Day 57, November 28, 2007

Today in one of the 9th grade classes, we had a conversation about a character in Great Expectations who has one personality for his role as a lawyer, and a totally different personality for his role, at his peaceful home in the country, as gentleman farmer and caretaker for his elderly father. The kids noted that he seems to change perceptibly as he walks home from the city to the country, his facial features actually growing visibly softer the nearer he gets to home. At his office in London, he is a strict and obsessive attorney, but at his "castle" in the woods he is utterly relaxed and pleasant. One student astutely remarked that it's rather like what kids have to do: be serious students when they're in the classroom, but wild and free teen-agers on the playground and at home. They have to put off one role and put on another as they go from one area of their lives to another. We have occasionally discussed this in English class -- the fact that I expect students to behave with poise and dignity the minute they walk into my room. They might be acting like silly comedians out in the hall, but when they open my door to enter, they have to quickly become serious English students. What Mr. Wemmick does in Great Expectations is little different from what my students have to do every day, and I think the kids saw that during today's discussion.

I finished reading Emma today. It was an enthralling experience to make my peaceful way through Austen's simple but elegant paragraphs. She writes the way we all should live -- with straightforwardness and grace. Her plot is plain but fascinating, her characters ordinary but remarkable. It's a work of everyday common sense, deep wisdom, and high art.

Friday, November 30, 2007

The cold of winter has come, perhaps to stay. The last few days have had a frigid feel and look to them – the bleak-looking trees, a few last leaves flying around in the wind, students dashing past my window in their sweaters and coats. I’m always warm, though, in my classroom. My students and I work through our lessons in a snug and pleasant atmosphere. The hot water kettle keeps quietly bubbling as we sip our tea or hot chocolate and discuss various English matters. We also smile and laugh a lot, which always makes wintry days seem a little like summertime.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 56, November 28, 2007

Today, as I continue to learn how to “coach” the students during literature discussions, I tried two new techniques. First, during the discussions I used post-it notes to offer comments or compliments to individual students. I quietly moved around the room, writing short notes and giving them to the students. One student was totally focused on each speaker, so I praised him for that in a note. To another student I wrote a note suggesting that she ask one of her classmates to clarify what he had said earlier in the discussion. It seemed to work quite well. I was able to communicate with the students without disrupting the discussion, and I think the kids enjoyed getting a private note from their teacher. The other new technique I tried was raising my hand and counting slowly on three fingers after each speaker came to a stop. This was to encourage the kids to allow a long pause after each speaker, mostly to make sure the speaker was entirely finished with his or her comment, but also to take in what the speaker had said. This, too, seemed to work quite well. It forced the class to enjoy that rare experience of being in a discussion where all participants have a chance to thoroughly finish what they wanted to say. In doing so, this technique also reinforced the atmosphere of politeness and dignity that I try to maintain in my classroom. I’m happy with the way these two methods worked today, and plan to refine them as the weeks pass.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 55, Tuesday, November 27, 2007

This year I'm employing a teaching method I have never used in 40+ years of teaching. (I find it amazing that teaching continues to be so "new" to me, that I continue to come upon techniques I have never used, or even thought about using. Is there no end? Is this teaching business infinitely complex?) During our literary discussions this year, I often act as a "discussion coach". I sit at the round table among the students and occasionally suggest discussion techniques. I don't participate in the discussion, just as a soccer coach doesn't participate in the game. Like the coach, I merely point out strategies to use. I whisper to one student: "Ask her if she could explain her statement"; to another: "Nod to her to show you're listening"; and to another: "Jimmy hasn't talked yet. Ask him what he thinks about the topic." I sometimes make suggestions to the "assistant teacher" who's leading the discussion, and occasionally speak to the entire class about techniques to use to keep the discussion flowing. Recently, I realized that I had never done this before in all my years of teaching -- never "coached' kids while they were having a class discussion. How did it come about? Why did I start doing it this year? I must confess that it seemed to happen spontaneously, just because the thought came to me last summer to do it. Yes, I'm sure it arose out of the reading and thinking I've done in the last few years about the importance of small-group collaborations, but nonetheless the thought seemed to arrive "out of nowhere" -- one of those fresh, serendipity ideas that so often bless a teacher's life.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 54, Monday, November 26, 2007

Today, on several occasions, I was able to focus on and enjoy the brief intervals between activities in class. Normally, my focus is strictly on the activities themselves -- always thinking about doing each activity methodically and thoroughly and then moving briskly on to the next one. Today, though, I remembered to also pay attention to the few moments that come between one activity and another. Actually, they can be surprisingly peaceful spaces of time. They last only a few seconds -- perhaps as we close one book and open another or move from one part of the lesson to another -- but, when I paid attention to them today, they proved to be refreshing moments of serenity. For instance, when we finished our silent reading and I asked the students to turn to the lesson for today, there were about 15 seconds of peace for me as I simply listened alertly to the closing of books and shuffling of papers. For those few seconds, I wasn't doing anything, preparing anything, or fretting over anything. I was just enjoying the moments, and it was a remarkably revitalizing time for me.

Monday, November 26, 2007

I did my morning walk up the hills in a light rain this morning. It was still dark, but the light from occasional cars caused the rain to make shining streams and puddles in the street as I walked. Occasionally I passed under a streetlight that lit up the lines of rain falling across the road, and there was a lovely watery glow around the few lit windows in houses. As I walked, I just focused on my footsteps and on the soft sound of raindrops striking my jacket.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

V is for Verbs

In my teaching, I would like to place more emphasis on verbs than on nouns and pronouns – not in a grammatical sense, but in a 'real life' sense. Verbs stand for actions rather than individual persons, places, or things, and in that sense they are impersonal. Verbs don’t distinguish between “me” and “them”, or between this person and that person. They are impersonal and impartial; you might say they will accept any ‘subject’ that will help them make a sentence. This interests me, because one of my goals is to build a sense of impersonal-ness and impartiality in my classroom. I want us to think of ourselves as joint and essential elements in the activity of learning, rather than as individual persons (‘I’s and ‘me’s and ‘they’s) standing separate from each other and hoping for individual, private success. Education is an action, not a person, place, or thing. It’s a verb, not a noun. It doesn’t stand still; it happens, no matter who the student is – no matter what kind of person (noun or pronoun) is standing in as the ‘subject’ of the learning process. Accordingly, I hope my students and I can learn to think less of ourselves – of our isolated, discreet roles as ‘he’ or ‘she’ – and think more of the marvelous process of learning that is occurring in the classroom. This is what I mean when I say I want to develop an atmosphere of impersonal-ness in my classes. If the students and I think not so much about ‘I’ and ‘me’ and more about the endless process of searching for truth, we have a chance of building a productive community of learners – a community based on shared, cohesive activity (reading, writing, studying, discussing) instead of separate, sovereign persons who simply want a better grade for ‘me’ than for ‘them’.

November 24, 2007

6:32 a.m. I just finished a wonderful breakfast of eggs, spinach, and whole wheat toast. As I ate, I read Ch. 45 of Jane Austen’s Emma on the computer, using a handy website called Questia. I raised the font up to an adequately large size, settled into my straight-backed chair at the table, enjoyed the appetizing food and flavorsome coffee, and read about Emma’s gradual change from a snobby, self-centered girl to a sensitive, self-sacrificing woman.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

S is for Silence

I often like to meditate on the fact that without silence, spoken words would be meaningless. It’s easy to forget the importance of silence, especially in this age of seemingly non-stop jabber. Think, though, of how unintelligible our talk would be if there was no silence between our spoken words. In fact, the only way we can distinguish the meanings of separate words and sentences is by being aware of the silent spaces between them. Thus, in any kind of spoken conversation, the silence is just as important as the words. It’s essential for me to remember this in my work as a classroom teacher. I often get so wrapped up in what my students and I are saying that I lose sight of the importance of what we are not saying – the silence out of which the meaning of our words is born. Without the silence, there would be no understandable words, and yet how easy it is to ignore the absolutely necessary power of that silence. I often say to students, after they have spoken in a discussion, something like “Those are wonderful words”, but I rarely say, after a student has finished speaking, “Oh, what wonderful silence this is!” I hope to change that. I hope to become more and more aware of the indispensable role of silence in my classroom, so much so that silence begins to have an honored position in my classes. I hope, in fact, to have more frequent one-minute periods of total silence. After all, if my students and I respect each others’ contributions to discussions (which I insist upon), then we must surely learn to respect the silence between those contributions.

ONE TEACHER'S ALPHABET

S is for Spacious

I would like my English classes to have a spacious feel to them, in terms not of the size of my classroom (it’s fairly small) but of the size of the attitude my students and I bring to it. I would like us to have an attitude that is generous or large in area or extent – a roomy attitude, if you will. I would hope that we would always have room in our minds for any lessons taught, any thoughts mentioned, any feelings shared. Instead of thinking of ourselves as small, isolated, and cramped individuals, I hope we see ourselves as equal partakers in a process (called education) that is harmonious, enduring, and – most important -- infinite. There are, in fact, no boundaries in the educational process, including boundaries between those involved in the process. There is no discreet “me” over here and “them” over there, Student A in this desk and Student B in that desk, totally separate from each other. All learning happens in a boundless space, a measureless area where innumerable ideas, like loaded spaceships, pass freely back and forth among minds. If my students and I bring to class an awareness of this boundlessness of the learning process, our learning will be wondrous indeed. We’ll know there’s room for every idea and every emotion, every hunch and every guess. We’ll go about our English work in a spacious atmosphere of grateful acceptance.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

This morning, because I slept late (5:00 a.m.!), the skies were beginning to lighten as I did my brisk walk up and down the hilly street in front of my apartment. It felt strange not to be exercising in the total dark – to actually be able to see the early sunlight start to spread across the sky. I think I prefer the darkness. I like the time of morning, around 4:30, when night seems still in control. Under the black sky it’s a quiet time, with almost no cars passing, and thus more useful for meditation. While I pace to the top of the long hill and then down again, over and over, I allow my mind to settle down to an enjoyment of each moment. I’m not trying to get anywhere or accomplish anything special; I just listen to my footsteps and appreciate the silence of the morning. Today, under a brightening sky, my mind seemed more industrious than usual, more eager to get the busy day moving forward. I wasn’t as serene as I usually am while I exercise.

Tomorrow, I’ll set the alarm clock earlier.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 53, Tuesday, November 20, 2007

In the 8^th grade classes today we discussed three poems having some relevance to thanksgiving, and I was surprised by how completely different the reactions were. In the first class, the poems were greeted with more than a little puzzlement and only muted enthusiasm. There was almost a deadened, soporific feeling in the air when I finished reading each poem. In this class, composed of very bright kids, getting a conversation going about the poems was a tedious affair, and keeping it going was a task beyond my ability. I was a bit discouraged at the end of the class, but that lasted only until the next class arrived. With these kids, who are no smarter than the other students, the poems made a surprisingly profound impact. After reading one poem, a girl quickly said, “Oh, I really, really like that poem”, and an impressive discussion commenced. As I read another poem, a girl sitting beside me quietly exulted over one line and then proceeded to lead the lively conversation about it.

Same poem, two groups of bright students, two opposite reactions.

* * * * *

Once again, especially in the second class, I was impressed by how astutely the kids carried on the discussion with very little help from me. I managed, as I’ve been trying to do this year, to “step back” when I had the urge to jump in and clarify something, and each time I did, the students made their own more than adequate clarifications and carried the discussion smoothly forward. It makes me ask a simple but scary question: Have I been underestimating the abilities of my students for all these 40+ years?? Why has it taken me this long to realize how much literary wisdom lies latent and ready to sprout inside my students? Why have I been the autocratic CEO of my classes when I should have been more like a gardener cultivating and encouraging unbelievably fruitful plants?

November 19, 2007

I just returned from two enlightening days in NYC at the annual convention of the National Council of Teachers of English. I especially found inspiration at today’s session on technology, held in the high school classroom of a teacher who is an Internet legend among English teachers. The leaders of the session showered us with wonderful suggestions for implementing the latest technological developments in our classrooms, and it was all I could do to keep my head from spinning. I did my best to follow along, though, and managed to come away with a half-dozen or so excellent tips that will help make me a better teacher. On a more negative note, I was enlightened in a different way by my stay at the New York Hilton, one of “New York’s finest”. I realized, after spending an afternoon and night in this famous hotel, that I have absolutely no future interest in this kind of accommodation. I was not in the least impressed by the glitzy room, the absurdly pricey room service, or the chic-looking guests – and I was appalled and saddened by the fact that I paid over $300 (including taxes) for the privilege of staying there for a single night. I felt uncomfortable from the moment I entered the enormous lobby. I would have been happier at a hostel, sharing an unpretentious room with others. I would have much rather given that $300 to some of the homeless people I saw sleeping in subway stairwells – money far, far better spent than throwing it away on glitz and glamour.

November 17, 2007

This morning I attended a lovely, uplifting memorial service for a dear friend – the mother of one of my students – who died suddenly in a tragic accident earlier this week. As I sat in the seaside chapel, I felt both sad and thankful, both heartbroken and inspired. She was a woman whom everyone dearly loved, and of course her presence will be dearly missed. I shed many tears during the service because I won’t see her quietly walking the halls of our school with her infectious smile. At the same time, though, it was entirely clear to me that what we all loved so much about her is not gone – cannot be gone. How can love and gentleness like hers ever die? How can a motorist kill the kind of infinite goodness this woman radiated? Yes, I felt forlorn, as did all of us in the chapel on this chilly November day, but I also felt utterly grateful for having known her, for having felt her gentle joy so often, for having been touched so often by her bighearted spirit. As I walked out of the chapel, I was brushing away a tear, but there was also a smile inside as I thought about the immeasurable wealth this woman’s affectionate life had bequeathed to all of us.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 51, Friday, November 16, 2007

I noticed today how earnestly some of the "servers" are undertaking their duties. Each day at the beginning of class, Monique has raised her hand and asked if she should begin serving, as if she was genuinely looking forward to it. As she quietly went around the room with cups of hot chocolate and a plate of crackers, the look on her face was one of enjoyment and even pride. Mark, too, always asked if he should start serving, and he also seemed to take some pleasure in carrying out his responsibilities. While the students and I did a few minutes of silent reading, Mark brought refreshments to us in a cordial and efficient manner. I had the feeling that he, like Monique, was feeling some satisfaction in carrying out this small but important task in English class.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 50, Thursday, November 15

I continue to be pleased with the work of the “assistant teachers”. Today Bobby took complete control of the discussion on Great Expectations, conducting the conversation like a seasoned literature instructor. He was well prepared with notes, which was surely at least a partial cause for his look of utter self-assurance. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was going. I stood on the periphery, taking notes and liking what I was seeing. In the 8^th grade, Celine was an especially impressive assistant teacher. She, too, seemed quite dignified as she stood before the class. I had spoken to her before the class about standing up straight and speaking with a sense of confidence and authority, and she did just that. She led the discussion with grace and poise. As I watched the conversation proceed in a surprisingly refined way, I realized that, in a certain sense, it was a better discussion than the ones I lead. The kids seemed more involved, more willing to speak, more able to go beyond their comfort level and take some risks. With the teacher in the background, these students were actually being better students. Can someone explain that to me??

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 49, November 14, 2007

Today I again stepped back -- many times. (Maybe I'm beginning to be a fairly good "step-backer".) During our student-led literary discussions, there were so many times when I wanted to step forward and offer insights or clarifications -- times when I thought surely the students needed the help of their experienced literature teacher. But I didn't. I resisted the temptation to ignore what the students were trying to do in their discussion and charge into the midst and take over. Instead, I stepped back and just kept listening. And, lo and behold, in each case the students, within a minute or two, successfully clarified things for themselves and the conversation moved forward. I remember being surprised (though I shouldn’t have been, since it’s happened so often) that the students were able to make the discussion work without my assistance. Of course, I did occasionally offer suggestions and reminders about proper discussion behavior, but that was little different than a coach recommending strategies during a timeout. The coach doesn’t do the playing, and today I didn’t do the discussing. The students, like basketball players, worked together to make their own success as a team – while I stepped back and observed with great appreciation.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 48, November 13, 2007

Today was a successful day of teaching for me. (I feel like I have those days maybe twice each week, at best, but I shouldn't be discouraged. If a baseball player gets two hits for every five at-bats, he's headed for the Hall of Fame.) What made the day so profitable, I think, was the work of the "assistant teachers". I want to gradually give my students the experience of being sophisticated, self-governing English scholars, and today was a good step along that path. For the last fifteen minutes of class, we discussed last night's assigned reading, and the discussion was led solely by the student who is this week's "assistant teacher" (one of my classroom jobs). After reminding the class about the guidelines for leading a literary discussion, I turned the class over to the assistant-teacher and retired to the perimeter of the circle to observe and check the students' journals. Once again, I was greatly impressed with the dignified manner of their talk. They sat up straight, listened carefully, and make surprisingly erudite contributions. Hands were constantly raised -- more so, I think, than when I am leading the discussion. There seemed to be a feeling of camaraderie and accomplishment among the students -- like they knew they were conducting themselves in a mature and intellectual manner. It was a good sight to see.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 47, November 12, 2007

With the 9th grade, I can see that I need to do significantly more direct instruction as to how to participate in a collaborative project. As I observed the small groups today, I got the sense that they knew next to nothing about how to take part in intelligent, serious discussions with peers when no teacher is supervising. I saw a lot of giggling, a lot of wandering off the topic, a lot of childish postures in the chairs, and a lot of just plain silliness. It's obvious that I need to talk with them each week about the basic rules of behavior in small group discussions. (The first rule might be the same rule I have in my classroom: sit up straight and look at the person who's talking. That would be a helpful start.)

* * * * *

It came to me clearly, in the middle of one of my classes, that I should never speak to a class unless I'm sure they are all listening. It sounds obvious, but it's much harder than one might realize. In the heat and enthusiasm of class, it's easy to be a "blurter" -- the kind of teacher who may follow a careful lesson plan, but who also says impromptu things as they occur to him, whether everyone is listening or not. I guess we all make that mistake sometimes. For some reason, it became totally obvious today how silly and unproductive that kind of behavior is. Why say something in class if many of the students aren't listening -- if some are putting things away or shuffling papers or writing down the homework assignments? It makes no sense. It isn’t a practical or prudent way to teach. Words spoken to people who aren’t totally attentive are like precious things tossed carelessly away. Tomorrow, I intend to wait for complete attention before I share my well-chosen words. My words deserve it, and so do my students.

A wonderful quote from the long poem "Endymion" by John Keats:

O magic sleep! O comfortable bird,
That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind
Till it is hush'd and smooth! O unconfin'd
Restraint! imprisoned liberty! great key
To golden palaces, strange minstrelsy,
Fountains grotesque, new trees, bespangled caves,
Echoing grottos, full of tumbling waves

And moonlight; aye, to all the mazy world

460

Of silvery enchantment!--who, upfurl'd
Beneath thy drowsy wing a triple hour,
But renovates and lives?

Noah keeping a close eye on Josh

Josh discovers Elmo!

Ava Elizabeth, ready for dinner!

Today I had a very fulfilling day with my sons and grandsons. Even the one hour drive to their homes was a rewarding experience, given the fine-looking autumn countryside. There was a rich, rusty look to many of the trees along the roads – the oaks showing off the final colors of the season. In certain areas, the oaks seemed to stretch out as far as I could see, an ocean of auburn and orange. When I reached Jaimie and Jessy’s place, I visited with Jaimie for a few minutes (Jess was out with Ava running errands), and then Noah and I continued up the highway to visit Luke and Josh. Noah sat in the back in his car seat, perfectly pleased with a small Christmas toy catalogue he had brought along. I often heard him musing and mumbling to himself as he studied the pages. Several times he exclaimed, “Hammy, I’ve found exactly what I’m going to ask Santa for!” After a short drive, we met Luke and little Josh at the mall in Millbury, where we had our usual cheery time, playing in the children’s section and snacking in the cafe. Noah was a dutiful older cousin for Josh, carefully watching over him as they played with the various toys and books. Luke and I were able to chat while the kids were playing, and we had a good visit as we ate at a small table in the cafe. The drive home was a lovely one, with the late golden sunlight settling along the western horizon, and Noah mumbling more ideas for Santa as he leafed through his special catalogue.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 46, November 9, 2007

Today I "stepped back", and I'm glad I did. It happened at the Pfizer Veterans Day ceremony, when the students were told they could have the refreshments that were on a table near them. Before I could step in and try to organize the distribution of drinks and pastries, the kids (all 70 of them) quickly crowded around the table and started grabbing whatever they could. It was not a particularly orderly or mannerly scene, and the thought came to me that I should step forward and organize the kids into lines of some sort. However, something caused me to think again, and, instead of stepping forward and taking charge of the situation, I stepped back and watched. I let go of the idea of jumping in to impose order on the students, and instead just observed what was happening. I guess the hunch came to me that the students would manage this situation themselves, that they would not misbehave, that somehow they would enjoy the food without being messy or rude. As I watched, the seemingly chaotic crowd of students rather quickly thinned out and settled down as the refreshments were picked up. Before even one minute had passed, all was fairly calm again. The table was empty (and not particularly untidy), the kids were enjoying their food, and there was no sign of crumbs on the floor. Like disturbed pond water, the situation had slowly settled down as I watched. If I had stepped forward and intervened, the "pond" might have been stirred up even more than it was. Of course, it's not always possible in a teaching situation, but, in this instance, I'm glad I stepped back and let "nature" take its course. These children are naturally good people, and this morning, as I quietly observed them, their goodness proved to be more powerful than appetite and disorder.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

K is for Key

In trying to understand their frustrations in writing, I often picture my students standing before a huge door labeled “Essay Writing”. They knock and bang on the door, hoping that someone will open it and allow them to see into the mysteries of writing a good high school essay. They’ve been knocking at least since 6^th grade, but they are always foiled because the door is securely locked. Doesn’t anyone have a key? they cry out. That’s where I come in, because I think -- or hope -- I do have a key. I hope my teaching can provide them with a perfectly made key that can open that frustrating door, over and over again week after week. I’m guardedly optimistic that my various writing tools can bring them the same joy people feel when they finally unlock a huge, mysterious door. “Ah,” the students might say, “at long last this aggravating door is open and we can see the wonders of essay writing!” What I would like to do is make the key so perfect and fail-safe that writing a school essay will actually become almost an “easy” task for my students. It’s a reasonable aspiration, I think, because writing an essay does not have to be rocket science. It’s simply a question of putting clear thoughts into orderly sentences and coherent paragraphs. Students often make school writing assignments far more complicated and daunting than they need to be, and it’s my hope that my “key” can help them see the relative straightforwardness of their writing tasks. Using my paragraph formulas and other specific tools, perhaps my students can open the door to essay writing with no great difficulty. They may have to bang on it now and then, and maybe jiggle the key a bit, but the door will eventually open ... I hope.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 44, November 7, 2007

I noticed today that both 9th grade classes got right into their silent reading at the start of class. Within a few moments, the room was silent and the kids had their faces in their books. I stopped reading and just looked at them for awhile, appreciating the fact that they were obviously involved in the reading and enjoying it. I took a picture of Billy and Jack as they read -- a great image of two "cool", athletic guys who can get into a book as seriously as they get into a soccer game. (See picture.)

* * * * *

I had all the 8th graders for English class together in the Board Room. Usually, that type of situation has not worked well, but today it turned out to be a fairly productive class. I might even call it remarkably productive, because I didn't really teach the class. Marie did.

As we started into our discussion of Mockingbird, I asked if anyone would like to be the discussion facilitator, and Marie immediately raised her hand. I reminded her of the guidelines for leading a discussion, and then I stepped out of the way and asked her to carry on. I walked around behind the students, looking at their journals and annotations and listening to the discussion. It wasn't long before I realized that a fairly ardent conversation was taking place. Marie was walking back and forth in the middle of the room, calling on kids, asking them questions, and encouraging and praising them. The students were eagerly raising their hands to read from their notes or build on what another student had said. Everyone seemed attentive and involved. As I walked around the room, I became even more impressed -- and a bit puzzled. How was this happening, I wondered, without the teacher leading the discussion? Wasn't that my job? How could the students converse so intelligently about a book without their English teacher guiding them along?

It was an eye-opener for me, and a lesson for the future. My students can do way more for themselves than I have given them credit for. To use an analogy I've often employed: Teaching English is like our mountain climb in New Hampshire. The teacher doesn't have to always be the leader going up the trail. Occasionally, as we did on our hikes, the teacher can allow the students to forge ahead on their own, keeping to the trail that's been laid out. Today, perhaps Marie and the students were doing just that: following the "discussion trail" that all their teachers have set out for them over the years.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 43, November 6, 2007

Today was another roller coaster. Three of my classes were fairly tedious and unrewarding (for both students and me, I'm afraid), but the last one was as exciting as any I've had this year. I'm not sure where to locate the cause for the less-than-satisfactory classes. I feel like a doctor who treats boring English lessons and can't settle on a diagnosis. The roots of unsuccessful classes are sometimes so deep and convoluted that they're ultimately impossible to trace. (That's why teaching, to me, is rocket science.) All I know, right now, is that I felt, now and then, like I was stumbling in the dark, the blind leading the blind. However, as so often happens to me, it all changed in a flash with one wonderful class. It was a 9th grade section, and right from the start I could feel that this would be a gratifying 48 minutes of teaching and learning. In their discussion of Great Expectations, the kids were earnest, occasionally profound, and even sometimes sophisticated. At one point, I left my usual place at the table and sat in an empty student chair and just listened to them talk about the book. I was amazed at their seriousness and erudition. They brought out things in the chapter I had never noticed, connections that were very subtle, insights that seniors would be proud to have. This was Jaimiee, Siobhan, Jeff, Ronaldo, and Mike -- not kids you would immediately think of as English scholars. One of the girls recorded it on video, and I'm glad she did. I watched some of it after school, and was amazed all over again. The day was a roller coaster, but the last ride was pure pleasure.

Reading Emerson's essay on "Compensation" over breakfast on this blustery, mild morning, I came across this:

"The good are befriended even by weakness and defect. As
no man had ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him,
so no man had ever a defect that was not somewhere made
useful to him. The stag in the fable admired his horns and
blamed his feet, but when the hunter came, his feet saved him,
and afterwards, caught in the thicket, his horns destroyed him.
Every man in his lifetime needs to thank his faults. As no man
thoroughly understands a truth until he has contended against
it, so no man has a thorough acquaintance with the hindrances
or talents of men until he has suffered from the one and seen
the triumph of the other over his own want of the same. Has
he a defect of temper that unfits him to live in society? Thereby
he is driven to entertain himself alone and acquire habits of
self-help; and thus, like the wounded oyster, he mends his
shell with pearl."

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 42, Monday, November 05, 2007

Recently I’ve had the students writing essays “on demand” during class, and I’ve been pleased with the results. As I’ve often discovered over the years, many students actually do their best writing when they’re working under some pressure in a controlled environment. When I give the students 30 minutes to do an explicit type of writing on a specific topic, many do quite well. Somehow their ideas seem to flow out fluently and methodically when the extra stress of a time limit and complete silence is imposed upon them. Interestingly, the same students who do well on these high-pressure essays often are significantly less successful on essays done at home. It’s actually not hard to see why. I can picture the students at home after dinner, surrounded by all kinds of distractions, trying to formulate ideas for an essay assignment while growing weary at the end of the day. Without the constraints of an in-class, timed essay under my supervision, I’m sure their ideas (brilliant through they may be) are often diverted, at home, into tributaries and small streams until they finally die out in a fairly disorderly and dull essay. The water analogy is actually a good one. To write well, we must find a way to get our thoughts flowing in a smooth, steady stream, and high-pressure, supervised assignments seem to do that for some kids. For 30 minutes, the students must let the “water” race full-blast, instead of having it ooze out in dribs and drabs over several hours at home.

A storm swept across southern New England yesterday. It began as easygoing winds before dawn, but by 9:00 the morning was thoroughly windswept and wet. Turbulence had taken control of things. Trees were tossing, doors were slamming, various objects were blowing down streets and across yards, and even my car seemed to be under the management of the storm. As I drove on some errands, I’m sure I could feel the car flowing this way and that as the wind swerved. I stayed indoors most of the day. It was comforting to sit under a trustworthy lamp and read a disciplined, levelheaded book (Jane Austen’s Emma) while the storm blustered around outside.

I've been re-reading Jane Austen's Emma, and this morning I came across this quote:

"A mind lively and at ease can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer."

“My work is to identify with Mind [or God], to lift up my own consciousness and know that the God who is identified in the Bible as ‘I AM THAT I AM’ is All and that man is His expression. When I do this, I see amazing things happen. People call it ‘luck,’ but to me, it is the divine order (‘orden divino’) being expressed.”

This statement -- by Lynn Randolph Patterson, co-founder of Pro Mujer, an international organization that offers aid to women in poor countries -- could apply to my work as a teacher. One sentence could read, "When I do this in my teaching, I see amazing things happen."

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 41, November 2, 2007

I've noticed a significant change in Ben's approach to his school work lately. Yesterday, for example, we were discussing a page in the novel we’re reading, and I had just offered a few insights about something on the page, when I noticed Ben was writing something in his book. I asked him what he was writing, and he said -- quietly, as if he was almost embarrassed to admit it -- that he was writing down what I had said. What made it particularly noteworthy was that no other student had bothered to do that -- only Ben. I thought it was a promising sign of a new, more serious and industrious student emerging from the old laid-back, blasé Ben.

* * * * *

Just when I was getting a bit discouraged about the progress of the 9th grade collaborative projects, I was astounded this morning to discover how many good steps forward the groups have actually taken. Each group has made progress in designing different parts of their project, and this morning, as I watched carefully, they worked surprisingly well in detailing some plans for future work. Even when they had disagreements, they seemed able to calm down and listen to each other's ideas. It was impressive. In my long career, I don't know that I've ever witnessed such mature, intelligent cooperation among adolescents. It's definitely encouraging.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 39, Wednesday, October 31

Yesterday was a bit of a roller coaster for me -- one great class, then a dud, then a fairly fruitful class, then a class productive only of inattention and ennui. It's strange how that often happens. Teaching, I guess, is a lot like the weather: you never know what you'll get one day to the next, one hour to the next. No matter how carefully I plan my lessons, some odd "weather" occasionally blows in to alter the lesson, sometimes quite dramatically. In that sense, teaching teenagers is like trying to control the weather: an interesting project, definitely challenging and great fun, but ultimately exasperating. Yesterday, for instance, I used the same lesson plan for both sections of 8th grade, but the results were as different as sunny and stormy days -- and I have no idea why. One class was quietly productive, while the other class seemed halting and ineffective, just like a bright morning might be followed by a rainy afternoon. I have to simply accept what the weather gives me, and I guess I have to do the same in my teaching. All I can do is plan my lessons with as much circumspection and thoroughness as possible, and then hope for "good weather" during class.