish as much as possible, these teachers are almost unyielding in their progress up the hilly trails of education. I admire these kind of teachers because they do a particular service to their students and to our profession, but it’s not my kind of teaching. I guess I’m more interested in helping my students explore each summit than in pushing them quickly off to the next one. I’d like them to learn to appreciate the flat and scenic view on whatever plateaus we reach in English class, rather then to always be looking up at the next vertical climb. After all, there are beautiful horizons to be enjoyed when you’re relaxing at the end of a sheer climb. I think of the book we’re reading in 9^th grade – Dickens’ Great Expectations. Yes, we could climb unremittingly up the trails of the book, and probably finish it in just a few weeks and start “climbing” another book. (This is what happens in the majority of high school English classes.) But what’s the point? In that kind of vertical reading, when do the students ever get to pause and take pleasure in the beauties of the plot, the characters, the language? When do they get to take a break to appreciate the artistry that has made the book a classic? In that kind of out-of-breath English teaching, the students, I’m afraid, are left with little more than mental exhaustion and memories of endless climbs up complicated verbal trails. I have little interest in that kind of instruction. In my classes, we may read only a few books each year, but that’s because we’re determined to enjoy the views on each of the countless summits the authors created for us.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 27, October 15, 2007

Today I disappointed myself. In several incidents, I spoke without thinking -- impulsively and unconstructively. I was reactive instead of proactive. I used coarseness instead of gentleness. They weren’t major incidents, and my offense, in most people’s eyes, was probably minor and hardly worth mentioning, but to me my behavior was strictly second-rate.

In one instance, as I was talking with some students at one side of the room while collecting papers, I turned and saw two boys whispering and giggling across the room. With nary a thought, I spoke brusquely to them, asking them to stop in a tone that seemed unnecessarily harsh to me. Even as I was speaking to them, I knew I was a bit out of control. My temper had gotten the best of me. The boys knew it, too. They looked at me like they couldn’t believe their easygoing English teacher had raised his voice to them. We went back to work in a minute, and it may be that the boys and the class quickly forgot about it. I didn’t, though – and I won’t for some time. I behaved in a brash and mindless manner – to me, a major sin for a teacher. My cardinal rule in teaching is that I must maintain thoughtful control over myself at all times. I must be gentle rather than abrupt, mellow rather than fearsome. I must be strong with my students when they misbehave, but my strength must come from an authoritative quietness rather than an unrestrained abrasiveness.

I broke my own rule today, and I’m mad at myself for it.

Most people believe perfection can never be a reality, but I believe it’s always the reality. It seems to me that every present moment is utterly perfect, simply because it is what it has to be. As this current reality right now, the present moment is without fault or defect, which is one definition of “perfection”. I personally may not like this moment the way it is, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is exactly what it must be. I may wish this moment was a “happier” one for me or for others, but that doesn’t make the moment any less complete the way it is. This moment, and any moment, can’t be anything but what it is, which makes it perfect. This may sound somewhat insensitive, because we all know that a moment can be full of intense pain and suffering, which would seem to surely not be a perfect situation. But I would say, rather, that it’s not a happy situation. I personally may not enjoy a particular present moment, may not be happy with what’s happening at that moment, but I can still recognize and accept the fact that the moment, right now, is exactly the way it must be. I may not be pleased with this moment, but I can be at peace with it. I can even, perhaps, honor it as another perfect moment in a universe everlastingly full of them. I guess I’m talking about seeing the big picture instead of the small, “personal” picture. To me, personally, many moments are annoying, unsatisfactory, and painful, but in the big picture of the 15 billion-year-old universe, I try to see that each moment is a necessary part of a measureless and harmonious system that has kept itself running smoothly for eons. My personal situation may be sad and agonizing, but the situation of the universe as a whole is always perfect, and I am part of that general perfection. I just have to step back – way back – and get the big, perfect picture.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

I is for Inclusive

I would like my teaching this year to be inclusive. I want my classroom to be entirely “open”, so that all people, all thoughts, all feelings, and all truths can be welcomed. I have a sign on my door welcoming visitors, and I guess I mean that in the broadest sense. In my English class, we don’t exclude. We don’t shut out certain opinions or feelings. We admit, and cordially greet, life in all its eccentricity and intricacy. This, of course, doesn’t mean that I permit any kind of behavior during class. On the contrary, because of the atmosphere of inclusiveness, only welcoming behavior is allowed – the kind of behavior that makes everyone feel comfortable and cherished and even honored. Meanness and rudeness is behavior aimed at rejecting others – excluding them – and for that reason is forbidden in my classroom. The word “accomodate” might help explain what I’m describing here. I hope my English classes will “have room” for every type of student, every sort of idea, and every shade of feeling. When the students walk down the hall toward my room, I want them to have a feeling of total acceptance and approval. Like travelers looking for a place to stay, I want them to feel they have found an accomodating “hotel” for an hour, an inclusive place where acknowledgment, not rejection, is the prevailing premise.

October 13, 2007

The weather turned cold and gusty yesterday. The trees around school and along North Main were swaying in the winds, and leaves were taking wing by the thousands. As I drove down to the Borough after school for a “happy hour” gathering with a few friends, the trees seemed lit up in the late, cool sunlight, and everything (even the cars) seemed to be blowing along somewhere. Before my friends arrived, I sat on the deck of Skipper’s Dock and enjoyed a beer while the wind whistled among the masts of boats and a lone windsurfer whipped across the harbor.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 26, October 12, 2007

I provide ice water and crackers for my classes, and it's interesting that I almost never notice the "server" (a different student each week) as he or she moves quietly around the room with the refreshments. It takes only a few minutes and the servers perform their duties so noiselessly that it's not surprising that I'm usually not aware of them. Today, though, I took special notice as one of the students walked around the table with a pitcher and a plateful of crackers. It was a good sight to see. The server was cordial with each person, and the students all said please and thanks. We were all reading silently (this happens at the start of class), and the peaceful atmosphere of engaged reading was augmented by the decorum of the server and students. I felt like I was in the living room in a gracious home rather than a classroom.

* * * * *

My puppet theater collapsed twice today while Robert was serving refreshments. Each time, Phil and a few other boys got up quietly to help put the theater back on the table. No disturbance was caused, and almost no time was lost in the efficient conducting of the class. I thought it was impressive that teenagers could handle a potential disturbance like that with such dignity and aplomb.

* * * * *

In the 8th grade classes, we listened to a song by Coldplay called "Fix You", and then the kids wrote quietly for a few minutes. It was a deeply moving experience for many of them, especially when I read their writings aloud with the sad song playing softly in the background. Whenever I glanced up, I saw only focused and sad faces -- especially Jeff’s, Monique’s, and Carley’s. Carley, in fact, was crying when the readings were finished, and Ava walked over and gave her a hug. (I even choked up a bit as I was reading, thinking about my late beloved father.)

* * * * *

I was very pleased with the way the 9th grade collaborative groups worked today. This was their first chance to talk together about their complicated and challenging assignment, and the discussions seemed to progress with surprising smoothness and productivity. Two groups of four sat in the hall and conducted intelligent discussions (complete with setting individual assignments and deadlines), and two groups worked in my classroom. It was wonderful to see these young people doing an activity that will be so important in later years: working on a shared project with a group. They, too, seemed happy with the way things were going. As Phil put it, "It's a tough project, but at least we have friends to share it with."

Two questions for me: Why haven't I assigned this kind of project every year? Why did it take me 40 years to discover its value???

The weather has been delightfully warm for the past several weeks. It’s October, but it seems, honestly, more like midsummer. The mornings are mild and still but with a feeling of coming warmth in the air, and by mid-afternoon I’ve set my sweater aside and rolled up my sleeves to stay cool. It hasn’t actually been hot (my students haven’t yet swooned during class, as they came close to doing in September), but there’s been a sultriness in the air that’s brought the perspiration out as I’ve taught my lessons. Still, the days have been beautiful. The trees are just about at their colorful best, and leaves are floating softly down in the still air. I must remember to take my students out for “walking classes” in the next few weeks. I would think that discussing To Kill a Mockingbird as we walk among multicolored trees might be closer to recreation than work.

George Inness (1825-1894)

Autumn Oaks, ca. 1878

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 25, October 11, 2007

Annie had a very fine English class today. In the first few weeks she's been a bit distracted during class, often gazing out the window or busying herself with things other than the matter at hand. Today, though, her hand was almost constantly up, and her comments were always insightful. We were discussing an intricate quote from Thoreau, and most of the students seemed bewildered by it. Only Annie and one or two others seemed to find the heart of the passage. I wonder…could it be that she is one of those students who only awakens when the work becomes truly thought-provoking and demanding?

* * * * *

I was a patient teacher today. There were some minor difficulties during class (there always are), but I was able to bear them with calmness. I forgot to do a few things I had planned and got a bit behind in my scheduled tasks, but I endured and just kept on teaching. I persevered. I stayed constant in my desire to teach as much as possible, and continued to work with slow and persistent industry. I guess you could say I did a good job of waiting. I didn't force anything, didn't shove the lesson down the students' throats. I just kept doing my best and waited calmly to see what the outcome or result would be. I was neither hasty nor impulsive, two of my most distressing habits over the years. I'm not at all sure how much the students learned today, but I'm satisfied with the way I taught.

Martin Johnson Heade (1819�1904)

Approaching Thunder Storm, 1859

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 24, October 10, 2007

Today I realized how much fun teaching can be when I relax and focus on what I'm doing right now, and just do it as thoroughly and attentively as possible. It sounds simple, but for me, being totally alert to what's happening in the present moment is a ceaseless struggle. When I'm teaching, I often seem to be focused on the future -- not on what I'm doing now but on what I will be doing next, and next after that, and so on. I'm always much too aware of time – of the clock inexorably ticking, of the minutes passing while I hurry to keep pace. Today I guess I forgot about the clock, and three cheers for me for accomplishing that feat. For a good part of my classes, I lived in the present moment, just taking pleasure in what was unfolding right now. This is the only sane way to teach, and to live. The simple but astounding fact is that the present moment is all that ever exists, so the reasonable way to operate would be to relax and enjoy that moment. On this good day in the classroom, I managed to do that.

* * * * *

At study hall I noticed two boys sprawled in the big, soft chairs with books. They seemed totally relaxed and absorbed as they read. I noticed, as I drew closer, that they were reading fat books of probably 500 pages or more, and I recalled seeing them with similar books quite often this year. I interrupted them for a few moments to chat about the books, and then I went back to my work and they dove back into their reading. For a few moments, though, I thought about this – about how immersed they were in their reading, about the fact that my giving them a few minutes to read silently at the start of English class might have contributed to their involvement with these books, about the possibility that many other students may be enjoying the pastime of leisurely reading because I promote it in class. It gave me a feeling of encouragement, a feeling that perhaps those few minutes of reading quietly in class are more beneficial than I had realized.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Professional Development Day

October 9, 2007

Yesterday, a professional development day for our teachers, I visited Pomfret School and learned a few good things about proficient teaching. I sat in on Mitch Pinkowski’s senior AP course on Joyce, where I experienced the kind of settled, gentle, and inspiring teaching that I’ve always admired. From start to finish, the class was conducted in a dignified and intellectual manner. The students and Mitch obviously respected each other (a somewhat uncommon condition in a classroom) and they exchanged ideas like gifted, inquiring scholars. It was obvious to me that the students enjoyed the company of their teacher; they seemed happy and relaxed throughout the period, often smiling unreservedly or breaking into laughter.

I noted several things that will be helpful to me as a teacher:

* Mitch used the new vocabulary words in sentences, and applied several of them to the literary discussion of the day.

* He used the board to draw continuums illustrating important themes in the book.

* I loved it when he read aloud from Joyce, slowly and feelingly, and asked the students to take up their pens and watch carefully for imagery and diction. I need to do much more of this.

* I noticed that the students didn’t raise their hands to speak, and yet there was never an interruption. There was a conspicuous atmosphere of decorum and graciousness in the room at all times.

* Mitch often said “Thank you” to students after they contributed to the discussion.

* He ended the class on a high note, reading aloud a dramatic scene from the story, and then quietly dismissing the class.

Later, Mitch and I chatted over coffee about the fine art of teaching, and I gained still more good ideas. He showed me a wall covered with post-it notes on which students had written important insights gained during the classes. He said they cover his walls with these notes, and then organize them and make use of them in writing analytical papers. He also mentioned how important it is for him to keep the whole year in mind when planning a day’s or week’s work. He said the “big picture” needs to be kept constantly at the forefront of thought.

I’m grateful to Mitch for a day of insight and growth, just what my Head of School had in mind when he gave us the day off yesterday.

Harry Rutherford (1903-1985) "Camden Town Street"

ONE TEACHER'S ALPHABET

Y is for Yield

I wonder if I should place a “YIELD” sign at the entrance to my classroom, since yielding is an important aspect of quality education. In one sense, the word refers to the process of giving forth by a natural process, especially by cultivation. Just as a field can yield many bushels of corn, my students and I can yield a bountiful crop of learning. Of course, both procedures require steady cultivation: the farmer nurtures the land and his corn, and my students and I look after each other in order to help us learn as much as possible. The word “yield” also can imply surrender, or the giving up of an advantage to another, which is something that must frequently happen in a productive classroom. We often fall into the habit of believing that “gaining an advantage” is one of the best ways to be successful in school, but the truth is that giving up the advantage can be even more beneficial. Instead of always trying to be better, smarter, quicker, or more clever than anyone else, my students and I need to learn how to “yield” to the talents of others. Only then can we realize, and benefit from, the astonishing wisdom that’s present in all of us. To use an analogy, many of us have gradually learned that yielding when driving a car can actually help us get where we’re going in a more efficient manner. Instead of bulling our way forward, we can “surrender” to the flow of traffic and thus move along more smoothly and harmoniously. In school, my students and I are learning a similar lesson. The more we yield to the wisdom of others, the more we understand our own.

George Vicat Cole RA (1833-1893) "Autumn in the Meadows"

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

October 8, 2007, Columbus Day

On this unusually warm and airless autumn day, I worked over at school on the coming week’s lessons, but for the most part it was not a productive time. For some reason, wonderful and clear ideas did not seem to be coming. Every lesson and assignment I thought of seemed paltry, insignificant, and destined for failure. I felt like an amateurish sailor toiling against an uncooperative sea.

And that was exactly the problem. I was thinking of myself in the wrong way – as a lone, solitary, limited individual who had to find, all by himself, rich and rewarding lessons for his students. It was little me against the ocean called “teaching 9^th grade English”. I gradually began to see the falsity of that viewpoint. I began to realize – remember, actually – that what I really am is a part of an infinitely intelligent universe that does beautifully by itself, without interference from what I think of as “me”. I remembered that a vast and measureless power is at work in my lesson-planning and teaching, a far greater power than exists in one small brain in a skull. While I was struggling to “invent” lesson plans, this infinite mental force (often called God, or Allah, or the Tao, or just the Universe) was quietly going about its business of keeping everything running harmoniously. Even my struggling was part of that smooth business – just some small whitecaps on the surface of the well-balanced ocean of life. Everything – even my frustrated search for brilliant teaching ideas – was happening just the way it had to, just the way the ubiquitous and all-powerful present moment decreed it must.

As I began to see this picture more clearly, I gradually calmed down. I slowly began to feel like a self-assured sailor working easily with the wind rather than an unskilled deckhand struggling to make headway. Like the wind, the good teaching ideas were out there, I knew. I just had to relax, let them come quietly along, and then cooperate with them in a modest but confident way. A faithful and vigilant teacher doesn’t have to find good ideas for lessons; the ideas, like the wind on the sea, will find him. I began to see that that’s the only way teaching can sail along to new and surprising places, even on becalmed October days.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

H is for Habit

In some ways, I think my main task as an English teacher is to help my students develop good habits. In their future English courses, and in their lives in general, they will often be expected to exhibit specific patterns of behavior, and it is my responsibility to introduce and perhaps implant those patterns. Their teachers and employers will expect them to be able to routinely perform specific tasks involving reading and writing without much uncertainty or hesitation, and I can help them develop those tendencies. Because, through repeated repetition, they learned how to tie their shoes, they now can do it quickly and skillfully, and I would like them to develop, in a similar way, good habits in reading and writing. In the future, for example, my students will be required to write hundreds of “papers”, both in school and at work, and it is my duty to prepare them to do this as efficiently as possible. I need to develop in them the “practice” of clear, orderly writing, so that it can be done smoothly and promptly, with as little unrest as possible. When they’re given a writing assignment next year or ten years from now, my hope is that they can do it almost as easily as they tie their shoes. Some might protest that writing essays and reports is far more complex than tying one's shoes, and I would certainly agree. However, the habitual element in both tasks is similar. LeBron James can dribble like a magician because it's become an ingrained habit for him, and I would hope my students can learn to write essays with the same kind of routine wizardry. The essays will (I hope) contain intricate ideas, but the overall flow of the papers will be the result of well-practiced habits. Even more important, though, is the necessity for forming in my students an established disposition of the mind as regards reading and writing. Even more than doing certain actions with confidence, I want them to be a certain kind of reader and writer. I want them, if you will, to gradually acquire the habit of being serious and devoted students of the written word. That, I think, will help them be serious and devoted human beings for the rest of their lives.

My students (and a colleague, top) in the White Mountains, New Hampshire

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Days 20-23, October 2-5

Yesterday I returned from a fairly perfect four day trek in the White Mountains with 27 eighth grade students. Everything seemed tailor-made for our small band of hikers. The weather was the proper weather for a forest trek in autumn (cool, clear, and lightly breezy), the trees were fittingly dressed for October, and the spirits of we students and teachers were as fresh and free as the breezes we felt. We were a cheerful group right from the start. There seemed to be a constantly festive mood among us, whether we were eating snacks on the trail, scrambling up sheer trails, or resting in satisfaction at the summits of Carter Dome and Mt. Hight. Wherever we were from Tuesday through Friday, we all seemed glad to be there. I, for one, simply felt lucky. How, I wondered, was I so fortunate to be a teacher at a school that takes young people into the great kingdom of the wilderness? It seemed providential that I, of all the billions of people on earth, was somehow selected to be with these ebullient people among these rousing mountains.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 19, October 1, 2007

The committee work in 9th grade was very effective today, I thought. We spent only about ten minutes in the small groups, making up sentences that contained unusual prepositions. As I observed the groups, I couldn't help but notice both the enthusiasm and the seriousness of the groups. They laughed, smiled, and lifted their voices now and then as they worked toward their goals. I was particularly happy to see Bill and Bobby, two boys who are often alone at school, laughing with abandon as they decided on their favorite sentences. It seems that I'm on the right course toward my goal of helping the students to learn collaborative techniques this year.

* * * * *

I didn't plan my lessons well today. I planned way more than I could accomplish, and as a result, I felt somewhat frustrated, especially after my 8th grade classes. I simply need to keep trying to plan just enough to challenge the students but not so much that we all feel rushed, bothered, and dissatisfied.