Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 17
September 30

Today I want to be an inviting teacher. I want to continually ask for the participation of the students -- to cordially request their intelligent input as the class progresses. I don’t have to literally ask them – just let them know by my hospitable manner that any contribution they can make would be appreciated. I might also, now and then, extend a more formal invitation – as in “Won’t you have a seat” – and then showing the student to a chair. This kind of hospitality seems more and more rare these days, but perhaps I can restore a bit of its prestige in my classroom.
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In the first 9th grade class, I started to panic early on when it appeared that I was falling behind in my plans for the class. I had taken an extra-long time to complete the first part of the lesson, and a familiar and dangerous thought occurred to me – that I would have to rush through the rest of the plan. However, fortunately, the thought disappeared as fast as it appeared, and I simply continued working through the sequential steps, one at a time. It surprised me at the end of the class to realize that, in fact, I had managed to complete the entire lesson plan quite thoroughly. I guess my refusal to give in to the old temptation to panic, as well as my humble acceptance of how the lesson was going when I fell behind, helped me be a better teacher.
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Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 16
Monday, September 29

C is for Careful

Today the word “careful” might be a good one to keep in mind as my classes come and go. A person is careful if, as one dictionary says, he is “thorough and painstaking in action or execution”, and that certainly applies to my work as a middle school English teacher. I should be thorough in everything I do in the classroom – in comments I make to students, in each step of my lessons, even in the most trivial action I might undertake. Let me do many good things today in my teaching, and let me do each one with attention to detail. Let me be “painstaking” (from the above definition), in the sense of doing the little bit extra, making the small additional effort, that would turn an everyday action into a special one. Let me do ordinary tasks in an extraordinary manner.
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In one class, I made it a point to notice – carefully notice – which students were being genuinely attentive when a classmate was speaking, and there were many of them. In fact, to my surprise, it was apparent that most of the kids were listening carefully most of the time. This is important for me to remember, because seeing even one unfocused student can often lead me think that most of them are unfocused, when in fact the opposite is probably true. I think it’s safe to say that, in general, the majority of my scholars are usually quite alert during English class. (The more I think about that, the more surprising it becomes.)
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As usual, at the start of each class today I played soft background classical music during quiet reading, and once again I noticed the worthy effects. It seems to set a peaceable tone for the peaceable reading that’s happening. In the sometimes confused lives of my young students, it’s good to offer them some moments of refreshing tranquility at the start of each class. Who knows? Years from now, they may still receive some secret benefits from hearing Chopin in English class when they were 13.
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Several times today I forgot to wait until the kids were all looking at me before I began talking. What is the point of speaking if the words go casually past the students? Words are extraordinary things, not to be squandered, not to be tossed around in a classroom like trifles.
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When I read an Emily Dickinson poem aloud, one girl in particular looked very thoughtful. As she listened to the words, her forehead was knitted and she tilted her head in a meditative way. When I finished, there was silence in the room for a moment, and then she raised her hand and gave a particularly instructive interpretation of the poem.
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Today I gave back essays to the 9th grade, and in one class I made sure to give ample time for the students to read my comments carefully and place the essay in their binders. It required patience on my part. I quietly waited until every student had put their essays away and was looking at me. It was precisely the correct thing to do, and it made me wonder how many thousands of times I have caused my students to do a task in a slapdash manner by rushing them through it.

Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 14, September 25

With the 8th and 9th grade scholars out of town on class trips, I’ve spent the last two days grading essays in my classroom and substituting for various teachers -- and today I had a surprisingly peaceful adventure “teaching” a second-grade art class. I called for the students at their classroom and the little people dutifully and quietly followed me on the long trek to the art room. When we arrived, they went right to the table and sat calmly while I explained their regular teacher’s instructions. There was some chatter now and then, but as soon as I passed out the drawing paper and pencils, the room quickly subsided into almost total silence. I was no longer nervous about my new role as a second-grade teacher. I felt completely relaxed as I watched them work with seeming tranquility on their sketches. There was barely a sound in the room -- only the soft scratch of pencils on paper.
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Yesterday I took a very small step which seems already to be creating a rather large change in my approach to grading student essays. I decided to use a kitchen timer while grading, and I chose to set the timer for a fairly large number of minutes for each essay. I think I was looking for a way to make reading student papers more enjoyable – more relaxing, mainly. I have always felt somewhat stressed and tense when I’m grading writing, and I’ve had the feeling it’s because of the pressure of time – so I thought using a timer set at the number of minutes it might take to evaluate an essay in a completely relaxed yet thorough manner might ameliorate the situation. What I’ve discovered, happily, is that it seems to have thoroughly transformed the situation. I’ve graded twenty-two 9th grade essays in the last two days, using the timer and spending a good amount of minutes on each paper, and it’s been one of the most satisfying grading experiences of my career. With the timer ticking beside me, I had the feeling that there was plenty of time. I knew that the length of time I had set on the timer gave me way more time than I probably actually needed, so I relaxed, worked slowly, and thoroughly enjoyed reading the students’ hard won sentences and paragraphs. The ticking of the timer seemed more like a peaceful stream passing by than a steady clicking away of the minutes. I knew there was ample time, so I took it – and took pleasure in it.

Of course, this means I will be spending even more time grading papers than in the past. I receive an average of 41 formal papers each week (usually 4 or 5 paragraph essays), so spending more minutes on each paper means that, together with classroom teaching and planning, a huge chunk of my week will be taken up with my teaching duties. However, when I factor in how many waking hours I have each week -- about 110 – I realize that I will still have many, many hours of free time -- way more than the great majority of people on earth. In fact, my teaching work usually seems like “free time” to me, so I guess I’m living a fairly free life most of the week. Lucky me.


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Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 13, Wednesday, September 24

I visited a 5th grade literary discussion group this morning and learned several things:
1) Pine Point 5th graders are quite capable of reading books containing high-level vocabulary -- words like "effrontery" and "turbulent". (The book was "Poppy", about a valiant deer mouse.) Not only that, they seem to enjoy investigating the meanings of curious words and sharing them in class. Several students proudly read aloud the definitions they had discovered in their dictionaries last night.
2) Our 5th graders can be very attentive during a serious, 20-minute, rather cerebral conversation. The teacher did not talk down to the students. She obviously expected them to stretch their minds in the discussion, and they seemed to respond in a willing way.
3) Literary discussions with younger children can be both relaxed and intense. I noticed that all the children, as they sat on the floor in their "beach chairs", seemed quite comfortable, and yet almost all of them were either looking at their books or at the speaker for the entire time.
4) A teacher can discuss sophisticated literary topics with 5th graders. At one point, the teacher stopped the discussion and spent about 2 minutes (being careful not to overdo it) pointing out the excellent writing techniques used by the author (Avi), and it was clear to me that most of the students were listening carefully.
My thanks to the teacher for the good lessons about teaching literature.

Teaching Journal 08-09

Day 12

September 23

With the 8th and 9th grade away for the rest of the week, I will be doing a little substitute teaching, mostly PE classes. I accepted the assignment with some trepidation, and I still have some worries as I think about working with very young and exuberant children as opposed to my relatively tranquil 8th and 9th graders, but today’s classes were greatly reassuring. I actually enjoyed them (with Judy’s help). It was a pleasant change to be with 4th and 5th graders – so active and yet so polite, so bouncy and yet so able to be serious and attentive, so young and yet so accustomed to the routines of student life. As I watched them go through the lessons Doug had planned, I was amazed (I’ve felt this numerous times when visiting lower school classrooms) to see how comparatively disciplined the children were. They were obviously accustomed to useful routines: first putting their sneakers on, then running laps, and then (and this was especially impressive) quietly sitting and waiting on the circle. By the time I started talking to them, they were “circled up” in silence, with all eyes on me. It helped me realize more clearly the importance and benefits of routines – of giving the students clear and specific guidelines for behavior from the start of class to the end. These children knew precisely what to do, which made their PE classes today with an odd and aged teacher reasonably successful.

Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 11
September 22

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET: I is for Investment

     During these days of turmoil in the investment banking business, I’ve been thinking about how the word “invest” might apply to my work as a middle school English teacher. An important definition of the word is to spend or devote for future advantage or benefit, as in “he invested much time and energy in getting a good education”. In that sense, my students and I are serious investors, depositing resources each day in a “fund” that will come to our aid at some point in the future. We’re not dealing with stocks or bonds in Room 2, but with ideas, feelings, and words – and what’s especially appealing about this kind of investing is that we’re assured of ample returns. There’s absolutely no risk involved when the transactions involve the Bank of English Class. No matter what ideas or feelings are “deposited’ during class, no matter what words are “invested”, we are sure of substantial profit in the coming months and years. The scholars could seriously stagger on a particular assignment, but still the future “yield” would be considerable because something essential would have been learned. A student could even make a grave behavioral mistake during class and nonetheless be assured of a sizeable return on the “investment”, since mistakes can be first-rate teachers. New York’s Wall Street may be suffering, but on floor of Room 2, the “Dow-Jones” is, as always, way up.
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This morning, after the students were seated, I turned the computer projector on and, as usual, it took perhaps a minute to brighten up and come into focus. Instead of using this time to talk to the students about something, I remained silent, as did the students, and we all watched the lesson plan for today gradually appear on the screen. For me, it was an interesting experience – to observe the topics for the English class, the individual sentences and words of my plans for the students, slowly but surely materialize in front of us. It was like magic, like seeing a figure come into view on a murky morning, or like suddenly understanding a simple truth. Perhaps that’s what my classes can sometimes be
-- a slow but steady surfacing of new ideas and feelings.
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In another class, there was some noise in the hall and one of the scholars asked if she should close the door. Without thinking much about it, I asked her to leave it open – and later, I was glad I did, because it gave me a chance to talk to the students, briefly, about resisting the temptation to be distracted. I said disturbances in the hall or outside are actually opportunities – wonderful occasions for practicing self-discipline and restraint. I said I actually hope we do have occasional disruptions nearby, for they will aid in strengthening our willpower.
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I want to work more and more on being less judgmental during class -- and in my life in general. I can’t believe how often I pass judgment on comments, situations, and events. For me, almost nothing is ever “just what it is”. It’s usually good or bad, right or wrong, pleasant or unpleasant, on the mark or off, correct or incorrect, helpful or unhelpful, fascinating or ordinary, astute or naive. Of course, I don’t often verbalize these judgments, but they make up a large share of my mental activities. What truly baffles me is why I think I have the acumen to pass judgment on anything. Do I actually think I have enough wisdom to step out of the infinite milieu of the universe, see everything from a distant and objective viewpoint, and then hand down rulings about the relative merit of all things? I’ve been doing it all my life – almost every waking moment – and yet it makes absolutely no sense. It’s a ridiculous game I’ve been playing, a juvenile charade, and the really gloomy feature is that I’ve taken it all pretty seriously. I actually believe in my judgments.
This year I hope I can see, each day, the silliness of the judgmental way of life. Of course, I have to occasionally pass judgment on my students’ work and behavior, but I hope I can do it with a clear sense of humility and unworthiness, knowing that, truthfully, I am no more qualified to judge anything than a wave is qualified to be the evaluator of the immeasurable ocean.

Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 10, 9.19.08

One Teacher’s Idioms: “Get it together”

Every so often, I’ve heard someone say to a person who’s struggling something like “Come on, get it together”, and it occurs to me that I might say that to my students, though with quite a different meaning. In my English class, I want the scholars to “get it”, meaning I want them to understand the concepts I’m trying to teach them, and the best way to accomplish that is to “get it together”. Working together as a team, they can each accomplish far more than they can working alone. Sharing their experience and skillfulness (instead of hoarding it), they can build the type of comprehensive and durable wisdom that will serve them well in the years to come. This points back to something I wrote about yesterday – the importance of realizing that “I” and “me” are much weaker words than “we” and “us”. Plodding along on our own – “getting it” by ourselves -- the students and I might experience some small, sporadic growth, but it will be far less than the burgeoning and blossoming we could feel if we work on getting it together.
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In the morning 9th grade classes, we did what we call “freestyle writing” while listening to a graceful song by Jack Johnson. This is a time of liberty and easing-up in my class, a few minutes in the week when the kids can let their thoughts and words go where they wish. The lyrics of this song are poignant, and the words the students put on paper were equally so. At the end of about 12 minutes of writing, I collected the papers and read them to the class, anonymously, with the song playing softly in the background. It was a stirring few minutes for me as I spoke the touching words of these brave, bright children.
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One 8th grade boy, a serious scientist in his spare time, has also demonstrated – surprisingly, to me – a serious understanding of English grammar. I say “surprisingly” because I guess I had him pegged as a biologist rather than a grammarian, but he’s proving that it’s possible for a 13-year-old to be both. He’s also proving that pigeon-holing kids (or anyone) is the wrong road to travel.
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A girl came into class and quickly sat down and began reading, so I went over to her and whispered that I wanted to give her a sticker for getting started so promptly. I’m sure some other kids heard me, and before a few seconds had passed, all books were opened and the room was silent. It shows what a few softly-spoken words can do.
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In another class, a boy quietly rushed in just as we were starting. He speedily went to his seat, opened his class notes, sat up attentively, and looked at me. I thought he almost seemed out of breath. It was a good sign, though, that he was so concerned about being in class on time. Punctuality is a virtue I stress right from the first day – a virtue they will be needing for the rest of their years.
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I need to constantly remind myself to not talk until everyone is doing nothing but looking at me and listening. How many words do we teachers waste by speaking to a daydreaming or distracted audience?

TEACHING JOURNAL 08-09
Day 9, 9.18

I have a rather unusual long-term goal -- to eliminate all first-person singular pronouns from my teaching vocabulary. I spend entirely too much time thinking about how “I” am doing as a teacher, why “my” classes aren’t more exciting, how “my” scholars can do better in their study of English, why students sometimes don’t seem interested in what “I” am saying. Teaching and learning is not, never was, and never will be about an individual teacher who’s worried about how “he” or “she” is doing. Teaching and learning is always about “we”, not “I” – about “us” (teacher and students together), not “me, me, me, me”.
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We had a long “casual reading time” in one of the classes this morning – a full 8 minutes – and it was a fulfilling few moments. The extended time gave the readers a chance to sink in to their books, to really get wrapped up in the reading. As I watched them now and then, it was easy to see that feelings of quiet satisfaction were in the air.
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During casual reading time, I noticed that one boy was holding his book in his lap with his head bent down over it. Then I scanned the rest of the kids and saw that each scholar was using his or her own special posture for reading – some with legs crossed, some pushed back from the table and slumped a bit, some bowed over the books as though they were cautiously scrutinizing the words. Special books, special postures, special kids.
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In the 8th grade classes, the “teacher’s assistant” facilitated the discussions in a gently effective manner. They competently guided the conversations, calling on kids in a confident manner and encouraging everyone to “build” on each other’s comments (our lesson for today). It’s always enlightening for me to realize how proficient these scholars can be with tasks normally reserved for adults.
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In the afternoon, a bright and breezy one, we sat outside on the grass for English class. (I sat in a chair in the comfortable shade while most of the kids enjoyed the sunshine.) At my insistence, we all made a tight circle so we could focus on each others' comments, and I asked the students to be particularly careful to avoid being distracted. As the pleasant air moved around us, we spoke about the story we had finished last night, and the students comments seemed as bright as the sunlight. It was, for sure, a charming way to end the day.

Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 8
9.17

Hearing about the recent collapse of some of the financial giants on Wall Street started me thinking about how important it is for my scholars and me to keep a sense of perspective – a clear understanding that great success on one day can sometimes be followed by great failure on the next. I guess it involves something I’ve often pondered – the importance of maintaining “the big picture”. In the small, very limited picture, Lehman Brothers was a huge star, but in the big (actually immense, even infinite) picture of life, the bank was just another dust speck in the universal “winds” that circle endlessly around us. They thought they were invincible, but now we all see they were as ephemeral as anything in this universe – as fleeting as stars that come and go in the sky, or as insects that live a few days and die. Somehow, in some simple way, I need to remind my scholars of this truth – that greatness is always balanced by smallness, that success wouldn’t be special without a little failure now and then to help us appreciate it. A’s are wonderful, but the C’s will be there now and then, like cloudy days after a string of clear ones.
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I noticed one girl in the 8th grade came into the room and immediately sat down and started dutifully reading her casual book. She was being obedient to my class rules, but she was also, I think, being obedient to her own desires. She obviously wished to be a fine English scholar, so she unquestioningly did what she knew serious scholars do in Mr. Salsich’s classes.
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The girl who was serving in one of the 8th grade classes was selfless in her duties. She served water and crackers with the self-sacrificing manner of the best restaurant servers. I thought she looked even noble as she quietly moved around the room with her tray.
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Someone spilled some water in one of the classes, and several scholars instantly jumped up to assist in the cleanup. They were eager to lend a hand. Perhaps coming to the aid of their classmates this morning might be one of the highlights of their day.
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One of the 9th grade scholars seemed quite distracted while I was talking about a Shakespeare assignment. She seemed unfocused and preoccupied as I explained what I thought would be an exciting project for her. It’s interesting …. here was a very bright scholar who seemed miles away from what we were doing. What was happening inside her that took her thoughts so far from these passionate lines of Shakespeare?
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In one of the 9th grade classes, I noticed several scholars busily writing in their “class notes” folder while I was talking. I complimented them for their industrious approach to their work. They have obviously started the school year with lofty goals.

Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 7
9.16

The importance of silence …
Today I want to work on making good use of silence. We teachers often forget that the power of spoken words exists only because of the background of silence against which they are heard. Like stars at night, which are beautiful only because of the immense background of darkness, the spoken words in a classroom will truly shine only when the setting contains ample silence. If the scholars and I speak a thousand words, nonstop, in a class, it may not be as effective as speaking only 100 words and letting the rest of the time be a backdrop of authoritative silence.
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While the scholars were doing some quiet reading and a girl was passing around the serving tray (with water and crackers), the thought came to me to ask her to “pose” with a scholar so I could get a picture. Without hesitation, I put my thought into words – which was a mistake. It broke down the settled atmosphere in the room, caused the kids to be distracted from their reading, and only produced a very mediocre picture. When will I learn to think before I speak??
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Several 9th grade scholars came to me before class to politely and bravely tell me they had not completed their homework. Throughout last year (when they were my 8th grade scholars), we worked on that method of admitting mistakes, and I’m happy to see they learned the lesson well. Everyone makes mistakes, but not everyone can own up to their mistakes in a forthright and valiant manner.
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I forgot to put the homework assignment for 8th grade on the class website, so I was somewhat abashed during class when I showed the scholars the “assignments” page and nothing was there. However, perhaps it worked out for the best, in the sense that it may have helped the scholars understand that everyone makes mistakes, even well-seasoned teachers. If they see me making an occasional blunder, perhaps they will relax a bit and realize that, in all lives, mistakes are as common as rainstorms and – in an important way -- as necessary as sunshine.
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In several classes, I allowed the “teacher’s assistant” to call on scholars during the discussion. It’s the start of something I hope to slowly nurture during the year: a greater sense of management and contribution on the scholars’ part.

Teaching Journal 08-09
Day 6
Monday, September 15

A metaphor for the day…
Climbing the hill this morning for exercise, I was enchanted by the few lights visible at that early hour. There were the soft lights of streetlamps, a few scattered lit windows, and, above us all, the glow of a nearly-full moon – but the rest was still darkness. It got me thinking about my teaching, and about the “lights” I see in my room each day. At different times, different scholars shine – usually not all together, but just one at a time as they answer questions or share insights or compliment each other. While one scholar shines with his or her special contribution, the rest of us are “dark” – just quietly listening, letting the individual’s light fill the room. Interestingly, if all us were shining at the same time, then no lights would be clearly visible; the whole room would be a glare, just as my hill is a glare in broad daylight. What makes it special is when only one scholar’s “light” goes on, and it shines so brightly in the dark and quiet of our attentive listening. As I think further about it, I guess I am the “sun” in the classroom. When the sun is bright in the sky, no other lights are visible – and when the teacher is the brightest light in the classroom, no scholar’s light can clearly be seen and appreciated. All is hidden in the dazzle of the teacher’s light. What I need to do today, and each day, is stay behind the clouds, or “set” all together. In that way we will all be able to enjoy the brilliance of each scholar as their lights flash on periodically during class.
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This morning I gave one class the challenge of trying to focus on either the speaker or the projector screen for 5 minutes. I think the kids enjoyed the idea of a dare or a test, and they took the challenge seriously – doing their youthful best to keep their eyes riveted. The fact that we did this “dare” in short segments helped; it gave the scholars the feeling that perhaps they could actually do it.
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During morning meeting, I noticed the bright colors of the scholars clothes as they sat on the floor. The dress code prohibits anything but solid colors, and, despite the many complaints I’ve heard about it, it seemed to create a lovely, vibrant array of colors during the meeting. I realized that any stripes or checks in the clothes would have somehow detracted from the multihued and vivid display before me.
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In one class we had live music – a first for me (in 42 years of teaching). One of the boys brought his guitar to class (I’m not sure why), and, without thinking about it much, I asked him if he would play quietly during our quiet reading time. He did – and it was perfectly lovely. I plan to invite him, and others, to provide some mellow background entertainment more often.
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One boy had a very hard time staying focused in class. I noticed him looking everywhere but at the speaker or the screen. For him, staying attentive to exactly what’s happening in class must be harder than climbing a mountain trail. I must remember that demanding concentration from a scholar like him is similar to asking him to lift the heaviest weights. Indeed, he would probably approach the weights with far more zeal than my class.
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One of the girls made a very discerning comment during a discussion of a Nathaniel Hawthorne story, and a boy raised his hand to say her comment was “very deep”. I agreed wholeheartedly.
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The 9th graders came to class in the afternoon full of high spirits and conversation, and the thought crossed my mind that I should “settle them down” (to use a favorite parent/teacher phrase). However, luckily I ignored the implulse and just waited. Not surprisingly, within no more than one minute they had settled themselves down, opened their ‘casual reading’ books, and were silently reading. Like a stirred-up pond, they calmed down by themselves when left alone.
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One of the girls in the 9th grade was busily taking notes throughout class. It’s a requirement for all scholars in my classes, but she was obviously thoroughly devoted to being a scrupulous note-taker. I complimented her today during study hall.
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I noticed today that I didn’t focus much on individual scholars in the afternoon classes – took almost no notes on the kids. I thought the lessons went pretty well, but I don’t like the fact that I sort of forgot to pay attention to, and note down, some of the particular comments and behaviors of individuals. I’ll work on that tomorrow.
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I’ll give myself a pat on the back today for resisting the impulse to blurt out comments that don’t directly relate to the lesson, and that simply aren’t helpful or necessary. In the past I’ve occasionally made comments that had no significant bearing on the lesson at hand, and who knows how much valuable time it cost me – and the class. This year one of my goals is to SAY ONLY WHAT’S ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. (“Shut up more often” might be a more informal way of putting it.)

ON GIVING UP THE STRUGGLE

On this mild, rainy Sunday morning, I’ve been thinking again about how life-changing it would be if I simply gave up struggling. As I was getting ready for the new day, it came to me that almost all of my days (since 1941!) have been taken up with a struggle of some kind or other. Right from the start, it seems, I have pictured life as a constant skirmish between a separate “me” and the countless other separate “me”s, and I have engaged in the struggle with earnestness. From morning to night, it’s been me against the universe. What if I simply – here and now, today – gave up the struggle? What if, once and for all, I fully accepted the simple fact that there is no separate “me” to do the struggling, and no separate universe to struggle against? What if I fully understood, finally, that the universe, including me, is a single, unified, harmonious, and peaceful dance? It’s something worth thinking about, worth working toward. It’s a revolutionary idea, one that would transform my life from top to bottom, inside to out. It might conceivably make life a remarkable celebration instead of a backbreaking competition.

Teaching Journal
2008-09
Day 5: Friday, September 12, 2008


ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
L is for Local

In some ways, my English classes could be called “locals”, in the sense of "local" subways in the city. My classes are not “express” classes – not programmed to race along to get to some selected destination as quickly as possible. Like local trains, we move at a moderate pace in English class, stopping whenever necessary along the way to welcome aboard new ideas – and perhaps to say goodbye to ideas we’ve spent enough time with for now. Scholars won’t prosper in my classes if they’re in a hurry. We’re more interested in thoroughness than in quickness. In addition, my classes are “local” in the sense that they relate to a specific, particular area of knowledge. A local government is concerned only with the affairs of a relatively small region, and my English classes deal only with the issues related to reading, writing, and speaking. I frequently remind myself that I don’t have to teach the children how to be successful in life – only how to be successful scholars of their language. My responsibility, in the big picture, is quite small – even infinitesimal. I’m one diminutive wave in the vast ocean of the scholars’ lives. Finally – and unfortunately – my classes are sometimes “local” the way some anesthetics are. No child actually falls asleep during English class (or have they??), but many, I’m sure, fall under the spell of a local anesthetic called “teacher dullness”. They may be sitting up straight and looking at me while I’m talking, but part of them is sometimes sound asleep under the influence of my occasional verbosity. As some riders do even on a local subway, the scholars probably manage to occasionally get in some refreshing daydreaming during Mr. Salsich’s English classes.

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A girl who’s been struggling during this first week of school was a spirited scholar in English class this morning. Her hand was raised almost constantly. I could tell that she often wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to say, but she continued to courageously venture an answer. I praised her often, and I hope her success today provides a useful lift for her confidence.
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I was surprised today when one of the shyest of all my scholars volunteered to serve refreshments during class. No one had been previously assigned, and when I asked for a volunteer, her hand instantly went up. She quietly and efficiently carried out her duties, coming around with a tray of cups of ice-water and a bowl of whole wheat crackers. It was inspiring to see.
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During one class, one of the boys received effusive praise from his peers for his work on one of the class blogs. With the projector, we took a look at what he had done, and I heard many oohs and aahs as I read what he had written on the blog. Several kids raised their hands to offer their compliments.
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I noticed a normally cheery boy looking fairly glum during class. I carried on with my lesson, but I couldn’t avoid noting his downcast expression, and at the end of the period, he walked out with sorrowful eyes and lowered head. Who knows what special suffering he was experiencing? In the midst of my lesson on parts of a sentence, this boy was living through something that had swept his happiness away.

TEACHING JOURNAL
2008-09
Day 4: Thursday, September 11, 2008

A metaphor for the day…
Walking across the campus this morning, I noticed the shifting patterns of light in the shadows and sunshine, and it reminded me my English classes, and of the scholars. As I was walking, everywhere I looked the light was a little different – some shadows here, a bright patch of sunlight there, maybe a small spot of especially bright light here and there – and a similar diversity exists (thank goodness) in my classes. There are moments of real insight and excitement, but these are often balanced, I'm sure, by moments of confusion and ennui. There’s inspiration in my classes, but there’s no doubt some dullness too . However, what made this morning so beautiful was precisely the variation between sunshine and shadows, and perhaps a comparable kind of inconsistency is what makes my classes so interesting -- at least for me.
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I was taken aback today by the level of sophistication in the responses from the scholars to the reading assignments last night. Both the 8th and 9th graders read fairly challenging pages for homework, but when I asked some detailed questions about the reading, their answers were surprisingly weighty. I was amazed that they could recall so many tiny details from the reading, more than I could have recalled at their age -- more than I can recall even now, after all these decades of reading.
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As we were waiting for the class picture today, one of the girls who seems to be alone quite often was combing her hair while a boy held her mirror. They seemed to be quietly talking and laughing together. It cheered me to see this moment of congeniality for this retiring, solitary girl.

TEACHING JOURNAL
2008-09
Day 3: Wednesday, September 10, 2008

A metaphor for the day…
Today, as I was climbing the hill near my house for my morning exercise, I noticed my shadow from the rising sun going ahead of me, and it reminded me of an important truth in teaching -- above all, don’t block the light. This morning my body got in the way of the sunlight, thus throwing a shadow, and I’m afraid I often stand in the way of the light of my scholars’ natural intelligence. By talking too much, or trying to accomplish too much, or forcing the scholars to work too quickly, I only succeed in creating more "shadows" in their lives. Hippocrates told physicians they must, above all, do no harm, and as a teacher, I must, above all, not block the light.
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Today I want to do more noticing. One dictionary defines “noticing” as “respectful attention or consideration”, which is what any teacher should give each of his scholars. By that definition, I’m afraid that, in the hustle and turmoil of a typical school day, I often go many minutes without really “noticing” my scholars. The word comes from the Latin “noscere”, meaning “get to know”; perhaps I can truly “get to know” some of my students today.
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I noticed two girls walking and talking together this morning, and it made me especially happy because both of them seem to be fairly solitary kids. I’ve already been a little worried about their apparent lack of friends, so it was consoling to see them enjoying each other’s company.

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During one of the 9th grade classes, I noticed that one girl was absolutely riveted on me as I was talking. I glanced at her probably six or seven times, and each time her face had the appearance of total attentiveness. I complimented her in front of the class, and I wondered, later, whether perhaps I had failed to notice many other scholars who were equally focused. I’ll try to look for that throughout the rest of the day.
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I spoke to some children who had not brought a pencil to class, and I’m afraid there was an unwarranted severity in my voice. There are certainly going to be times this year when I have to “correct” a scholar, but it’s always possible – and absolutely necessary – to do it in a gentle manner. The scholars should detect a very slight but compassionate smile on my face when I’m speaking firmly to them. They need to see that I’m serious about what I’m saying, but that I’m serious because I like them and want them to do well.

TEACHING JOURNAL
2008-09
DAY 2, September 9

A metaphor for the day...
This afternoon a gusty thunderstorm swirled across the campus, turning my classroom into a cool and shadowy cave. I might have thought the scholars would react excitedly to the sudden change – grow restless, gaze out the windows, whisper in wonder to their friends – but strangely, nothing like that happened. The kids went about the business of English class just as if the weather hadn’t swiftly altered from sunshine to darkness and rain. They hardly noticed. It was just the weather, after all.
Perhaps the weather would be a good metaphor for English class. Things constantly change during my classes: disappointment and frustration arrive almost as steadily as success and contentment. Like the weather, nothing is ever a sure thing in my classes – nothing is absolutely secure, set in a stone, unalterable. Like we do with the unpredictable weather, all we can do in English class is continue doing our best work, come sunshine or storm.
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I was impressed with several comments by 8th graders in class. One quiet girl came up after class (during which I had read a poem aloud) and asked me, point-blank, if I liked older poets or modern ones. I was surprised because she didn’t preface her remark with some kind of introduction, the way many young people would, like “Excuse me Mr. Salsich, I was thinking about what you said about the poem you read, you know, the poem about being lost, and I wondered if you like poets who are writing right now, or maybe the poets who lived a long time ago.” No, this girl simply said, “Do you like modern of older poets?” I was struck by her straightforward -- and very polite -- manner.
Several kids made what I thought were brilliant comments during a discussion of a quote by Jack London. It was a profoundly enigmatic passage (I thought), but these 13-year-old scholars saw into the heart of it. I was quite astonished.

ONE YEAR WITH AN ENGLISH TEACHER
2008-09
DAY 1: September 8, 2008

A metaphor for the day...
As I was “making” my bed this morning – spreading the sheets and blanket out as smoothly and evenly as possible – it occurred to me that I could also “make” my teaching every day. Since I go through the process of arranging my bed after a night of rest (so that it will be waiting comfortably for me when the next night comes), I guess I should “make” my teaching after the classroom work is finished for the day and the scholars have gone home. I always straighten up the classroom before I leave, but perhaps I should take a few extra minutes to make certain that everything is in its exact place for the work of the following day. When it’s time for sleep, it’s comforting to see a shipshape bed waiting for me, and when the scholars enter my classroom each day, it might soothe them to see an utterly spick and span classroom.
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The weather was perfectly lovely this morning, just ideal for scholars and teachers setting forth on a 9-month journey. There was an exquisite coolness in the air as we arrived at school, and a pleasant breeze was swirling among the school buildings. Not to be too boastful, but I thought my classroom looked particularly attractive when I walked in, an agreeable place for scholars to do their momentous work.
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I noticed a lot of friendliness and cordiality today, but I couldn’t help but also notice the several scholars who seemed friendless and alone. I saw a few kids who, during any free time, appeared to be always by themselves. Most of the children were conversing affably in groups, but scattered around them were kids who were as solitary and silent as statues – kids with no friends whatsoever. I am dumbfounded when I wonder what life must be like for a 13-year-old who feels ignored and friendless.
This could be a major project for me this year – to simply notice these isolated kids, and by doing so perhaps to get to know them a bit better. If I just observed them from a distance as often as possible, not passing judgments on them or devising schemes to help them (at least not right away), but merely watching them and allowing their solitariness to sink in – perhaps then, by a process of osmosis, I might be able to understand what their delicate young lives are like.

“And God Said...”

I have read or heard the phrase “And God said...” probably thousands of times in my life, but only this morning, for the first time, did I actually think about what it means. Who is this God that talks to people, and how does he talk? All through the Bible, stories are told of people who heard God’s voice and responded to it, and only just this morning did I get a glimpse of what it might mean. I realized, first of all, (or recalled) that this God is not a person, but a force – not some powerful but ultimately limited superman or woman, but the infinite power of the Universe. His voice is not the voice of an individual person but rather the voice of the grand intelligence that created, and keeps creating, the universe. And I also understood, if only dimly, that the voice of God comes in the form of thoughts. They are the thoughts that occur to me clearly and forcefully 57,000 times each day – not “my” thoughts (as I usually think of them) but truly God’s, or the Universe’s, thoughts. There is no separate “I” that makes “my” thoughts, as I have blindly believed for 66 years. (That is an utter impossibility, for where is this separate “I”?) The thoughts that occur, or arise, or unfold, are the voice of God that speaks continually and powerfully. The people in the Bible listened carefully, and so should I.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
C is for a Cottage in the Countryside

I feel like an interior decorator these days, or maybe a British inn-keeper. For the last few weeks, I have been carefully preparing for my upcoming courses in the new school year (which starts tomorrow). I have been charting out the lessons I need to teach, diagramming the way I want things to happen, and mapping out the "menus" for some of the first classes . I’ve been laying in and arranging the supplies my scholars and I will need to make our visits together enjoyable – all the comforts and amenities necessary to turn English class into a rewarding daily sojourn. Most happily of all, I have been bedecking my classroom with the trimmings that will provide a comforting place for our reading and writing pursuits. I’ve tried to make my room look more like a country cottage than a classroom. I want the scholars to come to English class the way they might come to a sociable gathering of readers in an inn somewhere in the English countryside. I’ll even have ice-water and wheat crackers ready to serve my learned guests.

I occasionally become concerned about whether I’m getting enough rest, but it occurred to me this morning, as I was rising at my usual early hour, that the universe, of which I am a part, always gets enough rest. Can we imagine the universe being tired? Can we picture a sunrise being exhausted, a sunset feeling listless, a breeze blowing by in a sluggish manner? Can we imagine a river, even the slowest and narrowest, even one that has been depleted by drought, not doing its proper rivery work in the steadiest way possible? My problem here is one I have to constantly deal with – a tendency to judge and label. When my body feels a certain way, I pass judgment that it’s “tired” and label myself accordingly: I am tired. Instead of simply saying that my body feels like sitting or lying down, I stick the label of exhaustion on it, which makes the situation a “problem” instead of simply another interesting situation in the infinite, vigorous procession of them which is my life.

POETS TEACHING A TEACHER

Shelley on Skylarks and Teaching

“Like a teacherpoet hidden

In the light of thought,

Singing hymnsSharing thoughts unbidden,

Till the world his scholars are is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it they heeded not.”

-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, “To a Skylark”

With apologies to the poet, I changed some of his words in the above lines and came up with a helpful statement about teaching. I like the notion that a teacher should be “hidden in the light of thought”. As the years have passed, I have come to realize that the best teachers are those who are the most out of sight – the ones who have gone beyond the belief that teaching is about preaching, leading, or entertaining. These teachers understand that teaching and learning is far bigger than any single human being in front of a class of students, and therefore they work to make themselves, in a sense, "disappear" in order that the full universe of learning may appear to their students. You might say these teachers have hidden their personality in order that great truths can be revealed in the classroom. To use Shelley again, what’s important in good teaching is “the light of thought”, not the light of any particular teacher. It’s new universal ideas that we’re after in the classroom, not the private beliefs of a teacher. What Shelley loved about the skylark was not so much the individual bird but the beauty of the singing, just as what’s central to teaching is not the teacher but the thinking that goes on in the classroom. It’s interesting, too, that the poet says the bird’s songs were “unbidden”, and the same is true of a teacher’s thoughts. During class, I don’t “ask” for certain thoughts to appear in my mind; they simply appear -- suddenly, spontaneously, and unexpectedly. In that sense, the thoughts not really mine. They are given to me from some unfathomable source, the same source that supplies the skylark’s songs, and it is my duty to humbly accept them, and “sing” them in the classroom as clearly as possible. Skylarks and teachers disappear, but the music remains.

ONE TEACHER'S POETS

Shelley on Destroying and Preserving

"Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and preserver..."

-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, from "Ode to the West Wind"

When I came across these lines this morning, three words stood out as relating particularly well to my work as an English teacher. To begin with, there certainly is something "wild" about what happens when the scholars and I read, write, talk, and think together in class. Even when the class is fairly tedious, thoughts are constantly streaming inside and between us like the "uncontrollable" west wind of autumn. The "mighty harmonies" of the wind are no stronger or louder than the ideas that blow through my classroom during each English class. What's always been intriguing to me is that these ideas are as destructive as they are creative. In order for new thoughts to be born and new attitudes toward life to be constructed, old ideas and attitudes must first be destroyed, or at least radically transformed. There's no day without night, no birth without death, no new ways of thinking without the obliteration of the old ways. It's the way the universe works. Surely I want preservation to be a central theme in my classes, but it should be the preservation of an ambience of constant growth and change. Like the gusty days of autumn that Shelley speaks of in his poem, there must be continual alteration, adjustment, and variation in my classes. New ideas must continually whisk away old ones like dead leaves are "driven" by the west wind.

ONE TEACHER’S POETRY:
Shelley on Mixing Forever


The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, in “Love’s Philosophy”



I came across this quote yesterday, and it immediately struck me that Shelley is giving me some sound advice about teaching. The truth that “Nothing in the world is single” is something all teachers should keep in mind, especially in this world where singleness, separation, disconnection, and competition are accepted as daily facts, if not eternal truths. It’s easy for teachers to fall into the convention of seeing themselves as lone warriors fighting the battle for the hearts and minds of his scholars, but the facts are very different. As the poet reminds us, “all things […] meet and mingle”, including all teachers, all scholars, all ideas, and all feelings. We’re never alone in this process of education, because all things “mix forever”. I often use the analogy of a river: the scholars and I are part of a vast and shoreless river composed of all the ideas that have ever been born. Like bubbles in a stream, we don’t navigate and propel ourselves, but are irresistibly carried along by the eons of learning that have come before us. We don’t each, by ourselves, have to “make” the current or force it to go in a certain direction, for the current of learning is wider than the stars and deeper than seas. As teachers and scholars, all we have to do is trust the river and stay alert for the wondrous sights to see. In this way, both teaching and learning can be enjoyed “with a sweet emotion”, and no one need ever feel alone.

ONE TEACHER’S ALPHABET
W is for a Wild Surmise

“Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific – and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise –
Silent upon a peak in Darien.”
-- Keats, “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer”




This year I hope to more often feel what “stout Cortez” and his men felt on that “peak in Darien”. Keats pictures them standing on a hill above the Pacific Ocean, utterly dumbfounded by the astonishing scene, and I’m hoping to feel that kind of wonder and bewilderment more often as an English teacher. Cortez and his men saw an ocean they had never before seen, or even imagined, and every day in class – every moment – I will be a witness to scenes equally as original and amazing. Hard as it is to remember during the often wearisome routines of the day, the scholars in my class are each as mystifying and unique as a nameless ocean, and really, the only proper response to them is one of honest amazement. I guess Room 2 is my “Darien”, and my seat at the round table is the “peak” where I can look “with a wild surmise” at the strange brilliance of the scholars. A “surmise” is a guess, a conjecture, a hunch, and that’s truthfully all I have when it comes to understanding the kids. In the end, they’re complete conundrums to me. If you ask me to explain my scholars to you, all I could do is make a rash guess, a “wild surmise”. A better response might be to remain “silent” like the explorer and his men.

ONE TEACHER'S ALPHABET

I is for Inspiration (using one of my favorite poems)

HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY
by Percy Bysshe Shelley


The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats though unseen among us; visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower;
Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,
It visits with inconstant glance
Each human heart and countenance;
Like hues and harmonies of evening,
Like clouds in starlight widely spread,
Like memory of music fled,
Like aught that for its grace may be
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
“Intellectual beauty” could be translated as “inspiration”, “imagination”, or even “God”. I think of it as all three, and it plays a major part in my teaching. Notice the repetition of “inconstant” in this stanza. For me, teaching is new each moment, constantly changing. This is what makes it both exciting and exasperating. I like the idea that “inspiration” is “dearer for its mystery.” Teaching grows more mysterious each year for me.



Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon
Of human thought or form, where art thou gone?
Why dost thou pass away and leave our state,
This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?
Ask why the sunlight not for ever
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain-river,
Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown,
Why fear and dream and death and birth
Cast on the daylight of this earth
Such gloom, why man has such a scope
For love and hate, despondency and hope?
This stanza reminds me that, in the classroom, inspiration is often
totally absent, both for me and my scholars. English class can sometimes seem “vacant and desolate”, just as the sky can seem dreary after “rainbows .. fail and fade”. It’s just the everlasting pattern of life: day-night, sun-rain, birth-death, joy-sadness. My scholars and I simply have to learn to be patient. The light always returns.



No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To sage or poet these responses given:
Therefore the names of God and ghosts and Heaven,
Remain the records of their vain endeavour:
Frail spells whose uttered charm might not avail to sever,
From all we hear and all we see,
Doubt, chance and mutability.
Thy light alone like mist o'er mountains driven,
Or music by the night-wind sent
Through strings of some still instrument,
Or moonlight on a midnight stream,
Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream.
Continuing from the previous stanza, I realize in this stanza that “doubt, chance, and mutability” will play huge roles in my life as a teacher this year, as they always do. Things – including my feelings and thoughts – will be endlessly changing (like “moonlight on a midnight stream”), and all I can do is patiently look for inspiration’s “light alone”.



Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.
Man were immortal and omnipotent,
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art,
Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart.
Thou messenger of sympathies,
That wax and wane in lovers' eyes;
Thou, that to human thought art nourishment,
Like darkness to a dying flame!
Depart not as thy shadow came,
Depart not--lest the grave should be,
Like life and fear, a dark reality.
I especially like the first two lines of this stanza. The beautiful things in life – like “Love, Hope, and Self-esteem” – will visit the scholars and me only occasionally thus year. They will be “for some uncertain moments lent” to us, and then will disappear for awhile, and then return again. It’s the recurrent theme of the poem: thought (inspiration) constantly alters, comes and goes, lives and dies, is bright and dark. We have to learn to accept, and even enjoy, the changing patterns of our minds as the year progresses.



While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped
Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin,
And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing
Hopes of high talk with the departed dead.
I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed;
I was not heard; I saw them not;
When musing deeply on the lot
Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing
All vital things that wake to bring
News of buds and blossoming,
Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;
I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy!
Young people are always “[searching] for ghosts”, which I translate as “looking for the truth”. I’m lucky enough to be teaching them at a time in their lives when the search often pays off, when the “shadow” of inspiration could fall on them at any time, causing them to figuratively “clasp[] [their] hands in ecstasy”. I think the scholars and I do a lot of this kind of metaphoric ‘hand-clapping’ during the year. Lucky me!




I vowed that I would dedicate my powers
To thee and thine: have I not kept the vow?
With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours
Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers
Of studious zeal or love's delight
Outwatched with me the envious night:
They know that never joy illumed my brow
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
This world from its dark slavery,
That thou, O awful LOVELINESS,
Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express.
The poet uses the word “dedicate” in the first line of this stanza, and, of course, dedication is a big part of any teacher’s life. Like Shelley, I want to dedicate this year not to any personal goals, but, as he says, to “thee and thine”, which I take to mean intellectual beauty, or inspiration, or imagination, or God, or the Universe (take your pick). Good teaching doesn’t depend on a personal teacher called “Mr. Salsich”. It relies solely on the inspiration of wonderful ideas from some mysterious source that I can’t even begin to understand. I’m going to simply relax, accept the ideas that come, and be grateful.




The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past; there is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Thus let thy power, which like the truth
Of nature on my passive youth
Descended, to my onward life supply
Its calm, to one who worships thee,
And every form containing thee,
Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind
To fear himself, and love all human kind.
A wonderful final stanza! It’s fitting that he refers to the “harmony in autumn”, that season in which we begin our teaching and learning once again. This year, my 42nd as a teacher, my hope is that the Universe (what Shelley calls “intellectual beauty”) will “let [its] power […] supply its calm” to my life. For me, calmness is the best measure of excellent teaching. The calmer I feel, the more in touch I am with the infinite Universe, and the better my teaching will be.