ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 88, Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Today I discovered two new ways of teaching -- or at least ways I hadn't considered in many years. First, instead of sitting or standing at my place on the circle and conducting the business of the class mostly from there, I roamed around the circle, sometimes stopping in one place for a few moments before moving on. Among other benefits, this gave me many different views of the group. Obviously (why didn't I think of this before?), if I'm always at the same place on the circle, I'm going to miss seeing some of the kids straight-on -- miss seeing their expressions clearly, their postures, their whole demeanor. By walking around the circle, I was able to see the students from different perspectives. It was a refreshing and instructive change. I also discovered that I could effectively teach from the middle of the circle. In one 8th grade class, I stood in the middle for a few minutes, turning here and there to talk to individuals or listen to their comments. It got me up closer to some of the kids so I could really give them my full attention.

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ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER
Day 87, January 29, 2008

I realized today that our 'breaks' during class give me a good opportunity to talk informally with students. We took a five minute break at the end of one class, during which I was able to pay some compliments to three students. I called them over to where I was sitting and told them quietly that I admired their work during class, and then I gave them each a special sticker. Without the break, I would have had to do this very quickly and briefly, with much less of a personal touch.

……………………………

In some of the classes today, I was initially disappointed by the lack of participation in our discussion of Our Town. However, as I was beginning to feel a bit discouraged about how things were going, I suddenly realized that some of the kids were participating quite energetically. While I had been focusing on the quiet, unresponsive students, I had failed to notice the active and involved ones. Margaret was one of these. She was thoroughly enjoying herself as she shared one intelligent comment after another about last night's reading assignment. She made sagacious connections between the play and other readings, and she built upon the comments of others. Mayzie also was attentive throughout the discussion and made several very intelligent comments. In a 9th grade class, Jonathan and Salina were the stars. They continually added their insights to the discussion, and I think they grew more and more proud of themselves as the minutes passed. Yes, many (most?) of the students were fairly detached and disinterested today, but luckily that didn't prevent me from noticing the enthusiastic participation by a few of them.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 86, Monday, January 28, 2008

I was impressed today with Georgia's demeanor during the time that she served as "assistant teacher". I was prepared for a little silliness from her, since she inclines that way (though never during class). I was even thinking of reminding her before class to not be silly, but as soon as she began speaking, I knew I didn't have to. I was pleasantly surprised by her serious attitude while she sat at my desk and ran the class. She spoke with dignity and authority, and she moved the class through the steps of the lesson quite efficiently. Once again I underestimated the abilities of a student. That's one of my greatest weaknesses as a teacher -- undervaluing my students talents and strengths, not giving them enough credit for being the wise and gifted people they are.

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I woke up this morning eager to “accomplish” things. I wanted to do this, that, and a dozen other tasks. I wanted to do an excellent meditation, get the proper reading done before I go to school, keep my mind focused, remember the important truths about life, and generally make myself into as excellent a human being as possible. Do, do, do. Make, make, make. I wanted to be a doing-and-making machine. Unfortunately, that would also involve being an ‘escape’ machine. What I really wanted to do, I realize now, was escape from the present moment. I wanted to keep so busy doing and making things, setting goals and striving toward them, reaching and grabbing and holding, that I would never have to simply rest in the present moment. It was like the present moment, the utterly perfect present moment exactly the way it is, was my enemy instead of my always best friend. Luckily, I understood my folly fairly quickly this morning, and before long I was back where I should always be – in the here-and-now, the only place and time there ever will be. The present moment never ‘seems’ perfect to me, but the truth is that it’s all I’ve got or ever will have. It’s where all reality is, and therefore where all power is. No matter what’s happening in the present moment, it has exactly what I need, what I was born for, what the universe has carefully prepared for me. Today I hope I can wake up and accept this great gift, moment after moment after moment.

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ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

V is for View

One benefit I’ve received from having taught for four decades is that I’ve been able, gradually, to get a wider and more comprehensive view of what this whole ‘teaching and learning’ thing is about, and I see now that the view is astonishingly vast. When I was younger, I’m afraid I had a rather myopic view of my work, sort of like tunnel-vision. Everything seemed to happen in a very small arena (about the size of my classroom, actually), and my job was simply to control all the little events that occurred in that small showground where I put my students through their English ‘paces’. I was the boss -- the trainer -- and I thought I knew exactly what was good for my students and what wasn’t. If an activity seemed ‘right’ to me, I put it into the plan; if it seemed ‘wrong’, I rejected it. It was a small teaching world for me back then, and I seemed to be able to control it all quite capably. What I realize now, looking back after 40 years, is that I was operating then like a man living in a tiny house with no windows in the middle of the Grand Canyon. I simply had no idea how immense, how infinite, how inscrutable this teaching business really is. Now, as I gaze out from my senior citizen vantage point, I see the endless possibilities for instruction, the limitless number of roads a teacher can take, the immeasurable number of ripples sent out by even the briefest lesson, the vast distances that stretch out forever when you’re involved in teaching human beings. To modify an old saying, “I’ve seen it all and it’s absolutely astounding.” It’s also humbling, in a very big way. Now, I’m not at all sure I know exactly what’s ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ for my students in their English education. I have hunches, yes, but – honestly – that’s all they are. When you’re faced with the Grand Canyon each day, you get the feeling that you actually don’t know all that much. As I begin a day of teaching, even with a carefully planned set of lessons I almost feel like crossing my fingers, knocking on wood, gritting my teeth, and saying to myself, “Good luck, Ham. Hope you find the right path.”

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ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 85, Friday, January 25, 2008

Today we had exams, and during one of the 8th grade tests, I listened on my iPod to the lovely allegro movement of Beethoven's violin sonata #5. It was, to say the least, a strange experience -- listening to such beatific music while my students were laboring through a painful exam. Every so often I would pause the music -- the exquisite playing of the violin and piano -- and look out at my stern-faced, hunched-over students as they scratched away at their exams. In my music there was harmony and perfection; in the faces of my students there was tension and torture. The music was heaven for me, while the exam was obviously a little like hell for the students.

…………………………..

On Fridays, we sometimes play a song toward the end of class, and the kids listen and do a little creative (we call it 'freestyle') writing stemming from the song. Today, at Jeena's suggestion, we listened to "Bowl of Oranges" by Bright Eyes. It's an unusual and puzzling piece, and some of the kids quickly got lost trying to understand where the song was going. Others, though, (including me) enjoyed it a lot, and soon I saw pencils skimming over their papers. As they wrote and listened, I studied and annotated the lyrics (we had printed copies), and found more and more interesting ideas buried there. After a few minutes, I read their writings aloud (anonymously), as I always do, and as usual, some of them were tender, lyrical, and profound. It's a little bit of magic that happens every Friday in my room.

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AN ADVENTURE

One day he decided

to make friends with power.

So he carried his briefcase

with concern and kindliness,

courteously held

all the essays he read,

and studied the momentous mysteries

in the words

his students spoke.

He walked slowly

so as to listen

to the music his shoes made.

When he sat,

he sat like it was

an occasion of state,

like the chair was chosen

from the very best.

When he looked at his

colleagues and students,

he saw kings and queens

from distant, shadowy lands.

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PERFECTION

This morning he knows

that everything is in its place.

The police station is where it should be,

as is the little library,

as are the streetlights,

as are the cars that came

to their proper positions last night

and rested there.

His school is stretched out on its hill,

as it always is,

and his classroom is quietly letting itself

be carried through space

in its assigned place on the planet.

Even the pencil on his desk

hasn’t moved, hasn’t tried

to do something better for its life

other than simply lying

just where he left it.

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ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 84, Thursday, January 24, 2008

A metaphor for today: Scotch tape

I wonder if I could be like Scotch tape today. Tape can be used to attach one thing to another, and perhaps I can help attach a few helpful ideas to my students today -- ideas that might otherwise float to the ground and be forgotten. Scotch tape can also repair things -- for example, putting a ripped piece of paper together again -- and maybe today I can help a few of the students repair their self-confidence, which probably gets torn up quite often in their young, vulnerable lives. And finally, a dispenser of Scotch tape most often simply sits on my desk -- sometimes for days -- just waiting patiently to be of help. Similarly, my most important as a teacher may well be to just stand by, day after day -- geared up, equipped, and ready to help at a moment's notice.

………………………………….

During a free period this morning, I watched some of the videotape from an earlier class, and I'm glad I did, because I noticed two helpful things. First, the camera was on Damien several times, and it was obvious, as I watched, that he was being very attentive to the conversation. At one point, his eyebrows rose and his head leaned forward as someone made a point, and then he quickly responded with a very intelligent comment. It was good to see this boy -- who has often struggled in class -- behaving like a model student. The camera also showed Lucy admitting to the class that she hadn't done her reading last night. She said it at one point in the discussion, simply mentioning, bravely and forthrightly, that she hadn't done the reading. She had told me this before class (as I ask the students to always do), but when I saw it again on the video, I appreciated the fact that she could be so honest with her class about this academic 'failure'. She is an excellent student, so it must have been hard for her to own up to not being perfect. I also admired the way the class handled it on the video: they simply accepted what she said (after all, we all make mistakes) and moved on with the discussion.

…………………

In one class today, as I was beginning to get discouraged about the way things were going, I began, for some reason, to compliment the kids. I told them this was an unusual play and I thought they were handling it quite well, and I told several individuals they were being very attentive students. I also complimented the 'assistant teacher' for doing a fine job. Later, I realized that those compliments actually helped to dissipate my feelings of discouragement. Because I had turned the focus away from me (and whether I was being a good teacher or not), and concentrated instead on praising the good in the students, everything had slowly lightened up. The burden of being a 'good' teacher fell completely away and all that was left was the integrity and success of my students.

Remedy for self-pity: Focus on the good in others.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 83, Wednesday, January 23, 2008

6:28 a.m.

Metaphor of the Day: An Iceberg

This morning it came to me, as it very often has, that I know almost nothing about my students -- or about teaching, for that matter. I've been a teacher for over 40 years (starting in 1965!), and yet I feel, quite honestly, like I have as much to learn about this inscrutable profession as I did when I started. It's as if teaching is an immense iceberg, and I've merely been exploring what appears above the surface for all these years -- and what's below the surface just keeps growing! It's a little dispiriting I guess, but also, strangely exhilarating. I feel like an explorer still in the heady first stages of a stirring adventure.

…………………………………………..

2:35 p.m.

During one of the classes today, a girl was talking to me (and the class) and I was looking directly at her, as I instruct the students to do when someone is speaking. However, at one point, the thought came to me to look down at my lesson plans to see what I was supposed to do next. While she was still talking, I looked down at my notes for maybe 10 seconds, but I quickly realized my mistake. The girl was trying to express her thoughts to her teacher, and her teacher was looking down, trying to think of what he wanted to say next! It was a dumb mistake (typical of many adults, I'm afraid), and I apologized for it to the girl and the class. Tomorrow I will try once again to give my full attention to each student who is speaking -- and I will expect, of course, the same from my students.

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IGNORANCE

He doesn’t know

where his thoughts come from,

or why a snowstorm

waits this morning

just outside his door,

or which dancing moment

will make him happiest today.

He doesn’t dare try to understand

the serenity he feels

flowing beneath all things,

or the beauty that bathes

even his coffee cup,

even the spoon that lifts

the cereal to his mouth.

The book of truths

is closed to him,

but he loves the way it looks

lying before him.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 82

6:42 a.m.

The Metaphor for the Day: A Breeze

Maybe I'd like to be like a breeze today. A breeze usually refreshes, revives, enlivens, and invigorates, which is what a teacher should be able to do for his students. The kids come to my class with stresses and worries oppressing them, and maybe English class could whisk some of those pressures away. The students might "perk up" during my class the way we do when a breeze floats past on a stifling summer day. It's interesting to note, too, that a breeze can't be hurt or stopped. Ever try hitting a breeze? Put a blockade up, and a breeze will deftly sidle around it. Teachers sometimes feel hurt or frustrated by their work, but a teacher who's like a breeze just keeps fluttering along, around, under, over, and through. Nothing is a big problem to a breeze -- or to the kind of teacher I hope to be today.

………………………………………..

3:17 p.m

Today, in one class, I spoke to a student in a slightly harsh tone. It may have gone unnoticed by the class, and perhaps by this student -- but I noticed the harshness as soon as I spoke. As I recall, I was anxious to move on to a new part of the lesson when this student raised his hand, and the mild severity in my words to him was due, I think, to my frustration about being thwarted in my attempt to move on. The harshness was subtle, but I definitely noticed it. I must continue to work on speaking gently at all times. In the classroom, there is never an excuse for a severe or abrasive note in my voice.

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During a break in my teaching schedule the other day, I felt particularly weighed down with all the things I had "to do". For some reason, though, instead of starting to do some of these tasks, I just stood at a window in my classroom and looked outside. I guess I must have stood there for a good 10 minutes, very quietly, almost motionless, just watching and listening. It wasn't long before I realized that the universe was doing plenty of things, all with no help from me. Melting snow was dripping from the eaves, the leaves in bushes were shaking in a breeze, children were coming down the walkway, and far off, an airplane was humming along to somewhere -- and I was of no help at all. Not only that, my heart was beating, my lungs were operating quite well, and I guess most of the zillion cells in my body were efficiently doing the zillion tasks that they're supposed to do -- and I was simply standing and doing nothing. I was of no help. I wasn't needed. It was clear that the universe was taking good care of itself.

When I returned to my desk to begin one of my tasks, I'm pretty sure I had a smile on my face.

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It’s been a frosty weekend – temperatures in the teens and twenties and a frozen wind nearly always blowing. I stayed indoors mostly, snuggled in my balmy apartment with books and student essays.

...........................................

This morning, as I hiked up and down Granite Street, the look of the various kinds of light was interesting. There was, of course, the swollen and grayish full moon above everything, shining in its unassuming way. Then there were the streetlights and their swaths of light across the street and sidewalks, plus the several lights in windows of early risers, plus the headlights of the occasional passing motorist. The day was still very dark, but I had ample lighting to lead me through my morning exercise.

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ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

C is for Candle flame

In the winter, I often eat breakfast by candlelight, and this morning, as I was observing the small flame in the candle on the table, it got me thinking that it might be good for a teacher to be like that flame. First of all, the flame is flexible, a quality that is immensely helpful to a teacher. The flame constantly wavers as the tiniest air currents pass around it, and I must do the same in my classroom as the currents of thoughts and behaviors circulate around me. It’s interesting that the definition of the word waver includes “to vary or fluctuate” and “to change from a previous opinion”, which suggest the good teacher’s ability to be creatively adaptable as circumstances in the classroom alter (as they constantly do). I also noticed that the candle flame on my table gave off a very soft light, and that, too, reminded me of teaching. The light that emanates from a teacher should never be a glaring, obtrusive light, the kind that either blinds students or makes the teacher the center of attention. Rather, a teacher should simply be a steady but unassuming light that makes it possible for the students to “see” the subject matter more clearly – the kind of soft, suffusing light that one tends to not even notice. Finally, as I looked more closely, I could see that the candle flame was actually transparent and insubstantial. There wasn’t anything solid there, just a fluttering pattern of light and heat, and, in a sense, a teacher shouldn’t be anything “solid” either, for teaching is not about the teacher. A teacher should have an ego the size and substance of a candle flame. As their English teacher for one year, I’m merely one of the countless lights that will shine on my students’ lives. Hopefully I can help to illuminate their path for nine months before I watch them walk away at the end of the year. Like the flame of the candle on my breakfast table this morning, my job as a teacher is simply to bring a soft, supportive light into their young lives.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 81, Friday, January 18, 2008

6: 34 a.m.

Metaphor of the Day: Breathing

Today I want to keep in mind that, in a strange way, the thinking that goes on in my classroom is a lot like breathing. Today my students and I will be thinking and expressing hundreds of ideas during class, and we will simultaneously be listening to and taking in each other's ideas. Giving out, taking in. Giving out, taking in. Our ideas will mingle in the air and then enter each other's minds, much as our breath will mingle and mix all day long. We'll breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide, and we'll give out ideas and take new ideas in. Give out, take in. Give out, take in.

……………………………..

3:17 p.m.

I noticed some discreet smiling and silent giggling during one of the classes, and, disappointingly, I let it upset me. I controlled myself and didn't react or confront the girls (they quickly stopped), but I'm disappointed that their behavior unsettled me for a moment. Their behavior was inappropriate, yes, but that doesn't mean it should disturb me. Improper conduct needs to come to a quick stop, but that can happen without me losing any of my sense of calmness. I shouldn't get upset when I have to turn down the burner on my stove at home, and likewise I shouldn't get upset when I have to quietly insist that my students behave with perfect decorum.

………………………………………..

This afternoon, another one of my lesson plans fell fairly flat. It wasn't a total disaster, but what I hoped would happen (kids smiling, getting excited, wildly raising their hands) didn't happen. A few kids benefited from the lesson, but just as many seemed like they were on a faraway planet during much of the class.

After that class I had a free period, and at the start, I was feeling pretty downcast as I paced around my empty classroom. However, something strange happened. For some reason, I soon began to think of all the other teachers -- the hundreds and thousands and even millions -- who have experienced the same sense of "failure" that I was feeling. I pictured them in my mind, their discouraged faces and forlorn postures -- these teachers who simply tried to interest their students but failed. Before long, I almost felt like they were there with me in my classroom, and we were all supporting each other in our mutual dejection. I felt a genuine brotherhood and sisterhood of teaching, as if what I had experienced with the botched lesson had actually opened me up to fellowship with my teacher comrades world-wide. I continued in this line of thinking for quite some time, just relaxing in one of my comforting chairs and thinking about all the thousands of teachers with whom I had, in a sense, joined hands today by failing to be the perfect teacher. In the end, as I started to get things in order for my next class, I almost felt grateful that the lesson had crashed. Who wouldn't be grateful to have a door opened in his heart?

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 80, Thursday, January 17, 2008

Metaphor of the Day: Bubbles

6: 15 a.m.

Today I want to keep in mind the simple truth that nothing is a big deal. Unfortunately, both my students and I often fall into the habit of thinking that everything is a big deal -- homework, quiz answers, grades, comments in class, behavior, lesson plans, teaching techniques, etc. Somehow, things often grow to appear way more important than they really are. We tend to forget, my students and I, that everything that occurs is actually as ephemeral and trifling as a bubble. The low grade a student received today: in one month, will it really be any more important than a vanished bubble? Last Friday's failed lesson plan: in one year, will I even remember it? Will it have affected the greater good of my life, or the movement of the planets - or will it have long since disappeared like an insubstantial bubble? Even the brilliant ideas that come to all 44 of us now and then: where will those ideas be ten years from now? Somewhere in the infinite space of the universe, just like all the zillions of departed bubbles. This, of course, doesn't mean that my students and I shouldn't take our school work seriously. Of course we should, just as we take playing an important game seriously. We just need to keep in mind that the game, and our school work, is really not a big deal, is as momentary and fleeting as bubbles in a stream, shining in the sunlight one moment and gone the next.

…………………………………..

2:39 p.m.

Today Jessy was the "assistant teacher" in her class, and I was very impressed by her entire demeanor as she carried out her duties. She came to class early and set herself up at my desk, checking my notes to her and making sure she was thoroughly ready to go. When I nodded to her, she promptly got the class started, and then proceeded to lead the students through parts of the lesson plan with dignity and efficiency. I almost had the feeling that she wanted me to stop interrupting so much so she could carry more responsibility. She obviously took great pride in what she was doing. Who knows, maybe I saw the beginning of a future teaching career today.

I read some of Great Expectations aloud to the class yesterday and today, and it reminded me what a powerful experience that can be for kids. Dickens' language is so rich with poetry and meaning, and his characters so dense with motives and idiosyncrasies, that it's almost imperative that as much as possible of his books be read aloud. I enjoyed doing it these past two days, and I loved the way Grace and Luke read when their turn came. They read aloud with poise and flair, as though they've been doing it for years.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 79, Wednesday, January 16, 2008

……………………………………….

The Metaphor of the Day: A Basket

6:35 a.m.

I thought I might write each morning, or as often as possible, about a particular metaphor for teaching that I want to keep in mind during the day. This morning I'm thinking of a basket.

Today I want to be like a basket -- a gigantic basket, the world's biggest basket, an infinitely wide basket that will comfortably hold everything. 'Comfortably' is the key word here. Sometimes I feel un-comfortable, in the sense that I feel I can't 'take' -- or hold -- what's happening to me. I feel that my life, my 'basket', is too small, too confined, too limited in space to take in all the tasks and pressures confronting me. Today, however, I want to be a really big basket, one that is so immense that it can easily take in and embrace, even hug, anything that comes my way -- any thoughts, any student words or behavior, any so-called 'bad' circumstances. With my 'basket' that extends beyond the horizons, I will be easily able to accommodate everything that happens at school today. Whatever occurs, I will welcome it warmly, for there's room for one and all. (Note: welcoming something into my roomy basket doesn't necessarily mean approving it -- just embracing it because it's real and is here, now, in front of me. In fact, welcoming it is the best way to eliminate any possibility of its controlling or even troubling me.)

………………………………

2:35 p.m.

Today was a good day for me -- maybe a very good day. It started well and ended well, something that rarely happens for me. Some of the good fortune came from getting to school a bit earlier than usual, which gave me some valuable time to settle myself and get things in order for a productive day -- and a productive day it was. The high point of the day might have been the class when a parent visited. Perhaps having an important visitor helped the kids focus a bit more, helped them feel a certain specialness in the class. Whatever the reasons, the class moved along briskly and somewhat inspiringly, at least for me. It was, I think, one of my best classes of the year.

………………………………

Today I allowed the 9th graders to use the first 10 minutes of class to go over their essays one more time, putting the final finishing touches on. I reminded them of all the requirements, and then, silently and under my supervision, they polished them up. It seemed to work quite well, which makes me wonder if I should do this more often.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 78, Tuesday, January 15, 2008

In one of the classes today, I drifted over into silliness, an old habit I have tried assiduously to leave behind. I love laughing and being happy in class, but silliness -- also known as "goofing around", inanity, and just plain childishness -- is another thing entirely. I don't want it to have any place in my teaching. It sets me up more as a clown than an educator, more as a foolish entertainer than a competent instructor of reading and writing. Laugh, yes -- I love doing it, and we do it a lot in my classes, but silliness has to go. It reared its idiotic head again today, but I don't intend to let it do so tomorrow.

* * * * *

While I was sitting among the students during one of the 8th grade classes (the assistant teacher was leading the class), I noticed the girl next to me fidgeting with something on her binder. I assumed it was something temporary, and that she would stop soon, but she kept doing it for several minutes while another student was talking. I glanced over at her and saw that she seemed to be listening carefully to what was being said, but still her hand kept playing with the binder. It wasn't noisy, and therefore not distracting, and she stopped fairly soon, but still…it made me wonder: Why would a good student be so fidgety? Has she been doing this throughout the year and I just haven't noticed? And what other behaviors in my classes have I not noticed???

Reading the poems of Milton this morning during breakfast, I came across these famous lines: “They also serve who only stand and wait.” I need to remember this as I’m teaching today. After all, serving is what teaching is all about, and waiting is a big part of serving. Teaching should never be about the teacher, but always about the students. It is the teacher’s job to literally ‘lose himself’ in the service of his students, and often the best way to do that is to simply wait. Often the best way to teach is not to actively organize, manipulate, guide, or instruct – but simply to patiently wait for the students’ innate goodness and intelligence to naturally and inevitably reveal itself. In Room 2, I need to do some serious waiting today.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 77…snow day

One of the student jobs in my classes is "videotaper". A different student each week videotapes about 10 minutes of every class, and I watch the tapes as often as possible, sort of the way a baseball player watches tapes of his batting or throwing techniques. Needless to say, I have learned a lot from my video sessions. This morning, on our first snow day of the year, I watched some tapes and found them even more dismaying than usual. (I've found that videotapes have a way of severely humbling a teacher.) Here is what I saw on the screen: one student slouching with a bored look on his face, something I thought was not allowed in my classes; another student fiddling with something at her seat, obviously paying no attention to a classmate who was talking; still another student interrupting a classmate, which is another illegal procedure in my class. This was enlightening to me, because it made me realize that I tend not to notice those kinds of infractions. I may have a reasonable excuse -- that I'm too busy focusing on what Student A is saying to notice what Student B is doing -- but it still bothers me that this kind of behavior was happening, as they say, 'right under my nose'. The only good thing I saw in the tapes this morning was that I was, in fact, being very attentive to each speaker. I looked directly at each student when he or she was talking and did not allow myself to be distracted, which is something I've been working on this year. Kids deserve that kind of attention from a teacher. However, in doing so, I may have unknowingly allowed a few other kids to drift away from proper English class behavior. Rest assured that adjustments will definitely be made.

LIVING LIKE A SPECTATOR

I had some fun this afternoon thinking about the word “spectator”, wondering whether I could live my life as much like a spectator as a participant. This wouldn’t mean not doing anything – being a passive, indolent observer – but simply keeping an objective eye on things as life unfolds. As I go about my daily activities, I could calmly watch myself, as from afar -- observing the curious events that befall me. Perhaps, instead of a deadly earnest contest, I could think of life as an interesting game, with me as both an enthusiastic participant and fascinated spectator. One thing is certain: as a spectator I would never be bored. At each moment there are major miracles unfolding everywhere, even inside me. From the constantly changing activities surrounding me, to the endless “in and out” of my breathing, to the nonstop stream of thoughts, there is always something astonishing making itself known. To appreciate the ever-shifting phenomenon of life, all I would have to do is stay quiet inside and pay attention. Boredom would be out of the question. Who knows, it might be a fine way to live.

A FEW MOMENTS OF INSPIRATION

After two disappointing classes Friday morning (my supposedly
"creative" lesson plans quickly deflated like balloons), I did what I often
do to regain some confidence and inspiration: I visited another classroom. (It's always amazing how much good it does me to just sit back and observe a teacher and students at work.) All I did was watch Joanne give a spelling test to some 2nd graders, but observing these children struggling to show what they knew slowly settled me down and allowed my disappointment with myself to dwindle away. I guess it helped me get out of myself a little. It reminded me that it doesn't matter what I am feeling about my teaching; all that matters is whether the students are experiencing anything good and helpful. And Joanne's students obviously were.
These were my observations:
1) The kids were working very hard as they took the test. As I
watched, I saw that writing is an extremely difficult task for most of the
kids. Their little fists were clenched around their pencils, their faces
were contorted, and their whole bodies, not just their hands, seemed to be doing the writing. Some of them, in fact, seemed to write with their mouths: every pencil stroke was accompanied by a different contortion of the jaw and lips.
2) They wrote the way we breathe: in, out, in, out -- write, relax,
write, relax. They would bend over in extreme concentration as they wrote a word, and then lean back, breathe deeply, and take a break. In, out, write, relax. One boy nonchalantly balanced his pencil on his fingers between each word. This test was like a workout at the gym for these little ones. Work, chill, work, chill.
3) They paid almost no attention to me. Nary a one looked at me the
whole time I was there. They were just too focused on the challenging work at hand. Who looks at visitors at a gym?

This was a rewarding class for me to watch. There were no "bells and
whistles", no flamboyant "get the kids excited" activities. It was just a
group of children working with high intensity to demonstrate what they've learned. It was obvious that a great amount of mental activity was happening from the moment I walked in. Students were working, learning, and also -- by the way -- feeling good about themselves and having fun. (I saw lots of smiles.) It reminded me that teaching and learning, though it's usually hard work, can be a pretty simple process. It doesn't have to always be rocket science.
This thought helped me as I reflected more on my disappointing morning classes.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Yesterday the weather warmed up to feel like early April. My children gave a birthday party for their mom, Jan, (60) at a cafe in downtown Mystic, and many of us walked back the few blocks to Jan’s house in soft, shirtsleeve weather. I walked with Noah (4), Josh (19 months), and Luke, and we strolled along like winter was far away. Luke and I, however, didn’t have much time to savor the easygoing air, because we were constantly alert to make sure the boys didn’t make a sudden dash into traffic. They hopped, skipped, swung their arms, and smiled all the way to Jan’s. It was a satisfying afternoon for me, which is actually a big understatement. To sit at a long table in a lovely cafe with my children and grandchildren and their beloved mother, to saunter down the sidewalks in perfectly pleasant air with three handsome guys, to raise a glass of champagne to honor a remarkable wife and mother, and just to be part of such a splendid family – all of this gave me feelings of thankfulness far into the evening. I am one lucky dude.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 77, Friday, January 11, 2008

This morning most of the 9th graders looked like they were on the verge of slumber during class. They were deader than I think I've seen them all year. I couldn't squeeze a comment out of them about anything. My words seemed to bounce off them like stones off mountains. For a few moments after the classes, this was a big deal to me … or rather I made it a big deal: "Oh my god, I'm such a lousy teacher. My teaching is boring. The kids hate my classes" and on and on. I'm an expert at turning things into big deals, and I did a masterful job of it this morning. However, I caught myself pretty quickly. I simply reminded myself of an old truth I love: that nothing is really a big deal -- not in the "big picture", anyway. In the infinite universe, a zillion events are occurring each moment, and none of them is a tad more important than any other. They are all big deals, which I guess means they are all very small deals. My students being sleepy during English class today was no more significant than leaves flying away from an old tree in China or birds steering their way through skies above Arizona.Of course, their behavior was also no less significant than any other event. The universe is a single harmonious entity, in which every occurrence is as essential as every other, but no more so. What happened with my 9th grade students was as unpredictable and uncontrollable as what happens with the weather. It wasn't a big deal, just another deal among the zillions the universe unfolds for us each day. Tomorrow the weather and my students will surely behave in yet another different and special way.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 76, January 10, 2008

Lately, when the student "assistant teacher" is leading the class, I've been sitting in his or place at the round table, and it's giving me a fresh perspective on things. Just sitting in a new place with a different view of the room and the students is opening my eyes to new ways of seeing my classroom and my teaching. As I sit in the back part of the room and look at my teenage students with the windows behind them filling with sunlight, the room somehow seems larger, more open, more filled with space. My job as a teacher, too, somehow seems bigger, more expansive -- and perhaps more breath-taking. Suddenly, it’s not just one old teacher and fourteen young students, but rather fifteen members of the infinite universe doing their best to demonstrate their inborn intelligence, kindness, and grace. Suddenly it's like I'm watching a wondrous miracle being performed in little Room 2-- which, of course, I am.

* * * * *

I got to thinking today that perhaps I should begin having a 15-minute "student feedback time" once each week. Perhaps it would be good to set aside a definite period when kids could tell me concerns they have about English class. It might be good for them to know that I will patiently listen to their worries, grievances, and suggestions once every week. Hmmm…

* * * * *

Today, in one class, I noticed that this week's "positive note giver" was really enjoying the process of writing little complimentary sticky notes during class and passing them around to her classmates. She was listening carefully as the students participated in a discussion, and every so often she would bend over and busily scratch out a note, complete with a special sticker. For her, this job was obviously an exciting opportunity.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 75, January 9, 2008

Today I gave a little more responsibility to the student "assistant teachers". Since we've established a regular routine for English class, I thought the kids might be able to actually "run" most of the class, except, of course, for the actual lesson that I would teach. We tried it today, and I was pleased with the results. Most of the student-teachers looked like they were proud to be guiding the class through the daily plan. They sat at my desk with a certain dignity and poise; one girl, in particular, spoke with utter gravity and sophistication, as if she's been teaching for years. The other students in the classes also enjoyed the experience, I think. It was something different, something other than Mr. Salsich talking and the kids trying their best to listen. In their long and often tedious day at school, the students can find rich benefits in any break in the usual customary way of doing things.

* * * * *

A student came to me before class and quietly informed me that he did not have his homework ready. As I've asked the students to do, he spoke firmly and sincerely, and did not make excuses. I looked at him for a moment (hopefully with a gentle expression), and quietly said, "Thank you for telling me. I will make a note of it. I am sure you will learn from this mistake." Finally, after all these years, I think I've learned how to respond when students make a mistake.

This morning the streets were wet and windy as I did my hill climbing. Scraps of leaves and an occasional piece of trash tumbled past me, and I could hear the wind rushing through the surrounding trees. I had left my iPod at home, so I just focused on the stormy morning around me. The sky was still dark, but the street lights were comforting, and the occasional shine of car lights lit up the morning with a feeling of cheerfulness.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 74, Tuesday, January 8

Today, during one class, I handed out the 9th grade lesson to the 8th grade. It may seem like a small mistake -- just a little mindless slip-up which I quickly fixed -- but it's been nagging at me all day. I think it bothers me so much because it's an example of the kind of distracted and unmindful teaching that I've been trying to eliminate this year. When I distributed the wrong lessons to the 8th grade, I simply wasn't thinking, and a teacher who isn't thinking is not a good teacher. I can't think of a profession that requires more constant and pinpointed thinking than teaching, and this morning I was way off the mark. For at least a few moments (and probably more), I was off in reverie land, which is where no teacher should be when he's in his classroom with his students.

* * * * *

In my first-period class, we started in an extra-relaxed manner, and I enjoyed it greatly. (I think the students felt the same way.) For some reason, I was a little more casual at the beginning of class than I usually am. I chatted with a few kids and, oddly, felt little of my usual compulsion to get right to the business of English. We probably got down to work about 3 minutes later than usual, but, thinking back, I feel it was worth it. Since the kids are pressured and harried most of the day, these extra 3 minutes must have been like a gift from the blue for them. I can't do it every day, but every so often a simple gift like that can turn a stress-filled day into a stroke of good luck.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
O is for Observing

I have been thinking lately about the fact that, in my teaching, I have always been much more of a participant than an observer. Over the years of my career, I have usually jumped headfirst into whatever lesson I was planning or teaching. I have submerged myself fairly completely in my work, holding nothing back, rarely standing back and watching but, instead, plunging in and just swimming for all I’m worth. I've been much more a doer than a watcher. There are obviously some advantages to that approach to teaching, but, unfortunately, there are just as many disadvantages. For one thing, that kind of teaching makes it almost impossible to have any kind of objectivity -- any kind of 'big picture' view of what's happening in my classroom. If I'm always totally 'caught up' in the teaching and learning, who is going to be free to do the objective observations that will tell me whether I'm accomplishing anything significant? Who will dispassionately examine where my students and I have been and where we need to go? I wonder if it would be possible to be both a participant and an observer, both an active doer and a silent watcher. I love getting thoroughly involved with the adventures inherent in teaching English to teenagers, but I would also love to stand back -- sometimes way back -- and just analytically observe this old teacher and his youthful students. Perhaps I could do both at the same time -- both plunge in and stand on the shore. That would be the ideal way to teach. I could have the pleasure of doing the teaching and learning, and also the pleasure of watching it all unfold. I wonder if it's possible.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 73, Monday, January 7, 2008

Today I had to remind the students several times that we only do one thing at a time in my classroom. No multi-tasking is allowed. This, of course, goes directly against the tide of the outside "real" world. I guess almost everyone multi-tasks these days as we dash hither and yon trying to get a thousand essential tasks done each day. I see in people's faces the familiar look of stress as they try to keep track of all the 'important' thoughts dashing through their minds. It's like they have 10 things to do and only this very moment to do them in. It's a look of frenzy and fear in a world gone mad with never-ending activity. However, it doesn't work that way in my small classroom. Here the students are allowed to work on only one task at a time. If someone's talking (me or a student), the only thing we do is look and listen (not shuffle papers, or write down assignments, or get a head start on homework). If we're reading aloud from a text, the only thing we do is look at the text and follow along (not gaze out the window or at a friend or at the clock). One thing at a time. It's a very difficult habit for the students to develop, given the outside world's fondness for hurry, hustle, diversion, and distraction. The kids struggle with this new way of working -- this way that says the only sacred moment is the one right now, and the only vital task is the one you're doing at this exact instant.

This morning I spent a few quiet hours up in the countryside of Connecticut with my grandson Noah. When I arrived, he started bouncing with excitement, as he usually does, but soon he quieted down as we sat on the floor and played with his many imaginary playscapes. I always enjoy making up names for some of his little plastic people, and today, for some reason, they took on Spanish names. Little Roberto visited a snail named Enrique and a seal known as Jose, and the three of them had an interesting adventure (with the help of Noah and me). Noah, I think, likes it when I make up stories and use my different accents (which are not very good). I noticed him absolutely staring at me as I spoke with Roberto’s Latin accent. We played quietly (8-month-old Ava was napping) for an hour two, including a break for a lunch consisting of tortillas, smoothies, and the luscious seeds of a large pomegranate.

* * * * *

It’s now 7:54 p.m. I just returned from a brisk walk through the park. The many lights brightened the path, and the park seemed extra lovely in the cold winter darkness.

This morning I began the day by sitting silently for about 30 minutes. I didn’t do anything except sit – didn’t rush here and there getting ready for the day, didn’t fix the coffee, didn’t start itemizing all the things I needed to get done today. I simply sat in the rocking chair in the living room. I had lit a few candles, and their flames were glowing and wavering in the morning darkness. The room was quiet, but not silent. Now and then a car would pass outside, the refrigerator would gurgle or hum, a drop of water would plunk in the bathroom sink. I just kept sitting. Lots of thoughts passed through my mind, and I tried to just observe them and let them pass away, sort of like clouds in the sky. I felt my chest rising and falling as breath came in and went out, over and over for 30 peaceful minutes.

I read some of Milton's poetry this morning, and particularly enjoyed, once again, "Il Penseroso". I never realized before that he is basically praising dejection. He says it's okay to be gloomy; in fact, sometimes it's the absolutely right and proper feeling. There's a time and place for every emotion, including melancholy. In fact, he calls melancholy the "Goddess sage and holy", as if it's a feeling sent to give us wisdom and bring us closer to the true center of things.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

E is for Entitlement

Lately I’ve come to realize that one of the big problems my students and I must constantly face is our own ingrained sense of entitlement. It’s safe to say, I think, that all of us – the teenagers in my English classes and their senior citizen teacher – have somehow come to believe that we are deserving of certain privileges. Certainly we don’t expect to have total success at school, but we seem to think we deserve to get mostly good grades or evaluations, be praised most of the time, succeed way more often than fail, and generally have things pretty much go our way. It’s how the world is supposed to work, we think. We are supposed to succeed. We are not supposed to flounder and fail, not us. This may seem like an implausible analysis, but it’s the only explanation I can come up with for why my students and I get upset when things don’t go our way. When the kids receive a low grade on an essay, they invariably get distressed, worried, frustrated, and sometimes discouraged. Likewise, when my lesson plan totally bombs, I’m shocked, disappointed, and often full of either self-pity or self-loathing. It’s as if my students and I are crying out, “This is not supposed to happen to me! The world is not supposed to work this way!” Truthfully, this kind of aggressive, defiant reaction to failure suggests a totally self-centered outlook on life. It’s like we are proclaiming that we are the center of the universe, and all things are supposed to revolve around us, and if they don’t, we will get angry, defensive, and belligerent. We believe we are entitled to have things go our way, and when they refuse to, we’re ready to either cry or fight, or both. I hope I can bring, in this second semester, a different spirit to my classroom. I hope to convince my students (and me) that we are no more entitled to endless successes than we are entitled to endless sunny days. The weather changes haphazardly, and so do our fortunes. Rain eventually comes after sunshine, and failure eventually comes after success. Always. There’s no avoiding occasional lousy weather, and there’s no avoiding occasional low grades and disastrous lessons. The universe is an almighty and immeasurable place, filled with limitless numbers of variables, each of them trying to be at the exact center of things, and for my young students and I to pretend that we are the only centers, the only ones who deserve to be treated well, is utter foolishness. We need to listen to physicists, who tell us that everything is at the exact center of the universe. We need -- and I will be trying to help us do this from now until June -- to maintain a view of reality that is not centered around our little, individual, worried selves. We need to keep the "big picture" -- the infinite picture -- in mind. We must continue working hard, and when the bad weather of poor grades or dreadful teaching comes, we should simply smile, put up the umbrella, keep doing our best, and patiently wait out the storm. The sunshine will return. It always does. We are entitled to that.

January 4, 2008

I awoke this morning with the familiar, anxious feeling that I have many things to do today, but, thankfully, before too many minutes passed, I remembered that there is only one thing I absolutely must do – and that is be entirely open to and accepting of each present moment. Each instant today will be an infinitely powerful miracle, a unique unfolding of life that has never happened before in the history of the universe. Each moment will be entirely unavoidable (which makes resisting it foolish, even insane) and will reveal itself exactly as it must. It will literally be all there is and will be utterly perfect as it is. So (I said to myself as I brushed my teeth) why not relax, drop all resistance, dismiss all worries about whether I will get 10,000 things or 0 things accomplished today, and happily embrace the only moment there will ever be – the flawless and all-powerful present?

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

I is for Immaturity

For years, I’ve heard teachers, and adults in general, speak of “immaturity” as though it’s a negative quality, but according to my dictionary, immaturity actually means the ability to continue to grow. If a plant, animal, or person is mature, by definition they are fully grown, and thus are unable to develop any further. An immature organism, on the other hand, is still totally immersed in its own process of growth – sprouting, rising, spreading, and reaching. In reality, immaturity – the ability to develop and expand and extend ourselves – is a quality we should hope to retain right up to our final breath. Does this mean I want my students to act “in an immature manner”? Yes, if that means acting like people whose lives are growing, changing, enlarging, strengthening, and intensifying. Yes, if it means acting like teenagers who are still at the very beginning of their emotional and intellectual growth – kids whose minds and hearts are expanding at breakneck speeds almost by the hour. Does it mean, too, that I, their 66-year-old teacher, should behave immaturely? Yes, if that means still being wide open to learning immeasurably more about teaching than I’ve ever known. And yes, if it means realizing that I would have to teach many, many more years if I want to even approach being “fully grown” as an educator.

Perhaps I should post a sign at the entrance to my classroom: “NO MATURE PEOPLE ALLOWED”.

(Note: Much of my thinking about the positive nature of "immaturity" comes from John Dewey's Democracy and Education.)

It seems that the cold of winter was waiting for me to arrive home from my visit to my extended family in St. Louis before it clamped down on southern New England. It’s been frosty for the last two days, and this morning the cold really came on with all its bristling and bullying. The temperature was 11˚ when I headed out for my morning exercise at 5:00 a.m., and the wind was whistling at my back as I climbed Granite Street. I felt fairly warm, though, dressed as I was in many layers, with my ski cap pulled snug around my face so only my eyes were exposed. It was a bitter morning, but the silver stars and the sliver of a moon were shining as gaily as ever, and a few warm-looking lights were glowing in windows of early risers. When I was back in my apartment and contentedly warm again, I read some of Whitman as I enjoyed my breakfast of egg whites, green beans, and whole wheat toast. I enjoyed his poem “Salut au Monde!”, in which he praises the infiniteness of the universe, including himself. Just reading those lines for a few moments made me feel the way I should always feel – as spacious and expansive as the dark morning sky over Granite Street.

A TRIP BACK HOME

I just returned from a trip back home that I would best characterize – surprisingly -- as calm and orderly. Normally you would think a visit to a family of many dozens would involve a good amount of confusion and disorder, but the opposite was true. I took a methodical flight to St. Louis on Wednesday, went from gathering to gathering for five wonderful days, and took an on-time, no-problem flight back home yesterday. Each day seemed as shipshape and unruffled as the one before it.

I started with a quiet evening at Al and Mary Anne’s home – a beer, a hearty dinner, and a renewing of good friendships. After a restful sleep in their snug basement suite, I enjoyed my usual breakfast at a coffee shop called Einsteins and then drove to see my neice Stephanie and her handsome, bouncing boys. It was inspiring to hang out with Wolfie and Hammie for a few minutes, just taking pleasure in their natural passion for nearly everything.

I enjoyed a whopping, old-school steakburger lunch at Steak ‘n’ Shake, and then paid a happy visit to my Mom at the hospital where she’s been recovering for a few days. She was in relatively cheery spirits, and we spent a pleasant hour together. In the evening, Mary Anne cooked a delicious meal of fried catfish, potatoes, and spinach, and the three of us relaxed and brought the good day to a quiet end.

On Friday, I joined brother Pete and Barbara for lunch at the Missouri Botannical Garden. The lunch was perfectly dreadful (I thought), but the companionship was delightful. It was a treat to talk with my cherished oldest brother and his wife, and after lunch Pete and I had a further chance to talk as we walked through the grounds of the dormant gardens. That night, after another good visit with my Mom, I joined Pete and Barbara at their home for a splendid evening of food and conversation. Being very much a candle person myself, I loved the soft look of Barbara’s many glowing candles as we talked and enjoyed the perfectly prepared dinner.

On Saturday, I met my four brothers and nephews Peter III and Neil at a local pub for our biannual “brothers lunch”. The food was delicious and the beer frosty, but of course the main treat was the stirring conversation. There were laughs, jokes, toasts, and old and new stories as we replenished our friendships. The same sort of renewal occurred later that afternoon when I met an old high school buddy at a small “dive” near his house. Surrounded by the swirling cigarette smoke and rowdy laughter of patrons, we spent an hour on memory lane, reliving our unruly but cheerful high school and college days.

That night I attended my family’s annual Christmas Party, hosted by my sister Susie and her husband Kent at Glen Echo Country Club. This year, because the family has grown so large, we limited attendance to people 15 and older, and I think it was a good move. Of course, we love having the young ones around, but it was wonderful to have one night when just the adults could mingle and converse and get to know each other better. The club was decorated beautifully for the season, the food was the best ever, and the friendliness was bountiful. It’s hard to recall a Saturday evening I enjoyed more.

The next morning I had a wonderful breakfast at my sister Mary’s house. Her husband Don cooked some splendid omelets for us, which we enjoyed as we rambled down many paths in our conversation. It was one of the best two hours of my visit back home. However, it was no better than the gathering that evening out at my sister Barb and her husband Mike’s vacation home on a lake in the country about an hour west of St. Louis. There, in a perfectly elegant and comfortable setting, three of my sisters (Cat, from Brooklyn, NY, couldn’t make it this time), my four brothers, their spouses, and I put the ideal finishing touch on my visit back home. For four hours, we were just simply brothers, sisters, and friends in the best possible way.

The next morning Al, Mary Anne, and I said our goodbyes and I took a picture perfect flight back to New England -- back to my four grown children, four grandchildren, the lovely woods and beaches, and the best teaching job a person could possibly have.