ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 106, Thursday, February 28, 2008

Analogy of the Day: The Teacher as a Tool, Instrument, and Implement

Today perhaps I can be like a tool for my students -- a 'device' that facilitates their work as readers and writers. In a way, that's really all I should be -- a device, an apparatus, a gadget, a simple piece of equipment that helps the kids get important academic tasks accomplished. Like a good tool, I should stay out of the way -- 'in the toolbox' -- until my students need me. I might also think of myself today as an instrument, a relatively small precision tool used by trained professionals (in this case, my students). A scalpel is a surgeon's instrument for performing delicate tasks, and maybe I can be an instrument to aid my students in the more precise and exacting tasks of English class. If they need to know about using sophisticated techniques like anaphora and antithesis in their writing, the specialized instrument called Mr. Salsich can come to their aid. Or, perhaps I will be more of an implement today, more like a tool used in agriculture and certain building trades. In this case, I would think of myself as a somewhat bulky and sturdy piece of equipment, like a power saw or a scaffold. My students are often 'building' things in class -- most often long essays and detailed interpretations of books -- and they need me, now and then, to provide the 'heavy gear' necessary to get the jobs done efficiently and beautifully. I must remember, most importantly, that tools, instruments, and implements are not the center of attention in any process. The scalpel doesn't do the surgery; the surgeon does, and the scalpel stays on the table until needed. The 'surgeons' in my classroom are the students, and their exacting work should be front and center at all times. Like the scalpel, I need to stay out of the way until I'm needed. That's the job of a good teacher.

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It was gratifying to hear several 8th grade students say they had a much greater appreciation of Our Town now that we had finished reading the play and watching a film version of it. Several students said they actually preferred it over To Kill a Mockingbird, one boy adding that it seemed 'deeper' than Harper Lee's novel. The students implied that their enjoyment of the play grew gradually over the weeks that we spent on it. We did, indeed, read the play very slowly, studying it and commenting on it as we read, and we watched the film in a similar fashion, taking notes and discussing each day's viewing. Based on the students' comments today, I feel that this unhurried, purposeful approach to the play (an approach I use in all my teaching) was at least moderately successful.

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Today I again sat among the students at the round table instead of at the 'teacher's place'. The "maitre d'" (one of the student jobs in my room) sat where I usually sit, and I was able to get a student's view of the room. It also enabled me to sit back, shut up, and allow the students to do more of the talking. It's amazing what happens when I remove myself a little from the action when I become more like a coach than a band conductor.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 105, Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Today I realized, for the zillionth time, that I can be a very dumb teacher. I came to school extra-early to finish my plans for the day, and, sitting in the dawn light in my classroom, a flash of an idea for a lesson hit me. I quickly fleshed out how I would present it, wrote it all out on the planning board for the students to see, and sat back for a moment of self-congratulation. Well, a few unforeseen things happened later which made it impossible to present that lesson, and, looking back, I'm grateful … because it was a dumb idea and would have made a very dumb lesson. Now, reflecting on it, I can't believe I actually thought it would be a workable lesson. I'm embarrassed for myself. What was I thinking?

As usual, though, a great amount of good came out of this disillusionment, for it taught me another good lesson in humility. It reminded me that I know about 1/1000 of what there is to know about teaching adolescents -- that truly excellent teaching is a very high mountain and I'm still quite near the bottom of the trail. It ultimately led to me to a hearty laugh as I realized how ignorant I am, and what a silly lesson it was, and how harebrained I would have seemed if I had tried to teach it. In this vast universe, little Mr. Salsich pretending to understand what teaching human beings is all about is quite a funny sight -- and it was good for to me realize this yet again.

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I was thinking this morning that a good definition of ‘paradise’ would be ‘a place where there is never a struggle’. If I never had to resist, fight back, push, or thrash around, I would be definitely living in paradise. Life would flow naturally and harmoniously at all times, and, being a part of life, I would flow peaceably along with it. Struggle would be nowhere because serenity would be everywhere. What’s a little shocking about this is that, by this definition, paradise can exist for me in every single present moment. If I could simply learn to give up all resistance to the present moment – to stop struggling and just accept each moment – I would live in absolute peace. There would be no striving and wrestling with life, because there would always be an unadulterated and undemanding acceptance of whatever’s happening. This doesn’t mean I would personally ‘like’ whatever’s happening – just that I would be at peace with it. I would accept it, and thus all struggles would cease.

Moment after moment, that would be paradise.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 104, February 26, 2008

The metaphor of the day: table setting

When I have guests over for dinner, I particularly enjoy the process of 'setting the table'. It's a way of preparing for the success of the evening, of making it more likely that my company will enjoy themselves. If everything is in its proper place when guests arrive, it somehow seems more likely that everything will happen harmoniously and satisfyingly. The same is true in my classroom, where my students are the 'company' and the round table is our gathering place where we sit together to enjoy a good 'meal' of learning. Just as with my dinner guests, it's imperative that I 'set the table' in my classroom with care and attention. For each class, the round table must be clean, free of clutter, and positioned correctly, and the chairs must be pushed under the table, ready for new guests. The entire room must present a look of readiness and hospitality as if the only reason it exists is to make students feel cherished, comfortable, and ready to learn.

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Today I noticed that Emma was trying very diligently to stay alert during our reading of Macbeth. It's a challenging play for her, and she often drifts off as we go through the complicated lines. Today, though, she was making a serious effort to stay with us. At one point she raised her hand and offered a wise explanation of one of the lines. When I asked her how that idea came to her, she replied that she had simply read the note at the bottom of the page. It may have seemed like a 'simple' task to her, but to me it signified a blossoming student of literature. I took a moment to praise her for being an earnest and intelligent reader.

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ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 103, Monday, February 25, 2008

During both 9th grade classes today, there was an obvious look of exhaustion on the students' faces as we worked our way through a scene from Macbeth. As tired as they appeared, it's debatable whether any of them took anything valuable away from the class. If someone asked them this evening what they remembered about English class today, they might be hard pressed to recall a single moment of it. This kind of situation could produce many different feelings in a teacher, from discouragement to anger to resignation. Oddly, I am left mostly with a feeling of acceptance. The drowsiness of the students happened. It was a fact, it's over with, and I can't do anything to change it. I have no reasonable choice but to accept it and, as they say, 'move on'. It reminds me of one of my favorite analogies for teaching -- the weather. One day is gloomy with rain, the next is radiant and refreshing, and all I can do is receive both days with acknowledgement and acquiescence. Ranting, getting despondent, and sinking into disappointment or annoyance is fruitless behavior. The weather is what it is, and so are my students. Today was 'sleepy time' in Room 2, but tomorrow may see the sunshine of enthusiasm shining around the table.

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I’ve spent this entire snowy day feeling grateful for my cozy apartment. I feel thoroughly fortunate to be living in such a comfortable place. It’s small – just a kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms – but it’s perfectly sufficient for my needs. On a wintry day like this, it provides light, warmth, and a general feeling of well-being – and what else do I really need? All day long I went appreciatively from room to room, reading in one comfortable chair, writing in another one, standing by a window to admire the floating snowflakes, fixing a cup of hot tea now and again, and sometimes just sitting and feeling thankful. Other people may see it as just another small apartment, but I see it as my serene and faultless palace. I feel especially grateful when I think of the millions –no, billions – of people around the world who can only dream of living in such a secure and comfortable place. I thought of them often today as I felt the warm air wafting up from the baseboard heaters, saw the soft lamplight falling on my book, heard the quiet classical music coming from the Internet, and tasted the tea so easily brewed on my convenient electric stove. I said my thanks over and over and over as the snowstorm swept along outside.

We’ve enjoyed a heavy, feathery snowfall in southern New England today. It started around 4:30 this morning, just as I set out for my morning hill-climbs on Granite Street. At that time the granules were tiny but soft, just lightly swishing around me as I walked. They almost gave me a fluffy feeling while I was hiking up and down the hill, as though I wasn’t so much climbing as floating. It’s now 2:54 p.m. and the silky stuff has been falling all day. About an hour ago, the snow was coming down in great downy clusters, heavier than I’ve seen it all winter. It gave a velvety look to the landscape outside my window. Just now, however, I hear what sounds like sleet or rain against the window, so the silky part of the storm might have just passed away.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 102, Thursday, February 21, 2008

It came forcibly home to me today, as it often has, that I am too much the center of attention in my classes. When speaking, the students are almost always looking at me, rarely at each other. If I somehow diagrammed the conversations in my room, all the arrows would point from my students to me, rarely from my students to each other. I especially noticed that today, because I was hoping to observe the class as a whole during our discussion, but I couldn't, because each speaker was speaking to me, and I felt like I had to give the speaker my full attention.

Somehow I have to work on developing a greater sense in my students of speaking to each other. Perhaps I should occasionally say, "I don't want anyone to look at me during this discussion. Please look at your classmates. Forget I'm here." That would allow me to roam around the circle, observing discussion behavior and getting a feel for the conduct of the class as a whole.

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ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 101, Wednesday, February 20

I noticed that Serena took her classroom job very seriously today. She is the "positive note giver" for the week, so her job is to walk around the circle during our literary discussion, examining the kids' reading journal entries from the previous night and writing positive comments for each on a sticky note. Serena got right into the work, walking along with her official 'PNG' clipboard and quietly looking through the journals as the class discussed the chapter. At one point, I asked her if she was impressed with the journals, and she quickly nodded. "Oh, yes!" she said with enthusiasm. "There are some very good ones!"

The good thing about that job is that it gives kids the chance to see the good (and not so good) work of their classmates, and it also provides an opportunity for each student to feel a special sense of importance, almost like an assistant to the teacher.

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In one of the 9th grade classes, there were a lot of sick-looking students in my room -- sniffling, sneezing, coughing, trying their best to hold their heads up. At one point, Jackson, who looked very pale, asked to leave the room to get a drink of water. On his way out, he asked Matt, who seemed on the verge of passing out, if he would like a drink also. Matt nodded just before sneezing, and Jackson returned shortly with a cup of water for himself and one for Matt. It was a generous gesture, one of the many (often unnoticed) kindnesses that happen each day in my classes.

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I noticed that Salina looked fairly bored during class today. She's a fine student, and I'm sure she would have been embarrassed if she realized how uninterested she looked. She just seemed spaced-out, distracted, and preoccupied during most of the class. Later, as I thought about it, I wondered if she was just plain tired. I wondered if most of the looks of boredom we see on kids' faces are actually the result of tiredness more than ennui. Salina had come to my class after three consecutive 48-minute classes -- sitting in hard chairs for 140 minutes trying her best to be alert. It's no wonder, I guess, that she seemed weary and impassive during my class. How would I look if I was sitting through my fourth successive faculty meeting??

The moon is nearly full now. It has floated above me like an ashen ship these last few mornings as I’ve done my daily hill-climbing. I push hard going up and down, while the moon serenely hovers above me, as if paused above Westerly in its passage to somewhere.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 100, Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Today I started each class with a brief (30 second) comment about my 'aspirations' for the class period. I recently read about a teacher who did this. Each day, she always told her students what her hopes for each class period were-- not her academic goals or plans, but her hopes that something in the class would bring her students happiness and peace. I liked that, so I gave it a try today. At the start of class, I gently tapped on a chime and the students quickly grew quiet. I then told them that I hoped something in the class would bring happiness or peace to them, either immediately or sometime in the future. And then we proceeded on to the work of the day. At the end of each class, I did something similar. I tapped on the chime again and expressed the hope that any good that came from the preceding 45 minutes might eventually spread out to bring happiness to other people.

By doing these brief 'ceremonies' (about 30 seconds each), I guess I wanted to give the kids the feeling that I consider myself not just a teacher of English, but a spreader of good will. I guess I wanted to help them feel that what we do in Room 2 for 48 minutes each day is way more important than commas and literary terms. It has to do with goodness as much as with novels and essays.

I may continue this way of opening and closing class. It seemed to work well.

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Today I was a patient teacher. I got behind in almost all of my classes, but I just took some deep breaths and kept quietly following the 'river' of my lesson plans. It's a good way to teach.

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ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 98: Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Today a student came to my classroom to show me that her copy of Great Expectations was falling apart. “Look, Mr. Salsich,” she said, “the pages are literally falling out. I can’t keep it all together.” For a moment, I was dismayed to see a book in such bad disrepair, but in another moment I realized what a great piece of news this was. This was a girl who is habitually one of my finest students, a girl who has read the pages of this sometimes difficult novel with rare diligence and devotion -- has highlighted and annotated each of the pages, has looked up countless words in the end-notes, and has made meticulous and thorough entries in her reading journal. As I glanced through the book (and as pages fluttered to the floor), I could see the reason for its poor condition: far from simply reading the book, this girl had studied it, dug deeply into it,. attacked it. The book probably didn’t know what had hit it. Most readers slide smoothly through a book, barely pausing at all, and so the book remains unsullied. Not her copy of GE. She had journeyed along its trails with a heavy backpack, stopping often to camp or just poke around, and she had forgotten the old camping rule of ‘leave no trace’. Signs of her travel through the book were everywhere, most notably in the pages lying at my feet. I looked at her, smiled, and offered my congratulations. “You are a good hiker. Save this book forever,” I said. “It will remind you of a great adventure you had in the 9^th grade.” She smiled and nodded.

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ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

P is for Pendulum Clock

The first sound I heard when I awoke this morning was the ticking of my pendulum wall clock, and, as usual, it brought a wonderful reassurance. No matter what happens in my seemingly serendipitous life, the pendulum keeps swinging and the clock keeps ticking. When my life seems to be rushing forward at a scary speed, the pendulum swings at the same steady pace. Likewise, when my hopes and dreams seem to have crashed to a standstill, the pendulum still serenely ticks at its accustomed tempo. Sometimes I simply stand in front of the clock and admire its calmness and dependability. Even if the electricity goes out in a storm, the pendulum (which is wound by a key) will remain composed and steadfast .... tick, tick, tick, tick. If it could talk, it would say, “Relax, Ham. Never rush, never dawdle. Just keep ticking.” I have the usual ups and downs of any classroom teacher, and I should learn a lesson from my wall clock. When a parent sings my praises, just keep ticking; when a parent rails against me, just keep ticking. When a lesson soars on wings, keep ticking at the same tempo; when a lesson falls and dies, just keep ticking. Perhaps my students might say, “Mr. Salsich is just like a clock. Nothing disturbs him.”

I can’t think of a better compliment for a teacher.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

B is for Boring

Recently, a colleague asked me (jokingly, I think) whether I purposely choose boring books for my students to read. (In my 8^th grade class, we are currently reading Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, which at this point is not exactly gripping my students, and I think a few of them quietly shared their lack of interest with this colleague.) We had a laugh over it, but later I gave his statement considerable thought, and I began to wonder whether I, somewhat subconsciously, do choose books that have more of a dull than brilliant shine to them. I began to wonder if I actually find it easier to teach the students how to examine the inner workings of a book if the book is not immediately mesmerizing. Perhaps it’s similar to finding it easier to appreciate the subtle beauties of the ocean when it’s a relatively calm (‘boring’) day than when a spellbinding gale is blowing. When a book is instantly gripping, we want to race through it, just as we would race across the bay in our sailboat on a thrillingly windy day. While reading a breathtaking book, probably none of us wants to linger over the pages, searching for delicate nuances and hidden undertones. With page-turners, we simply want to turn the pages. When, however, a book appears to have a somewhat dull plot, perhaps it offers a teacher a chance to slow the kids down and get them poking around a bit in the pages.

Hmmm, I thought ... maybe I do purposely choose books that present an initial dullness and dryness, like an ocean cove presents on a calm, cloudy day. Perhaps this gives my students a chance to discover excitement instead of having it thrown in their faces, as happens on a bright, windy day or in an exhilarating book. Perhaps initially ‘boring’ books allow my students to slowly and thoughtfully uncover treasures where they never dreamed they would be – and wouldn’t any teacher be happy with that kind of activity? In the Harry Potter books, my students know there are treasures as soon as they start reading; in the books I choose, a lengthy, strenuous, but potentially rewarding treasure hunt is involved – and wouldn’t most young people enjoy that kind of activity?

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

B is for Behold

In my teaching, I would like to be involved in less doing and more beholding. One dictionary gives this as a definition for ‘behold’: “To gaze at, as in We beheld a beautiful vista before us”—and this is exactly what I would like to do more of. In my classroom at any given time, there are a group of astonishing human beings performing astonishing mental and verbal actions, and I need to step back more often and simply behold them. The vista from the summit of a mountain is – and I really believe this – no more beautiful than the view I have each moment of a roomful of students thinking with originality and speaking with passion. As I would do if I were on top of a mountain, I need to occasionally stand back and look steadily, intently, and with fixed attention at what’s occurring in my room. I need to gaze at the astounding things that are happening – the thoughts being continuously fashioned and shared, the knowledge being steadily produced. It’s as miraculous as what tourists see at Old Faithful, and it’s happening all day in my little classroom on Barnes Road. It’s sad that I am often so mired in classroom minutiae – the constant doing, doing, doing that teachers habitually fall into – that I rarely take time to enjoy the view. My students are always thinking deeply and living fully, and yet I rarely notice it. While their faces are shining with new ideas and feelings, I’m too busy checking off the steps of my lesson plan to pay much attention. I’m too busy to behold the vista that’s right in front of me.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 99, Thursday, February 14, 2008

Today, for reasons I won’t go into, I felt very disappointed with myself as a teacher. It was like the rug had been pulled out from under all my positive thoughts about my teaching. For a few hours today I felt like a failure, like I didn’t really know much about teaching and was doing a dreadful job of it. I moped around my room after school in bewilderment and grief. Slowly, though, as I quieted myself and reflected on what had happened, I began to see that this disappointment, as great as it was, could also be a great teacher. That’s a lesson I’ve been learning more and more over the years – that painful times can also be instructive times. In fact, many of my most enlightening learning experiences have arisen out of the fires of sorrow and disillusionment. Fire can burn, but it can also purify and polish. As I thought about my disappointment today, I began to understand that it could teach me valuable lessons. It could teach me humility, by showing me that I do have an immense amount to learn about good teaching. It could teach me compassion, by helping me empathize with the millions of teachers who also felt disappointed today. Most importantly, it could teach me courage, by showing me that the only way to deal with disappointment, or any pain, is to look it straight in the eye, accept it, and learn from it. As I drove home from school, I continued to feel disappointed with myself, but the disappointment was no longer an enemy. It was like it was beside me in the car, huge and real and very wise, teaching me all the way to my apartment.

Every so often the truth comes home to me that I have spent a good portion of my life thinking (and worrying) about my own individual, separate welfare. Even this morning, as soon as I awoke I began planning how ‘I’ was going to have a good day today. I passed a schedule of upcoming events through my mind, sorting out activities that would be beneficial to me from those that could possibly harm me. I began fretting a bit about whether I would have enough time to complete all the tasks that seemed necessary to make this a good day for me. I wondered if I had all my priorities straight. Everything was ‘I’, ‘me’, ‘my’, and ‘mine’ – and that, I’m afraid, is the way I spend many of my thinking moments. Even when I’m thinking about others, it’s often in connection with how their lives affect mine – how they make me feel happy or sad, how they bring peace or turmoil to my life. Even when I’m thinking about how to help my students become better readers and writers, it’s frequently because ‘I’ want to appear as a better teacher. Everything centers around ‘me’.

What’s strange about this is that it means I’ve spent a sizeable part of my life in ignorance of the grand universe as a whole. While I’m worrying about what I’m going to be accomplishing in the next hour, countless miracles are occurring all around me, and I’m unaware of most of them. The sun is shining superbly outside my window while I fuss about what tie I should wear. Great grey trees are standing silently and beautifully in the park while I debate about which book I should read next. Blood is flowing magnificently through my body while I obsessively plan the lessons for my classes. My lungs are expanding with perfect precision while I try my best to secure some private satisfaction for myself.

Today I can hopefully continue my long-term project of unloading this burden, this enormous weight of self-centeredness. Perhaps I can continue to turn away from my tiny, isolated ego and open up to the grandeurs of daily life around me. While I’ve been worrying about ‘me’, a majestic universe has been ceaselessly unfolding, and I want to witness it. I want to continue, day after day, to set down the heavy load of egocentricity and start enjoying the show.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 97, Tuesday, February 12, 2008

At the end of one of my classes today, I realized that I had completely forgotten to do a very important step in my lesson plan. Did I berate myself, feel remorseful, take off on a guilt trip? No, I just laughed out loud. I stood in my empty classroom and had a wholehearted laugh because I knew that, in the big picture, this mistake was no big deal. In my little classroom on this small planet in this relatively small galaxy in this measureless cosmos, the fact that I failed to discuss "the role of patience in reading" is not going to cause a significant change in the workings of the universe. Stars will still race along their pathways and cells will still do their magnificent work in living things. Night will come, and then day, and then night again. My little error is no more or less important than a leaf blowing this way instead of that. Things happen. Life goes on.

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Maria made an excellent comment as we were watching the film version of Our Town. I asked the kids why Wilder included so many little details of home life in the first act, and Maria quickly responded that the first act was called "Home Life", so it made sense to include small homey details. Her statement was short, direct, and filled with youthful wisdom -- the kind of statement I hear from students over and over again every day of the year.

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Alison spoke with great enthusiasm today about something Pip had said in last night's Great Expectations chapter. Her words were something like this: "I love what Pip said at one point in the chapter. It made me so sad. He said, 'I remember it all very well.' It was just a short statement, but to me it totally sums up what Pip has been feeling." As she was speaking, her eyes were flashing with her strong feelings for this troubled young man in Dickens' novel.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 96, Monday, February 11, 2008

Today I found myself falling way behind in the plans I had set for my 8th grade classes. Students had questions and concerns about one thing and another, and before fifteen minutes had passed, I was ten minutes behind my schedule. I felt the beginnings of the old familiar panic setting in ("Oh my god, I'm never going to get anything accomplished!" etc., etc.), but fairly quickly I brought myself under control. It was like a voice inside said, "It's no big deal, Ham. NO BIG DEAL." And of course, it wasn't a big deal. The fact that my carefully designed lesson was thrown a bit off track had nothing to do with whether the class would be successful -- whether the students would benefit from it and leave my room feeling a little uplifted and a little better educated. So often teaching can become a personal thing, sort of an ego-trip, and I felt that happening this morning when my precious lesson plan swerved off course. The truth is that good teaching and genuine learning have very little to do with egos and everything to do with following the flow of learning wherever it might lead. In that sense, teaching is very much like floating down an immense river. (I have often pondered this analogy.) We make our plans, yes, but we must always be ready to let the river show us a better way, perhaps take us down a previously unseen tributary. My narrow and limited lesson plans can't compare in breadth and depth to what the great river of learning can show me, if I keep my mind alert. This morning the river flowed in odd ways, and fortunately I was able to sit back and see where it led. In the end, it led in due time back to my planned lesson, and the classes ended on a successful note.

This morning my hill-climbing exercise was a frigid one, cut short by the bitter weather. Wrapped in winter gear, I climbed the Granite Street hill in front of my house two times, but had to quit early because I could barely feel my face. With the strong wind pushing me steadily to the top, climbing the hill was actually relatively easy, but coming down was difficult. The 11° wind whipped against me all the way.

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Eating my breakfast by candlelight this morning, it suddenly occurred to me that this particular moment had never happened before and would never happen again. Never in the history of the universe had a man named Hamilton Salsich sat in this particular chair at this table with these green beans and carrots, and this particular whole wheat muffin, with these molecules of air floating around him. Never again would any of this happen in just this way. I was in the midst of an exclusive and elite miracle. And – wonder of wonders – the same type of miracle will happen moment after moment all day.

Needless to say, I enjoyed the rest of my breakfast immensely.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 95, Friday, February 8

Today I taught the morning classes in almost total unawareness. Yes, I had a good lesson planned, and I carried through with my plans, but I'm afraid I was more of a robot than a mindful human being. I went through the motions in a sort of mechanistic way, from one orderly, mechanical step to another. I'm disappointed in myself. If Emily Webb from Our Town could have seen me, she would have been very critical of my lack of awareness -- she who went back from the grave to beg the living to appreciate every moment.

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Several kids were absent a few days this week, and I'm ashamed to admit that I hardly noticed. Talk about unawareness! It's a teacher's duty to be thoroughly attentive to his students, both the ones who are present and the ones who are not. How can I allow one of my students to slip completely out of my mind just because he or she is home sick???

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ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET

O is for Origins

The other day, Joanne, an 8^th grade student, made a brilliant observation about how Our Town related to a popular song we had listened to, and all I could think of was where did that idea come from? How, at about 10:15 on Wednesday, February 6, 2008, did that profound and illuminating thought come to Joanne in Room 2 of our little school in Connecticut? It’s way too easy, and an evasion of the question, to say it came from her ‘brain’. It’s a much bigger mystery than that – a boundless and immeasurable mystery, in fact. We receive thousands of ideas each day, but where in the world (the universe?) do they come from? I guess that question is one of the grand enigmas that keeps me enthralled by this work of teaching. Every time I consider the mystery of where my students’ (and my) ideas come from, I feel awestruck and humbled by the incomprehensibility of this work that I engage in each day. I pretend that I’m involved in a fairly routine and understandable kind of endeavor – planning lessons, grading essays, having conferences with kids, sending reports home – but, when I’m completely honest, I have to admit that I have about as much understanding of teaching and learning as I do of the vastness of space. Each day, hundreds of thousands of new-born ideas go soaring and swirling around my classroom, and Joanne, her classmates, and I can only marvel at it all. We’re involved in a mental adventure that has no known beginning and no foreseeable ending, no origins and no boundaries. I guess all we can do is take an occasional deep breath and enjoy the trip.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 93, Wednesday, February 6

Today Haley 'made my day' -- maybe even my month and year. We have been reading Dickens' Great Expectations since October, and today, after 45 chapters out of 59, someone said, "We're getting close to the end," to which Haley quickly replied, "Oh I don't want it to end. I love this book!" I've tried to convince myself over the years that I don't care if students 'love' a book I'm forcing them to read, but it's just self-delusion. I do hope, wish, and very much want my students to love the books we read. If they don't (which is usually the case), I can live with it, but when they are genuinely captivated by one of the books I choose, I feel like a new-born teacher. After class, I paused at the window and looked out at the blustery winter day. All was gray and grim outside, but inside me there was something sunny, thanks to my passionate student.

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I had to leave an 8th grade class for a few minutes today to help a parent find someone. I was gone from my room for about five minutes, enough time for a group of teenagers to grow restless and rowdy. However, as I walked back down the hall to my room, I heard only quiet talking coming from my classroom. When I walked in, many of the students were reading, and the others were softly talking among themselves. I was deeply gratified and appreciative, and I took a moment to thank the students. I told them I had great admiration for their courteous and trustworthy behavior.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 94, Thursday, February 7, 2008

I realized today, thinking back, that Ronaldo nearly always comes to class with information found in the end notes of Great Expectations. I don't think anyone else in the class takes the time to check the notes, which makes his effort especially impressive. In last night's chapter, a 'rush light' was mentioned, and when I asked the class if anyone knew what that was, Ronaldo immediately offered extensive information on the subject, which he had gleaned from a lengthy end note. He is truly becoming an erudite reader of Dickens.

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I was impressed when Jameer -- who has made great strides as a serious student of English -- said to the class during our Great Expectations discussion, "I'm really confused. I'm not sure exactly what happened in this chapter." I thought it took courage for him to admit that to his classmates. Perhaps he has arrived at the point where he knows he can be an earnest and successful student, and therefore it doesn't bother him to admit ignorance in some areas. After all, it takes a certain amount of self-assurance to acknowledge our weaknesses.

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Veronica is becoming a more remarkable student each week -- so devoted to being a consummate reader and writer. Today she eagerly told me she had found an appositive in last night's Great Expectations chapter. I found it surprising and gratifying that a student would go to the trouble to find an intricate writing technique in a book as dense and enigmatic as this novel. I asked her to read the sentence containing the appositive to the class, and she did with great spirit and satisfaction.

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Day 92, Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Today Jeanne came to me with her Great Expectations reader's journal, proud to show me that she had done last night's notes as well as the notes from the night before (when she was sick). She was obviously pleased with herself that she had been able to make up the missed work, and in a very thorough manner. Her journal pages were detailed and crowded with reflections, and she entertained the class during the discussion with many absorbing comments.

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I noticed that Daz took his 'positive note giver' job very seriously today. He roamed around the circle during our discussion, reading kids' journals and giving some of them positive sticky notes. It was apparently an enriching experience for him. Perhaps it gave him a sense of importance -- a sense of playing a special role in class, of being smart enough to write intelligent, teacher-like comments to his classmates. It also (I hope) enabled him to see some high-quality work by his classmates, perhaps giving him some ideas as to how he could improve his own reader's journal.

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Wilson told me today that he had finished Of Mice and Men. I congratulated him and was about to walk away, when I casually asked him how he liked it. I'm glad I did, because it opened the door for him to talk with genuine fervor about the book. He loved it, and, for a few moments, standing in the doorway of my classroom, we talked together about George and Lennie and the sad fate that gradually enveloped them both. It was just a simple question I had asked, but those few words enabled me to see, for a few moments, into the heart of my student.

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ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 91, Monday, February 4, 2008

While I was busy teaching a class of 8th graders, I happened to notice Stacey hunched over several pieces of paper, carefully writing on them. It took me a moment to realize that she was the "absentee helper" this week, the student whose job it is to fill out homework slips for anyone who's absent. There were several kids out today, and Stacey had at least three slips in front of her, all filled with her careful handwriting. It was just a passing glimpse as I got the kids started on the lesson for the day, but it stayed with me. Looking back, I see how hard Stacey was working, how seriously she took her little job. I wonder how many other industrious and painstaking students I overlook during the day. How many of my students concentrate, focus, and zero-in on a job during my class, but don't get noticed by the stressed and preoccupied teacher??

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Danielle came to class today with the sourest look on her face. As my mother would say, she looked like she had lost her last friend -- which perhaps she had. She simmered in her unhappiness for the first part of the class, paying attention and dutifully doing what I asked of the students, but doing it in a cloud of gloom. I made a mental note to speak to her after class about it, but scarcely a moment later I looked over to see her blissfully smiling. Billy had apparently said something to her that lifted her misery as though it was the lightest of sheets. For the remainder of the class, she was a buoyant and involved student. How fast the moods of my students (and all of us) change -- like the lightest of clouds shifting and passing away in the sky!

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In one class, most of the kids did not notice one of the directions on an assignment. "It's all right," I said with a smile. "You can notice the directions next time." I'm glad I said that, and I'm glad I was smiling. It was the right thing to do.

SUPER BOWL XLII

He was watching the Super Bowl,

a tense, close game,

when suddenly he decided to walk outside.

He stood on the sidewalk in the darkness.

Nothing special was happening,

just a truck taking its slow way

up the street, just a piece of paper

resting in the grass beside the house.

The sky was silent

up there in its comfortable space,

and far away a train whistled

as it sped to somewhere special,

some place where trees

were good-naturedly growing

and hearts were beating

in the big game of love.

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ONE TEACHER'S ALPHABET

E is for Excitement

Yesterday morning, waiting for a group of 8^th grade students to arrive at my room, I realized that I felt totally keyed up and energized as I looked forward to the class. Odd as it might seem, in the darkest middle of winter and after 89 days of school, I was getting goose bumps as I thought about teaching English for the next 48 minutes. To understand better, imagine waiting to go on stage to receive a national prize, or waiting for someone to arrive to deliver your lottery winnings, or waiting at the front door to take possession of your newly-purchased mansion: honestly, that’s how excited I felt. Strange…they’re just a small group of teenagers, and I’m just an emergent and still-developing English teacher in a small school in a small town in Connecticut, but yesterday morning, as I heard the students coming down the hall, I felt like a king about to meet with princes and princesses.

Although I’m 66, is it any wonder I'm not thinking about retirement?

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 89, January 31, 2008

Today during a spirited discussion in one of the 9th grade classes, two boys started speaking at once. One of them immediately stopped and said to the other one, "Oh, sorry. You go ahead." To some this might seem inconsequential, but to me it was momentous. I've worked all year to teach the kids how to have a dignified, humane discussion, and today, in that short statement by my student, I saw the beginnings of fruition.

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In an 8th grade class, I noticed one girl staring directly at a classmate who was speaking. She was positively riveted on the boy as he shared his thoughts about Our Town. If he had looked at her then, he would have thought, "Wow, she really cares about what I'm saying." That girl’s attentiveness was another good example of how to behave in a dignified discussion. After class, I complimented her enthusiastically.

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It's hard to believe how passionately Johnny has been participating in our recent discussions of Great Expectations. He comes to class with some of the most detailed notes I've seen, and he's constantly jumping into the discussion to either support or disagree with his classmates. Right now, he's behaving like a very serious junior or senior high literature student (not like a frolicsome, blasé 9th grader -- which has been his general reputation.)

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER

Day 90, February 1, 2008

Today in one of the 9th grade classes, I could have sworn I was sitting in a senior-high English seminar. I was so impressed with the way the kids discussed Great Expectations. I've been insisting all along that they hold 'dignified' discussions (i.e., allow others to finish, don't interrupt, etc.) but today I had to give them a long leash. I couldn't hold them back. They got into discussing whether Pip had any morals -- whether he was moral, immoral, or amoral (a word I offered for consideration, and a new one for the kids). They went back and forth, voices rose, kids cut each other off (heavens! where's the dignity!), verbal battles raged. I was a bit awed as I sat back and listened. Dave was one of the most vocal detractors of Pip, saying repeatedly -- and citing evidence from the text -- that Pip had no sense of right and wrong, no ethical direction in his life. Johnny and Davinia disagreed, quite fervently, and offered some compelling support from the book. Philippe chimed in with some perceptive insights, as did most of the others. Bobby, actually, might have made the most quietly brainy remarks of all. He is proving himself to be a very shrewd reader of Dickens.

I was exhilarated when the class ended. I felt like skipping around the room. (Luckily I didn't.)

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Georgia is demonstrating an amazing ability to recall small details from Dickens' book. Here's a student for whom English has probably never been a favorite subject, and yet she is reading this highly involved and obscure novel, and remembering it and understanding it better than most of her classmates. What's happening here??