From now on, whenever I get into one of my ‘controlling’ moods, I should try to keep in mind some rather astonishing facts I uncovered yesterday. As I was searching the internet, I happened to stumble upon the fact that the earth rotates on its axis at a speed of about 1,000 miles per hour, and that it travels around the sun at the astounding speed of 67,000 miles per hour. When I read that, I sat back and just tried to take in the idea that I’m living on a ball that’s traveling at unthinkable speeds. While I’m sitting in my quiet apartment staring at my computer screen, the ‘ship’ on which I’m a passenger is tearing through space in a breakneck way, both twirling and zooming – and it’s been doing this for at least 15 billion years. Perhaps, in the future, when I get bogged down with thoughts of controlling any and everything in my life, I should dwell for a moment on these marvelous truths about this universe that I’m part of. Billions of years ago, the cosmos created itself and started stars and planets spinning and rocketing, and it has been successfully engineering its own life ever since. The universe controls everything, from the pumping of my heart to the rotations of planets, and it does it in a smooth and harmonious manner. My question for myself should be, “Where do you come off thinking you have to control anything?” I am an infinitely miniscule (but nonetheless vital) member of the immeasurable team called the universe, but I am not the coach or the manager. I am like a wave in an endless ocean, and can a single wave control what the great ocean does? In the future, when the urge comes over me to “get things under control”, I hope I can recall the great facts of reality, and just relax and enjoy the unbelievably rapid and adventurous ride the universe is providing for me.

December 25, 2007

On this Christmas morning, I did my usual 30-minute pre-dawn walk up and down the steep hill beside my apartment, and the street was almost entirely deserted. All the houses seemed asleep in the moonlight of this special morning, and only an occasional car passed in the darkness. The large white moon, seemingly all by itself in the sky, made a lovely light for me as I paced up and down the hill. I had spent a festive Christmas Eve with dear friends, and so it seemed fitting to spend this early morning by myself with just my thoughts. It was a hushed and contemplative walk. I exercised my legs and heart, and also, in a quiet way, my spirit.

Later, I drove up to enjoy Christmas Day with my grandchildren and their families. Jaimie and Jessy and little Noah and Ava Elizabeth were our cheerful hosts for the celebration, and we all enjoyed the feeling of abundant friendship as we ate, laughed, opened presents, and hugged. Kaylee was a beautiful princess in her red Nutcracker skirt, and 19-month-old Josh tumbled here and there among his aunts, uncles, and cousins. I felt thoroughly grateful all day -- though I must admit that my happiness was diminished a bit by the absence of my son Matt and his wife (home sick with the flu), and also of one other very special person.

December 24, 2007

In this season of light, I was fortunate to have a glowing full moon above me this morning as I hiked up and down the hills near my house. These days it’s still night when I do my exercising at 4:30 a.m, but today the light of the moon cast a soft shine over the sleeping town. The white of the old snow and the houses seemed luminescent as I trudged up and down the hills, and the few early lights in windows appeared to have a special twinkle in the moonlight. My exercising was unusually effortless, perhaps because I felt like I was walking on a theater stage lit with a lovely light from high above.

Later, I drove up to see Noah and Ava, and what a treat it was for me. Talk about glowing! The shine of the moon this morning doesn’t begin to compare to the shimmering faces of these children. Noah and I played with his many imaginative figures, his cheeks shining all the while, and later he entertained Ava by leaping and dancing, making her face more radiant than ever. Both of them were smiling like the sun shines.

"Propriety," wrote William Hazlitt, Jane Austen’s con-
temporary, "is one great matter in the conduct of life;
which, though like a graceful carriage of the body it is
neither definable nor striking at first sight, is the result of
finely balanced feelings and lends a secret strength and
charm to the whole character."

I just finished reading Jane Austen’s Persuasion, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. In many ways, the novel is about propriety, as Hazlitt defines it above, and Austen’s heroine, Anne Elliot, is the paragon of propriety. One dictionary defines “propriety” as “the quality of being suited to the circumstances”, which we might paraphrase as the quality of being perfectly appropriate and well-balanced, no matter what the circumstances might me. “Equanimity” is a synonym for propriety, and Anne Elliot has equanimity to a high degree. Amid all the social gyrations and struggles and petty squabbles scattered through the story, Anne remains sensible, considerate, and open-hearted. Austen herself noted that Anne is almost too good for one of her books, but I’m glad she included such a strong and decent protagonist in this restrained and dignified novel.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Yesterday I purchased a gliding rocking chair, complete with a gliding footstool, and I spent a good portion of the day easing my way through a book as I flowed back and forth in the rocker. It’s a marvelous invention. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more comfortable in a chair. As the rocker slid to and fro and the pages in my book seemed to turn themselves, I felt like I was floating on the gentlest of ships.

Actually, I felt like I was continually floating on this second day of my winter holiday. It was a day of ease and wellbeing for lucky me. After a simple lunch in my apartment, I drove to Mystic and enjoyed a cup of tea with my daughter, up from Brooklyn for a holiday visit. We then took an unhurried walk among the festive stores, catching up on each other’s news. The Mystic River was almost motionless as we crossed the bridge, and even the crowds of shoppers seemed to be moving at a peaceful pace.

TO SEE BY

There was once a man

who filed his papers away,

unfolded his overcoat,

got out his gloves,

and followed a favorite road.

It didn’t go anywhere special,

which is why it was special to him.

His steps in the snow

were like songs,

and the swinging of his arms

was graceful and pleasing to see.

It is said that sunshine

covered his coat,

and that music was made

by the motions of his legs.

People who saw him

say he was shining as he passed.

The road disappeared in the distance,

and so did he.

All that was left, they say,

was a light you could use

to see by.

December 22, 2007

I was a happily idle person yesterday, the first of my winter holiday from teaching. I willingly trifled away many hours. In the early morning, I exercised, as usual, by climbing the hills around my house, but my pace was more relaxed than usual, more like strolling than striding. I actually dawdled a little under the starry winter sky, just taking in the silent peacefulness of the coming dawn. I suppose my heart-rate rose a little as I walked, but only in a lazy way. Later in the morning, I did some errands around town, but again, I sort of loafed through them. People who saw me may have thought I was just a shiftless old man, someone who perhaps needed help crossing a street, but in my heart I was rejoicing in my sluggishness. I was happy to notice the trees swaying ever so slowly in the breeze, because that’s exactly the way I went about my errands. In the afternoon, I simply loitered in the pages of a Jane Austen novel. I didn’t so much read the pages as whiled them away, lazily following one lovely sentence after another. I may have been a sluggard of a reader, but at least I was a happy one.

LESSONS

He took weekly lessons in living.

One week he worked on waiting,

another week on thinking

only flexible thoughts,

another week on sending worries away

like he sends newspapers for recycling.

He said he was a student

in the university of the universe.

Sometimes the stars

spoke to him like professors,

and sometimes a squeak in his chair

said more than the biggest books.

Bring me your wisdom, he said

to the cinnamon he spread on his toast.

Tell me the truth,

he said to the peacefulness

in his apartment.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 72, December 20, 2007

LETTERS TO MY STUDENTS’ PARENTS:

Dear Parents of 8^th graders,

I’m feeling very grateful as the students and I come to the end of the first 72 days of English class. For me, it has been an absolute blessing, right from the start, to work with your children. Every year I feel so lucky that I somehow was led to be a teacher and that in some wonderful way I was led to our little school some 30 years ago — and this year I feel more fortunate than ever. Truly, your children make up one of the kindest and most caring 8th grade classes I can recall. Our English classes, though sometimes tedious for the students, are always polite and dignified affairs, thanks to the excellent deportment of your children. Day after day, they make my job far more like fun than work.
After writing many essays, we finished this first half of 8th grade English with an essay in which the students had to relate a passage from the ancient Chinese text, the Tao Te Ching, to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I’ve glanced at some of the essays already, and they look like the polished and astute documents I’ve been accustomed to receiving from this class. On the cold winter days of vacation, I will warm myself up by reading a few of them each day. (The passage from Lao Tzu is below.)
Thank you for allowing me to be your children’s English teacher. I consider it an honor.
Best wishes to you and your families.

Sincerely,

Hamilton Salsich
English Department


"To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle." --Walt Whitman

******************************************************

From the Tao Te Ching, by Lao Tzu:

Under heaven all can see beauty as beauty
Only because there is ugliness.
All can know good as good
Only because there is evil.

Living and dying create each other.
The difficult is born in the easy.
Long is defined by short, the high by the low.
Before and after go along with each other.

So the wise person lives comfortably
With both separateness and togetherness.
The wise person can act without effort
And teach without words.
Caring for things without possessing them,
He or she works, but not for rewards.
He or she competes, but not for results.
When the work is done, it is forgotten.
That is why it lasts forever.

Dear Parents of 9^th graders,

As we finish the first 72 days of 9th grade English, I want to tell you how proud I am of all your children, and how lucky I feel to be one of their teachers. This year has truly been a blessing for me, and much of it is due to your kind, caring, and intelligent children. Each day I look forward to seeing my 16 high school students in class, for they always inspire me (and that’s definitely the right word) with their youthful wisdom and kindheartedness. They have opened my eyes countless times this year, perhaps far more than I have opened theirs.
The students finished their work with 7-paragraph essays which they wrote together in groups of four. The topic was “separation and unity”, and the essay required them to discuss the topic in many different connections, including a work of art, a poem, Great Expectations, and a piece of music. The groups also had to make a formal presentation of their work, including a performance of an original piece of music somehow related to the topic. Frankly, I was astonished by how well the groups functioned over the past 8 weeks — deliberating, planning, arguing, compromising, and coming up with creative solutions. I observed their poise, dignity, and maturity with great admiration. I had told them I expected the essays and presentations to be no less than perfect, and they came very close to that mark. We will continue with the collaboration work (on the same topic) in the second semester, and you will all receive an invitation for the final presentations. They should be something special, indeed.
I conclude with a poem (below) which I wrote on the evening of September 11, 2001. It expresses the gratitude I feel day after day after day.
Thanks for allowing me to teach your children. I consider it an honor.

Sincerely,


Hamilton Salsich
English Department


"To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle." --Walt Whitman

---

THESE SIMPLE THINGS
(September 11, 2001)

These simple things
are still with us --
the openings of days,
the sunshine of friends sitting together,
the fullness of flowers in a vase.
We still know the slow dance
a day does as it ends,
and the pleasures of a starry sky.
We still have the ships of our lives
staying close in the sea of kindness,
and words floating among friends
like butterflies.
We still have the music of forgiveness
and the melodies that mercy makes.
We still have the sacredness
of a single moment.
We still have beauty
to tell us how to live.
We still have gratitude
like a good day dawning.

Day 71, December 19, 2007

Today the 9th graders gave their collaboration presentations on the theme of 'separation and unity', and, to be honest, I was quite astounded by their performances. I wasn't expecting such thoroughness and polish, such meticulousness and poise. As they went through the steps of their presentations, it was obvious that they were completely earnest about making a dignified and sophisticated impression. What was also clear was that they had learned a great deal from last year's assessment presentations, and that they used their past experiences with public speaking to carry them through this project. They had 'been here' before. They knew what it was like to stand in front of imposing judges (this year just me) and speak about complicated matters. They knew how to handle the feelings of absolute dread which often arise in formal presentations. For the most part, the groups sailed smoothly through their performances. They had put in countless hours working as teams -- planning, writing, arguing with each other, compromising, finding creative solutions, and putting it all together -- and today they successfully presented the results of their hard labor. I was especially impressed with the musical portions of the presentations -- the lovely piece performed on piano and cello by Joanna and Douglas, and the creative segment conducted by Jojo and featuring Bobby on the guitar, Kevin on keyboard, and Dave on the steel drum -- each related to the theme of 'separation and unity'. Also, I will not soon forget the dignity and poise which Jojo showed as he carried out his part of the performance. He was a true academic leader today.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 70, December 18, 2007

Today, on a few occasions, I remembered to use silence to bring some intensity to the classroom atmosphere. I've always felt that, in teaching, silence has at least as much power as sound, and sometimes significantly more. Since the students hear teachers and each other talking almost nonstop throughout the day, any moment of silence can be a wonderful, almost shocking, break in the routine. In the students' noisy world, a little silence can be like sunshine after weeks of rain. On one occasion today, I read a poem aloud (they have to write an essay about it), and when I came to the end I simply stood in silence at the front of the room. I remained silent for only about 20-30 seconds, but I suspect it had a profound effect on the kids. In their often strident and raucous lives, 30 seconds of silence can seem like an hour-long marvel. As they were sitting silently and listening to the ticking of my classroom timer, they might have been thinking, "This is really strange", and I'm okay with that. After all, 'strange' can also mean surprising, extraordinary, and astonishing -- three adjectives that any teacher would be proud to be connected with.

* * * * *

My use of one or two minutes of classical music in each class has been fairly effective, I think. Today we started class with a brief excerpt of a Bach violin sonata performed by Itzhak Perlman. As we listened for a about a minute, I quietly explained that Perlman overcame great physical obstacles to become an exceptional violinist, and he did it simply by practicing. While I turned the music down and then off, I reminded the students that practice, practice, and more practice is all they need in order to become accomplished writers and readers.

* * * * *

This year I'm using a timer in class (an idea I got from my son Jaimie, who is an 8th grade English teacher in Plainfield, CT). I set it for 23 minutes at the start of class, and when the bell sounds, we take a two-minute break. The break is a welcome reward for the students, and -- surprisingly -- the soft and steady ticking of the timer during class is a tool that helps us (well, me anyway) relax and focus.

A poem by the 14^th century Persian poet Hafiz:

Everyone

And Everything

Is God speaking.

Why not be polite and

Listen?

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 69, Monday, December 17, 2007

I continue to be impressed with the work of the 9th graders on their collaborative projects. In groups of four, they have been given a daunting assignment which they must plan and execute together -- a seven-paragraph essay plus a complicated fifteen-minute performance. When I assigned this project about six weeks ago, and I had some doubts about how or whether it would work, but lately I've been feeling optimistic about it. Today I observed several groups as they put the final touches on their essays, and I was impressed. For example, I overheard Ray and Allan discussing a sentence in their group's essay. Allan was saying the sentence seemed awkward, and Ray asked him if he had any suggestions. As I leaned forward to listen carefully, Ray made several very intelligent suggestions, and the two of them huddled and continued discussing the sentence. (A teacher's dream: students intently conferring about how a sentence could be written most accurately and smoothly.) Later, I saw Rajon reading something, when he suddenly put down the paper and exclaimed, "Tom, this opening paragraph is awesome!" (Their group had divided up the duties for the long essay.) Tom smiled proudly and replied, "Should be. I worked really hard on it." This is the kind of cooperative effort I hoped would occur when I started this project. The kids are doing what professional adults are often required to do -- labor together in "committee" to create a distinguished product everyone in the group can be proud of. They're learning how to "build" an academic assignment together, to construct a school project collectively the way architects and carpenters construct a house. It's been a pleasure to watch.

This morning I re-read, with great pleasure, Robert Louis Stevenson’s “An Apology for Idlers”, and it gave me an idea for my teaching. Perhaps, sometime in the darkness of mid-winter, I should have “A Week for Idlers” in my English classes. In the previous week, the students could read, study, and write about Stevenson’s essay – in which he decries ‘busyness’ and extols the ability to relax and be content with what’s right in front of you – and then the students could spend the next week in class relaxing and being content with what’s right in front of them. By that I mean, they could read whatever they want, write whatever they want, and think whatever they want. There would have to be some restrictions, of course: I would insist that their posture and behavior, as usual, be dignified during class, and that they not simply do nothing. They would have to do and accomplish English-type things during the week, but the choices would be strictly theirs, and, more importantly, the customary weight of pressure and ‘busyness’ would be completely gone. The students could completely relax for a full week. They could read, write, and think freely, just the way rivers run, breezes blow, and sunlight shines.

Hmmm ... ”A Week for Idlers” ... food for thought.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Yesterday I drove north through the wintry countryside for an afternoon and evening with my sons and their families. Matt and Stacey rode with me to Jaimie and Jessy’s (they drove Jaimie’s old car back home, his gift to them), and we spent a few hours of pleasant idleness with young Noah and younger Ava Elizabeth. Noah and Matt sat on the floor and gleefully moved toy animals and people around, while Stacey and I entertained and were entertained by the beautiful and charming Ava. Later, I drove another 45 minutes north to visit with Luke. We had a fine father-and-son dinner in a local restaurant, honestly talking over some important family issues. We were straightforward but gentle with each other, the way good friends should be, and we accomplished much in our short time together. My drive home down the dark, starlit highway was like a pleasing holiday excursion, with many cheerily lit-up trees and houses along the way.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 68, December 14, 2007

Today in one of the 8th grade classes, I made a mistake, and learned a good lesson. (In a way, I'm glad I made the mistake, for mistakes are my teachers.) I gave the students a literary passage to study for their next writing assignment, and, without even a pause, I began reading the passage aloud. As I was reading, I noticed that several girls seemed to be rummaging through their binders, and I paused, somewhat dismayed that they were not focused on the reading. However, it quickly became apparent that they were simply searching for their hi-liter pens so they could take notes as I read. They were just trying to be good students in the way I had taught them. I immediately realized my mistake: I had, once again, rushed into an activity without giving the students time to prepare themselves for it. Certainly the students should have readied their hi-liter pens, and certainly I should have given them ample time to do it. Allowing one minute to carefully prime themselves for the reading would have made the activity far more successful than just heedlessly plunging into it.

Mistake made, lesson learned. Now, like a good student, I need to put the lesson into practice.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 67, Thursday, December 13, 2007

Due to an approaching snowstorm, I had a shortened 8^th grade class this morning, with only half the students in attendance (they were warming up for a play performance). I had planned a thorough lesson, so I was initially disappointed with the altered schedule, but, as so often happens in life, out of this ‘problem’ came a genuine gift. I asked the kids what they thought we should do with the rearranged and shortened class, and as they talked, they stumbled upon the idea of reciting some of their memorized poems. (All my students have committed four poems to memory thus far.) I tossed out the idea of maybe jazzing up the recitations a bit, perhaps with some movement, and they loved it. Within a few minutes, the kids were reciting (actually performing) poems with great enthusiasm and hilarity. They presented them singly, in pairs, and in groups, each time with a different special flamboyance. I loved it. They were obviously having a joyous time, and they were doing it while reciting classic poems from memory. They were clearly having a far more festive time than they would have had I carried out my planned lesson, and they were using great literature in the process. I couldn’t have asked for anything better on this snowy morning. If this isn’t making lemonade from a 'lemon', I don’t know what is.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 66, Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I realized today that I need to take more time in discussing homework assignments. Lately I've fallen into the careless habit of just announcing the assignment without any explanation or amplification -- as in, "Please read Chapter 28 tonight." That's sort of like taking students to an art museum, putting them in front of a painting, and saying, "Study this." Or, taking the kids to the edge of a forest and just telling them to "explore it." Or, tossing seeds onto bare, hardened earth and expecting grass to grow. It's a negligent and senseless way to give an assignment. I should take at least one or two minutes on each assignment to give some guidelines, suggestions, highlights, things to watch for, warnings, guideposts, or trail markings. I should "turn over the soil" a little, get the students ready, set the tone, lay a foundation. Good academic work doesn't happen instantaneously or magically. It needs to be carefully planned and prepared for by a precise and prudent teacher.

* * * * *

In a 9th grade section, Josh raised his hand and said, "I thought this chapter [in Great Expectations] was a little dull. It wasn't nearly as interesting as the previous two." Normally, I might suspect that a comment like this grew out of careless reading, but not in this case. Josh went on to demonstrate a thorough knowledge of the chapter, and it became clear to me that his comment was actually born of genuine perspicacity. The chapter is comparatively dull, even to an experienced Dickens reader. Josh had read the chapter with care and had drawn a reasonable conclusion -- another indication of his progress as a serious reader.

* * * * *

This morning in advisory we got to talking about the pressure the play cast was feeling this week, and before a few minutes had passed, Serena put her head down on the table and started sobbing. All she could manage to say through her tears was, "I've just got so much to do." We did our best to comfort her, and I think she felt a little better by the time she left for class, but those heartrending few moments brought home to me the power of the pressure we sometimes put on our students.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 65, Tuesday, December 11, 2007

I eavesdropped today on some of the 9th grade collaboration groups, and was fairly impressed with what I heard and saw. Many of the kids were working on editing each other's paragraphs, hoping to meet my lofty standards for the collaborative essay. I've told them that almost any flaw in the writing will bring the group's grade down from an 'A', which is probably why their brows were seriously furrowed today as they read and made corrections. In their desire to help each other, and their group, produce the best possible work, the kids were exceptionally industrious in their editing efforts.

* * * * *

I noticed today how "unaware" many of the students were during my class. In my morning meditations, I often use the phrase "relaxed awareness" to remind myself what I am aiming for, and it was clear today that my students have mastered the first part of that phrase but not the last. I saw many faces whose owners were obviously absent, far away in daydream land. When I said, for example, "Open your binders to the lesson for today," I assumed they would all do it without delay. However, I forgot about their tendency toward drifting off into absentmindedness, for when I looked up a minute later, many of the students had done nothing toward opening their binders. I guess what this tells me is that I simply have to be more tuned in to their unawareness -- more aware of their unawareness. This might mean taking a little more time to allow them to come back to attention, get focused, and move on to the next task. It might mean being a little more patient with their young-at-heart languor and wistfulness.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 64, Monday, December 10, 2007

Today in the 9th grade classes we had the first of the "oral arguments", and it was as successful as I could have hoped. The idea came from a lawyer’s visit to class, in which he spoke of the importance (especially for an attorney) of being able not only to write a persuasive essay but to also speak it with grace and power. Last week's essay assignment had to do with whether Pip, from Great Expectations, had any good qualities. I broke the class randomly into two groups, one arguing yes and the other no, and they wrote their essays from that perspective. Then, today, each of the students stood at the podium and read a portion of his or her essay to the "judges", who, this week, happened to be Ava and Noah. I encouraged the presenters to speak with dignity and decorum, as you would expect in a court of law. They each began by saying "Your honor and fellow students", and then did their best to present their arguments with poise and power. Judges Noah and Ava listened carefully while taking notes, and their jobs tonight will be to write a paragraph in which they explain their "decision".

I'm considering doing this on a fairly regular basis. It may give the kids a little more motivation for doing a good job on their essays. Instead of writing just for Mr. Salsich, they'll be writing to convince their classmates and a judge. We'll see how it works as the weeks pass.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Yesterday, as I watched a performance of The Nutcracker by my grand-daughter’s ballet school, it brought to mind Keats’ famous statement that “a thing of beauty is a joy forever” – for the performance by these girls was utterly beautiful They were just youthful, amateur performers, ranging in age from 4 to perhaps 17, but they performed with a poise and exuberance that was astonishing to witness. The smallest ones twirled and swirled with the appealing grace of pre-schoolers, and the older girls carried themselves with a dignity that comes from years of dancing. Kaylee, as lovely as any of them, looked like a little princess as she charmingly moved around the stage. Actually, odd as it may sound, the performance brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t help but think of all the pain and ugliness across the world, from Iraq to anywhere in America, and of how this small performance of total and magnificent beauty in Millbury, MA, somehow canceled it all out. Somehow, as Keats put it, “in spite of all [the pain], / Some shape of beauty moves away the pall / From our dark spirits” – and yesterday the beauty came in the form of 50 or so girls giving an audience a gift of great charm and elegance. I felt lucky to be there.

In re-reading Dewey's Democracy and Education (one of my all-time favorite books on teaching), I came across his central belief that a school activity, or lesson, is "truly educative in its effect in the degree in which an individual shares or participates in some conjoint activity." That's an amazing statement. He tells us (and he repeats this innumerable times) that true learning is always a social activity. He believes that a student learns only when he or she is involved in a shared project -- an activity in which a group works cooperatively toward a common goal. He explains that a student doesn't have to be physically present with the group, but there at least has to be an imaginative connection between the student and some community of learners that shares beliefs and goals. Hmmmm...food for thought.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 63, Friday, December 7, 2007

This morning, at the beginning of one of the 8th grade sections, there were a few moments that were especially serene. As usual, we started with silent reading and refreshments, and as I was reading my book, I couldn't help but hear and feel the peacefulness of the scene. Aside from a Mozart sonata playing quietly, the only sound was the occasional tinkle of a spoon in a cup as the server was preparing hot chocolate, and perhaps, if I listened carefully, the breathing of the students and the intermittent turning of pages. I actually forgot my reading for a time and just took in the stillness. I realized that it was probably a precious time for most of the students as well -- a rare few moments when their lives were unruffled and trouble-free. It was so special that I extended the reading time to about 10 minutes -- a richly deserved indulgence for all of us.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 62, Thursday, December 6, 2007

This morning my students and I installed a new classroom job -- what the students voted to call the "positive note giver" (PNG). It began when I sort of offhandedly asked them if they thought it would be a good idea to have one student, during the literary discussion, walk around the circle to look at journals and annotations, and offer compliments and perhaps a sticker. Most of them immediately liked the idea, so we tried it today and it worked quite well. During the discussion, I sat with the students, observing and writing brief notes to kids about what I noticed in the discussion, while the student doing the new job quietly examined journals and books. When I occasionally watched this student -- the PNG -- it was obvious that he or she enjoyed the chance to look at other kids' work and offer praise for it. I saw looks of both earnestness and delight as they went about their duties.

This new job may have several benefits. In the past, I was always the PNG, walking the circle and looking at kids' homework, but this new job will enable me to occasionally sit in with the students during the discussion, both to observe their participation and offer suggestions. Also, the job will enable each student to see what other kids' journals and annotations look like, and it will also give them the opportunity to compliment their classmates -- an opportunity that, surprisingly, doesn't come too often to kids.

* * * * *

I would love to figure out a way to keep track of the "building" that goes on during one of the student-led literary discussions in my class. It's interesting to notice how one student builds upon the previous student's comment, and the next student often builds onto those. Sometimes a student will double back to a comment made several minutes ago and build onto it, adding a detail or extending it or perhaps altering it somewhat -- but always going forward. I'm going to think about a diagram of some sort that will help me "track" the building of these very intelligent discussions.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 61, December 5, 2007

Just before classes started today, I happened to read this passage from Walt Whitman: "Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent." I thought of those words often throughout the day, and they helped me be a more patient and accepting teacher. Like Whitman, I believe there is a "perfect equanimity and fitness of things" -- of all things, events, ideas, and people. With my myopic, small-minded view of things, I don't always perceive this equanimity and fitness, but it's there nonetheless. Whatever a student says in class somehow fits perfectly with what I had just said, and with what the next speaker says. All of our activities during class in some way mesh together to form a perfect pattern, although, unfortunately, my students and I usually fail to recognize it. Whatever happens during class is, one way or another, perfect just as it is. If the student-led discussion seems to be going in a direction that I wasn't planning on, it's still, somehow, an ideal direction, even though my preferred direction might also be ideal in another way. The point is that everything is ideal, the ultimate, the best -- somehow or other. Whitman seemed to understand this, which is what enabled him to often be a silent observer of things while most people around him were dashing hither and thither trying to change the world and get a million things done. Today I remembered the words of his poem, and thus I was able to be a more accessible and accommodating observer during class. I had made a careful lesson plan, and I was able to loosen up and let the lesson plan go where it wanted to go, where it was best to go, where everything fit exactly as it should.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 60, December 4, 2007

I just finished a wonderful class with 9X. I was especially impressed with the literature discussion, led by Robert. He was much more authoritative than yesterday -- more confident and commanding. As he sat at my table and engineered the discussion, he had a more teacher-like presence than I noticed yesterday. He was less timid and more self-assured than before.

* * * * *

In all of my classes, I've noticed more attentiveness during discussions -- more eyes fixed on each speaker. We've talked a lot about how important it is to look at a person when he or she is talking, and the students are slowly starting to make it a habit. Like most good habits, it just takes repeated reminders and repeated practice, and that's what we'll be doing the rest of the year. By April, I expect my students to be participating in totally focused and distraction-free discussions.

* * * * *

Monique is the assistant teacher in her class this week, and today I thought she handled herself with surprising dignity. She sat up straight in my chair and spoke with some authority. Unlike many of the kids, her voice was not whispery and weak. She spoke with a self-assurance and poise that, I think, surprised many of us. This was a Monique we hadn't known before.

* * * * *

When a boy asked to use the bathroom at the start of class, I paused for a moment, thinking about whether I should grant him permission. Huh? Hello? Ham, are you there? Why wouldn't I give a student permission to use the bathroom? So what if he misses a few precious moments of English class. There are some things -- actually, zillions of things -- that are more important than anything we do in English class. Fortunately, I had the good sense to quickly grant the student permission. I guess I had my priorities straight. In the infinite universe we're part of, 8th grade English class is no bigger than a microscopic speck. The universe will continue to stream grandly onward even if a student misses a few minutes to walk down the hall to the bathroom.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 59, December 3, 2007

This morning I had a very relaxed feeling during my classes, as though the classes were sort of running themselves and I was just along for the ride. That feeling (and it's a very satisfying one) comes to me every now and again from who knows where. It's the feeling that everything is just fine, that whatever I say is just right, that the kids are learning just what they need to learn. When I have that kind of feeling, there's no rushing, no worrying, no second-guessing. Like a smooth-sailing ship, the lesson drives itself and I simply relax and take in the view. That was the way it was this morning, for the first two periods. Lucky me.

* * * * *

Later, in a 9th grade class, the "assistant teacher", who is Jimmy this week, was leading a discussion of a paragraph written by an 8th grader, when Stan made a very perceptive comment. I don't have his exact words, but he said something like, "I think the writer would have a better topic sentence if she used an appositive [which we had studied last week] after the word 'town'."

It was an astute -- and correct -- suggestion from a student who continues to come into his own as a high school reader and writer.

* * * * *

In the other 9th grade class, Forrest made an impressive debut as the assistant teacher. He sat at my place with dignity and poise, and he led the class through an orderly, intelligent discussion. He was obviously proud of his role as a "teacher" and was taking it very seriously. It promises to be a rewarding week for him.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Today I would like to live without an agenda. Today I will let the universe take care of all the agendas. I will let the weather have its agenda, but I will have none. I will let other people – my colleagues and my students – have their agendas, but I will have none. I will let the blood running through my veins have its agenda, but I will have none. I will let my lungs and heart have their agendas, but I will have none. I will let the planets and stars have their agendas, but I will have none.

Today I will give up all personal agendas. I will relax, sit back, and observe the grand agendas of the universe going about their astonishing business.

Monday, December 03, 2007

I awoke this morning with this thought: every moment today will be perfect. I went directly to my dictionary and found that one definition for “perfect” is “excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvement”, which will be true of each moment today. No moment will be able to be improved. The universe has spent untold billions of years preparing each of today’s moments, and each one will be precisely what it is required to be. Some moments may not be exactly the way I want them to be, may seem troublesome, inconvenient, even sad or tragic, but even those moments will be perfect -- exactly fitting the need in a certain situation and for a certain purpose. With my self-centered short-sightedness, I probably won’t be able to perceive how all the moments perfectly suit a need, but in some far-reaching way, they definitely will. Every moment will be the only reality that exists, which means it will be entirely faultless, which means it will carry immeasurable good for me and the entire universe. My job today will be to accept and embrace each moment exactly as it is, and to look for the rightness of that moment. I guess you could say my task today is to willingly receive the gift each moment brings me – which should be cheerful work, since each gift will be unflawed and ideal. Sounds like a good deal to me– accepting approximately 57,000 gifts. Sounds like I’m in for a fairly nice day.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 58, November 30, 2007

Today a parent spoke to my 8th grade students about the kind of writing and speaking he does as an attorney, and listening to him started me thinking about how I might bring some of the tension and excitement of courtroom law to my English classes. He repeatedly made the point that his writing must be utterly organized and clear because it has to convince a judge or a jury. He's not just writing for a teacher or to complete an assignment; he writes in order to convince, and to win the case for his client. It's a win-or-lose situation every time he sits down to write -- and lawyers often lose. He told the class that an attorney might prepare a case for three years only to have a judge summarily rule in favor of the opposition. Three years of hard labor for nothing.

I certainly don't want to put that much pressure on my students, but the right amount of pressure could bring some positive and much-needed exhilaration to my assignments.

So…what if each assignment was phrased as an arguable proposition, like in a debate? And what if I divided each class into two sections, one writing for the affirmative and one for the negative, and then had members of each side present their "oral arguments" (their essays) before a "judge" -- a different student each week? Perhaps, to save time, each student would orally present just one paragraph from his or her essay (of course, standing at the podium and speaking in a dignified manner). The judge for that week would be excused from the writing assignment (which would be a much appreciated gift); his or her only task would be to write a paragraph after the oral arguments, explaining the decision, and then to read the decision to the class the next day.

Problems? Well, first of all, it would take up a full class period each week, which, in a way, is a big problem. I already feel the pressure of a packed curriculum, and to add 40 minutes of oral arguments each week would pack it even more.

However, it may be worth it, considering the weekly anticipation and enthusiasm it might bring to the class.

Hmmm….worth thinking about.

Saturday, December 1, 2007

I had a quiet Saturday yesterday. There was very little noise in my life, which is exactly the way I like it. I worked over at school for a few hours in the morning, and it seemed like the only sounds were the classical music from my computer and the occasional low drone of the furnace somewhere far off in the building. The clamor of the previous five school days had disappeared, and only the quietness of the empty halls and rooms remained. There were no other people besides me, and, in fact, there wasn’t much activity either. I didn’t rush through my work, but sort of strolled through it, serenely and happily. In the empty school on a becalmed weekend morning, it would have been silly to do anything quickly or frantically. Actually, I guess I almost never work quickly or frantically anymore. I’ve grown to be a fairly quiet person, and so working in a restrained and subdued way now comes naturally to me. I suppose you might say I try to let the work do itself, which allows me to relax and enjoy the process. Yesterday, with its utter tranquility and untroubledness, was especially enjoyable.