Teaching Journal
Friday, November 28, 2008

Reading Paul's letter to the Ephesians today, I came across this intriguing statement -- "Everything you are and do and think is permeated with oneness" -- and it led me (as just about everything does these days) to thinking about my work as a middle school English teacher. As the years have passed, I have given more and more thought to the difference between separateness and togetherness -- or oneness -- in education, and in my classroom in particular. When I began teaching 40-some years ago, separateness seemed to be at the heart of what I was doing. The students were over there and I was over here. We were separate individuals trying to work out our own unrelated destinies. Their duty, independently, was to learn as much as they could and earn the best grades possible, and my duty, as a person essentially disconnected from them, was to be their teacher. We met together in the classroom each day, but, in truth, we went our private, separate ways. Gradually, though, I have come to see that it is, in fact, quite impossible for any of us to go our separate ways. We are all interconnected, linked, joined, and fused -- animals, plants, humans, stones, trees, and rivers. For me to consider myself separate from the scholars in my classroom is as silly as thinking a breeze is separate from the vast weather patterns of the universe. In Room 2, we're all in it together. We share light, air, words, ideas, and feelings. Yes, we seem to be separate, just as ripples in a stream seem to be separate, but the truth is very different. The students and I and streams and winds and far-flung stars are, as Paul knew, permeated with an unavoidable and wonderful oneness.

Teaching Journal
Thursday, November 27, 2008

“Way Over My Head”
Strange as it may sound, I usually feel that the skills necessary to be a good middle school English teacher are ‘way over my head’ -- and actually, I’m glad I feel that way. That recurring feeling of being dumbfounded as to what this teaching business is all about serves to keep me humble -- and humility, I think, is one of the most important prerequisites for a teacher. Over the years, teaching has become a vaster and more perplexing mystery to me. More and more I see that I’m involved in a profession that rivals rocket science in its intricacies and enigmas. I’m like a nanoscale breeze blowing in the immensity of the worldwide winds of learning. I don’t mean to suggest that what I’m doing in my small classroom in my small school is not important or beneficial -- just that it’s no more important than the zillion other educative influences that will blow my students’ way. If someone asked me to define or explain these influences -- these magical ways in which learning happens -- I would have to say, “It’s way over my head.” Saying it would remind me to get off my high horse and humbly pay homage to the immeasurable enterprise I’ve been engaged in for the past 42 years.

(Below is a post from two years ago on this subject:

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2006

Whenever I feel inspired by my work as a teacher – whenever I feel like I’m doing a great job and am becoming a better and better teacher – I know I’ve lost my way temporarily. I know I’ve taken the familiar but dangerous path toward arrogance instead of the narrow and correct one that leads to humility. I’m patting my own back instead of my students’. Like a confused gardener, I’m admiring the soil more than the flowers. After all, a teacher’s only job is to see to it that his students grow as abundantly and gracefully as possible. His job is not to be a brilliant teacher but to make it easy for his students to be brilliant students. All the spotlights in his classroom should be on the students, and none on himself. To go back to the garden analogy: Who wouldn’t be amused at a gardener who, at the end of the growing season, was more thrilled with the quality of the soil than with the wealth of the harvest? The harvest, not the soil, is the whole point of a garden, and productive, resourceful students is the whole point of education. Like soil, a good teacher is helpful, but he should remain relatively hidden, like the featureless, unassuming soil in which a profusion of beautiful things grows. A good teacher doesn’t need to feel successful; he only needs to know that his students do.

Teaching Journal
Day 54, November 25, 2008

When I’m using the computer projector during class, the Internet sometimes works very slowly, causing a delay as I’m moving from one website to another. It could easily be an occasion for anxiety and frustration as I wait for the new site to appear, but I’m learning (as are the students, I think) to actually appreciate and take advantage of these few moments of waiting. We all need a little restorative silence now and then, and these scattered moments of ‘passing the time’ (even just for a few seconds) can provide it. While the screen waits for the next website, we take the time to lighten up and settle down.
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It was a soggy day. A cold, squally wind was swirling around outside as the scholars and I went about our work. The wee birds that flitted back and forth to the feeder outside looked forlorn and frigid, and every so often during a lesson a student would audibly shiver. We managed, though -- with the help of steaming cups of hot chocolate (for those who brought powder)and the relative cheeriness of the classroom. There was, I think (I hope), a feeling of quiet comfort in the room as we worked through the steps of my lessons.

Teaching Journal
Day 53, Monday, November 24

Today I fell back into the habit of ‘shushing’ kids at the start of class. Instead of giving them a few extra seconds to quiet down in a natural and effortless manner, I jumped in with one of my old-fashioned ‘shushes’, thus momentarily breaking the peaceful mood I try to maintain in my classroom. I forgot an important proverb for teachers: A stirred-up pond will always settle if you give it time.
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I noticed, as I was getting ready to begin a class, that some of the students were out in the hall reading the writing posted on the bulletin board. They were late for my class, and the thought came to me to gently reprimand them. However, I was fortunate that another thought occurred almost immediately: For heaven’s sake, let them enjoy the writing of their classmates. After all, isn’t that what English class is all about? Feeling grateful for that insight, I turned to my desk, powered up the projector for class, and when I turned back around all the students were quietly sitting at the table.
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The annual Hunger Banquet was a success, but I wonder, after the fact, if we should have ‘prepped’ the kids a bit more about expectations for behavior. For a fairly serious and reflective event like this, it might have been advantageous to talk to the students beforehand about proper decorum. There were scattered outbreaks of youthful foolishness during the banquet, which could have been easily forestalled by some judicious reminders.

Teaching Journal
Day 52, Friday, November 21

Today one of the ‘assistant teachers’ did a wonderful job of maintaining an authoritative demeanor. He normally speaks in class with a soft and almost muffled voice, but this week – and especially today – his words were delivered with unusual poise and pride. As he led the students through some of the simpler steps in the class schedule, he seemed more like a confident leader than the taciturn and hesitant student I’ve known in the past.
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One of the 9th grade girls surprised me by asking if we could keep the class blogs, especially the Forum, going even after they graduate in June. There was a general signal of agreement on this from the rest of the class, and so I assured them that, if they wished, the blogs from this year’s English class could remain on the Internet for the rest of their lives. There was, I recall, a moment of surprised silence after I said this. Perhaps the kids were feeling, as I often do, pure astonishment at the kind of new educational world that we live in – a world where a record of the work of an entire year in 9th grade English can stay out on the worldwide web for years and years to come.
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Today the students wrote some surprisingly profound pieces while listening to a song called “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by The Blue Oyster Cult. It’s a song about the acceptance of death, and somehow these 13- and 14-year-olds were able to sense the inner meanings of the lyrics. They may be youthful in appearance, but there’s a strangely experienced wisdom streaming inside them.

Teaching Journal
Day 51, Thursday, November 20, 2008

“A Toss-up”
I was thinking early this morning that the old idiom, “a toss up”, could apply to much of what happens in English class. The idiom refers to something that is still unclear and can go either way, or many ways, and this is certainly the case in many – perhaps even all -- situations in my classes. The fact is that my students and I could do “toss-ups” throughout a given class period. Does the poem mean this or that or the other? It’s a toss-up. Should this paragraph start with this sentence or that one or this other one? It’s a toss-up. For a lesson plan, should I do this activity or that one or some other one? It’s a toss-up. Was the writer of this story trying to make this point or that point or one of a thousand other possible points? It’s a toss-up. More and more it becomes clear to me that teaching English is like playing an exciting game of chance. I plan my lessons with great care, and the scholars usually do their work conscientiously, but we’re still basically rolling the dice. Who knows what ideas will turn up in our minds, what events will occur during a given class, which directions we’ll end up going in a literary discussion. It’s ultimately a toss-up -- and a very agreeable one at that.
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This morning at the start of one of the classes, as we were settling into our few minutes of quiet reading, I caught the soft sounds of hot water filling up the students’ cups behind the puppet stage. The ‘server of the week’ was back there preparing refreshments for the scholars, and the sounds of his preparations – the water, the occasional tinkling of a spoon – were a soothing accompaniment to our reading. As I listened and read and sipped my coffee, I also picked up the quiet hum of the computer projector, almost like the sound of a stream passing by or a breeze among limbs and leaves. I took a grateful breath, relaxed still more, and turned a page in my book.

Teaching Journal
Day 50, Wednesday, November 19, 2008

I just finished a very rewarding class (for me, at least) with the 9th grade. What I found so satisfying was the fact that we went through my lesson plan in a totally methodical and thorough manner. Everything seemed to happen precisely the way I hoped, and each detail of the lesson was adequately covered. I feel the way we all feel when a job has been thoroughly and fruitfully completed. I’m sitting back, taking a satisfied breath, and smiling.
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Yesterday, around 4:00 p.m., I was suddenly overtaken by a great sense of exhaustion. “What a long and tiring day!” I thought. I flopped into my chair and proceeded to feel sympathy for my hardworking self. Soon, though, my thoughts went to my students, who probably feel this kind of fatigue on a daily basis, even from one hour to the next. I pictured all 41 of them dragging themselves through the wearisome school days, trying their best to stay wakeful and dutiful from class to class. As I thought of these valiant scholars shouldering their heavy loads of learning, my self-pity slowly disappeared.
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This afternoon a girl in an 8th grade class offered an unusual interpretation of a short story by Stephen Crane. She prefaced her comment by saying “This may seem sort of strange ...”, and she ended it with “Oh, never mind.” What came between those words, however, was an insightful analysis of one aspect of the story. The girl obviously felt diffident about offering her uncommon interpretation, and seemed almost too embarrassed to complete her statement. I made it a point to step in and reassure her that her comment was a wise and helpful one, and I took a moment to encourage all the students to welcome their ideas, no matter how out of the ordinary they might seem.
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Lately I’ve been having the “assistant teachers” play a more commanding role in the classes. I’ve been giving them the projector mouse and they have actually been leading the class through the opening section of the daily lesson. I’ve encouraged them to speak with a sense of authority, which is a good lesson for all young (and not so young) people to learn. To speak with authority is to speak with weight and clout (something the quieter kids will find hard to do), but it doesn’t mean just being loud. The silliest people among us can easily be loud, but only the wise and discerning can be truly authoritative – truly reliable and respected. This week I’ve seen kids grow strong before my eyes as they led their classmates, with confidence and composure, through steps in the lesson.

Teaching Journal
Day 49, Tuesday, November 18, 2008

“A Drop in the Bucket”

I often have to remind myself that what I’m doing as a middle school English teacher is only “a drop in the bucket” when it comes to the really big picture of my students’ education. There’s no question that the boys and girls in my English classes are learning a few skills and facts, but they’ve been learning skills and facts since the day they were born. By the time they arrive at my classroom, they’ve already discovered countless truths and become skilled at innumerable tasks. What they’ve learned by the age of 13 is like an enormous lake, compared to which my scanty instruction a few minutes each day is like a miniscule puddle. The universe of learning is vast – infinite, in fact. It’s a “bucket” of limitless proportions, into which I might be able, on the best days, to place a few drops for the scholars in my classes. 
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This morning some students came to class without a book I had planned to use (I had forgotten to tell them yesterday to bring it), and so I asked them to quietly go to their lockers. As I stood in the hall and listened to them chatting and opening and closing their locker doors, I realized there might be some benefits in the situation. For one, the children were getting a few extra minutes of relaxation in a day filled with attentiveness and stress. They rush from class to class for six or more hours during a typical day, so a couple of hassle-free moments in the hall might be just what the doctor ordered. Who knows, they might be more attentive in my class precisely because they left a book in their locker and had the pleasure of a peaceable stroll down the hall.
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We had only a few minutes for our literary discussions today, but they were focused and productive minutes. I wonder why I worry so much about the length of discussions. If I was fortunate enough to observe a hawk sailing in the sky for just ten minutes, would I complain?

Teaching Journal
Day 48, November 17, 2008

Over the years, I’ve gradually come to realize that it’s ineffectual to fret about the kids who straggle in a little late for class. It’s a “choose your battles” situation. Yes, I could stand at the door glowering at late-comers, and perhaps even speak to some of them in the hall with a touch of menace in my voice. That was my strategy for many years, and indeed, it worked, I guess, in the sense that most kids dashed down the hall to get to my class on time. However, I started looking at the side effects of that kind of stern policy – the fear in kids’ eyes as they rushed down the hall, the disruption my glowering and lecturing caused, and the general rise in tension among the students. It soon became clear that hounding kids to get to class on time was causing at least as many problems as it solved – and the problems it caused seemed worse than the ones they displaced. So I slowly, over the course of the years, have changed my policy. Now I continue to quietly and firmly encourage the students to get to class as quickly as possible, and I continue to start each class right on time, but I simply allow the few latecomers to slip in quietly and try to catch up. It seems to be working. I actually believe I have fewer tardy students than ever before, and, what’s more important, the class is not interrupted by my severe looks and doctrinaire lectures. Education proceeds peacefully and apace, despite the occasional students who hasten in a few seconds late, books and papers spilling out of their arms.
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For some unknown reasons, my 9th grade classes today moved forward, minute by minute, with the greatest precision and attention to detail. All the steps in my lessons were covered with care, and the overall lessons had a feeling of comprehensiveness, as if everything that needed to be said had been said. I really have no idea why this happened today. I prepared my lessons the way I always do, and I was the same teacher I always have been. Somehow, some way, the god of good teaching visited my 9th grade classes today. I only hope she comes back sometime soon.
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To go back to the success in 9th grade today, one reason for my good fortune was my newborn ability to completely ignore the fact that I seem to be falling behind in my year long curriculum. Lessons that still need to be taught are piling up behind me, and I can feel the pressure bearing down to “get things done” – but today I simply ignored that pressure. “Get lost”, I said to the pressure. “I’ve got important things to teach. I’ll get to you when I get to you.”
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At the beginning of one class, I overhead a girl sigh and say to a friend, “I want to go home.” It was suggestive, I thought, of the weariness and ennui all students feel at certain times. This girl was plainly exhausted and fed up (with exactly what wasn’t clear). She wished to be anywhere but sitting in a hard chair in yet another lackluster classroom for yet another tiresome class. It brought back memories of own uninspiring schooling as a teenager. I wanted to say to her, “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve been there.”

This weekend I flew down to Baltimore and joined my brother and his wife and daughters for two perfect days of family and football (my beloved Notre Dame vs. Navy). After a short flight from Providence, they all met me at the airport and we drove to the stadium. Our seats were wonderful -- close to the center of the field and low enough to see the action clearly -- and the weather, at least for the first three quarters of the game, was just right for football. Unfortunately, a squall swept across the stadium toward the end, and, with Notre Dame comfortably ahead, we decided to make an early run for it. Driving home, we heard on the car radio that Navy stormed back in the last two minutes, but the Irish held on for a slim win. Back at Joe and Mary’s cozy home, we enjoyed more football on TV, plus hours of the best conversation, plus a superlative dinner prepared and set out by Mary and her daughters. I retired early for a long, soothing sleep, and was greeted early in the morning by Joe with a pot of the best coffee. We chatted for a bit over the sports page, and then took a brisk walk around the neighborhood amid the last of the vivid trees. Shortly thereafter, my visit was perfectly culminated by a ride to the airport with Julia. She is a supremely gracious and considerate young woman, and it was my pleasure to be in her company for the 45-minute drive that brought to an end a trip that seemed to me the essence of rest and companionship.

Teaching Journal
Day 47, Friday, November 14, 2008

Yesterday was conference day, a difficult day for most of the students but an enlightening and reassuring one for teachers and parents. My seven advisees sat with their parents and me in a patient, persevering way, but I’m sure they were feeling restive inside. No child wants to be the center of attention surrounded by earnest adults. However, for me it was a day of clarification. I discovered a little more about each of the students (and their parents), and also learned, in a circuitous way, some new things about teaching. Several parents made advantageous suggestions that will be helpful to me as the year goes on. I was a good listener, I think. I tried hard to pick up any hints that might make me a better teacher. Finally, I think the parents (most of them) left the conferences with some reassurance that their child was, indeed, making steady progress as students. We parents often despair of our children, imagining them failing in this subject and that and perhaps never becoming successful adults, and I was happy to be able to restore confidence in the parents of my young students. They are good boys and girls, I reminded them. All is well.
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Today, in one of the 8th grade classes, we sat in our usual circle and looked through the students’ essay binders, reviewing the 7 formal writings they’ve done thus far. I asked them to select one fine sentence from each essay, and then each student read aloud at least one of their special sentences. It was pleasant, for sure, to quietly listen to the kids as they shared their writing. It was like a pause for a look back from a high hill after a hike up a steep trail. It was taking a breath and being glad about how much you’ve accomplished.

Teaching Journal

Day 46, Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Looking for a little inspiration during a somewhat spiritless day of teaching, I paid a lucky visit to the Pre-K Teddy Bears, where I picked up some tips that will help me in my own teaching:

1) Develop routines that are both strict and relaxing. As I watched the children and teachers at work, I admired the orderliness of the activities. They were getting ready for outdoor recess, and the students obviously knew the exact procedure. First there was snack, then potty, then books, then jackets, then recess. There was even a procedure for waiting in line for the potty – different colored circles on the floor for the children to stand on. Amazingly, the students went through the routines in a strict but cheerful way. They were a disciplined group, but obviously a contented and happy one.

2) Work hard and nonstop. I was only in the room for about 10 minutes, but, just watching Heather and Leslie, I quickly grew exhausted. They were alert, focused, and extremely busy with their work. Each child needed undivided attention, sometimes three or four at a time. In my mind I imagined doing this kind of nonstop teaching all day long (which, I gather, is what happens in the younger grades), and I felt almost out of breath.

3) Head off problems with laughter. Several times, when things were getting too loose, both Heather and Leslie gathered small groups together to sing a song. There was “The ittsy bitsy spider” and something about “Mr. Knickerbocker”, and the songs always worked: kids relaxed, smiled, laughed, and all was orderly again.

4) Develop a sense of courtesy and respect. When the children finished their snacks at the table, they politely asked to be excused. I felt like I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen.

As I was leaving, I had the pleasure of speaking with one young lad. I told him I had once taught his father, a fine student of English. The small boy looked at me as if I had come from another planet and then went out to recess.
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Today, during a 2-minute break in class, I noticed one of the scholars sitting quietly in the big chair and reading. After a few moments, he looked up and said, with considerable fervor, that he loved the book he was reading. He said he bought it impulsively at the Book Fair, and never dreamed he would like it this much. His face was flushed with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was gratifying to see a student taking advantage of the break in class to enjoy a good book – a book he has been reading for the past week during our daily 7-minute silent reading period. If 8th grade English does little else for this lad, I’m grateful that it is warming his heart with a few minutes for satisfying reading.
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I noticed that a few of the students stepped outside for the break today, even though the air had a frosty feeling to it. They stood outside talking and shivering and smiling, obviously enjoying the few moments of chilly leisure.
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A student came to me before class with her recently returned essay and asked, quietly and politely, if I could explain why she lost points. She showed me her essay, and it was instantly obvious, as I glanced over it, that her B+ grade was too low. There were just a few minor mistakes, and I had written several complimentary comments in the margins. It was clearly an A paper. I turned to the girl and saw tears brimming in her eyes. I leaned over and quietly asked her to come and see me during lunch, feeling regretful that my carelessness in grading had caused a child to feel unnecessary sorrow. (When she came at lunch, I told her I had made a mistake, and the grade was changed.)

Teaching Journal
Day 45, Tuesday, November 11, 2008

As a middle school English teacher, I’m more interested in being discoverative than creative. I realize I’m using a word not found in the dictionary, but it seems to exactly fit my notion of the role of a teacher. In my teaching, I don’t believe I personally create anything; I simply discover ideas that are there for the taking. Each day, as if by a miracle, I find ideas that help my students learn, almost as if the ideas are lying around me like pieces of gold. I don’t create these ideas; I simply accept them and put them to use. I discover them in much the same way that one discovers beautiful shells along the shore. What I hope to do, day after day, is be ever more vigilant in my search for these good ideas about teaching. If I’m lackadaisical or slapdash or inattentive, I may pass them by without noticing them. However, if I’m as “discoverative” as possible, that will never happen.
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One of the 9th grade scholars (a girl who is normally quite reserved) was a star in our literary discussion today. We were conversing about a rather impenetrable Emily Dickinson poem, and this girl seemed filled with wise insights about the poem. Time after time she raised her hand and enlightened us with astute remarks. Somehow she made a direct connection with Ms. Dickinson’s words, and out of this association came comments that benefited all of us.
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One of the classes wrote an in-class essay today, and I took the opportunity to be the “server” while they wrote. As they worked on their assignment, I came around with a tray of their mugs filled with hot water, into which they quietly stirred their own hot chocolate or tea bags. They then continued to work on their essays, sipping a bit of flavorsome refreshment now and then. As I worked at my desk, I happily took in the sounds of hard work and comfort – the scratching of pencils and the tinkling of spoons on the sides of mugs. One boy, I noticed, was careful to not only drink all of his hot chocolate, but to painstakingly scrape every last ounce of chocolate from the inside of his mug. He wrote carefully for five minutes, scraped carefully for one, wrote for five, scraped for one, and so on.

Teaching Journal

Day 44, Monday, November 10, 2008

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 plans seem to have crash landed, 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.

(first draft written in February, 2008)

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I was wondering this morning what we actually “make” in English class. Do we build, construct, assemble, or create anything? What is our final product, the artifact we can hold up and be proud of? Certainly we create essays, reader’s journals, class notes, and other such typical academic handiwork, but are these the genuine final goals of our work as students of English, or is there some higher aspiration, some more distant and prized purpose we are working toward? 

     I think there is. For me, learning and teaching English has to do with a very lofty goal – nothing other than the creation of helpful thoughts. All the reading, all the writing, all the note-taking, all the discussions – everything derives from and points toward the unfolding of beneficial ideas. That’s what we’re after in 8th and 9th grade English. We may not cover all the grammar items, and the students may occasionally falter in their application of punctuation rules, but I have no doubt that we will always be involved in the development and refinement of thoughts. I hope, above all, that the scholars will leave my classes in May with an increased ability to produce and cherish ideas that are wonderful enough to transform their lives, and, to some degree, their world.

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I rushed one of the classes a bit. I passed back essays, and, instead of allowing them ample time to look over my comments and carefully place the essays in their English binders, I moved on to the next part of the lesson rather quickly, leaving many of the students in the position of having to do two things at once -- listen to me and put their essays away. In my class, I encourage the scholars to only do one thing at a time (mono-tasking, we call it), and yet today I was the instigator of multi-tasking. Bad job, Mr. Salsich. 

Yesterday I spent a pleasing and productive few hours with Luke. We met for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory in Providence and went from there to the Apple store, where I purchased an iPhone. It was a satisfying way to spend a Saturday. We laughed a lot over lunch -- telling old and new stories, sharing plans, and just being affable father and son -- and it was a pleasure to have my tech-expert son with me when I purchased my new phone.

Teaching Journal

Day 43, Friday, November 07, 2008

Today was another balmy one. There was a gentleness in the air that seemed more like April than November. I taught my classes in shirtsleeves, and enjoyed the soft touch of the air as I walked between buildings. The scholars seemed even more docile than usual, perhaps influenced by the delicate and kind-hearted weather.

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I often think of myself as more of a guide than a teacher. I think of myself as showing the way rather than imparting information. The young scholars who come to my room are traveling long and trying roads as students of writing and reading, and my duty is to point out both pitfalls and possible new directions. They may need advice on which way to go in an essay or a book, and I must stand ready to provide it. Actually, I sometimes think of myself as not so much a guide as a guidebook – a pamphlet they can use to find information or instruction along the way. In this sense, I don’t have to be front-and-center in the classroom. Like a good guidebook, I can remain off to the side, ready to be of assistance when needed.

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I was thinking this morning, before school, how many possibilities there were in the coming hours. I saw that there were literally an infinite number of potential thoughts, events, or situations that could occur during the school day. I realized I was heading into an unknown territory, an unexplored wilderness, a planet, you might say, in a faraway galaxy.

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The 9th graders came to school dressed in formal attire -- dresses, skirts, ties, coats -- because this was the day of their "collaboration presentations". For many weeks they've worked in small groups designing websites related to the literature we've studied, and today they unveiled them in the Board Room. I thoroughly enjoyed their performances. It was quite remarkable, I thought, to see 14-year-olds lecturing about websites containing detailed references to James Baldwin, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson. For the most part, the scholars spoke with a touch of self-esteem and even -- occasionally -- sophistication. They were all nervous and unsure, but what came through was their youthful wisdom and daring.

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Teaching Journal

Day 42, Thursday, November 6

Today was a soggy one. The rain was misting at 5:00 a.m. when I did my exercise walk, and it grew steadier and stronger as the hours passed. At one point, during a pleasantly serious literary discussion in a 9th grade class, we paused for a moment just to listen to the sound of the relentless torrent outside. At lunch recess, as I was supervising outside, the clouds spread apart for a few moments and the rain slowed to a sprinkle. Some of us thought we might see a rainbow in the midst of the rainy sunshine, but no such luck. Later, driving home from school, the rain grew steady again, sweeping the windows with water as I came through Westerly.
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During the 8th grade in-class writing period this morning, I couldn't help but notice the great care with which the scholars went about the work of constructing their essays. As I watched, they seemed like young artisans creating something important and beautiful. They labored over their work. Most of them developed a careful plan for the essay, made use of every moment of the allotted time, and used a few minutes at the end for editing and polishing. There was a mood of intensity and engagement in the room. A visitor would have thought some business of great consequence was being undertaken by the scholars -- and he or she would have been correct.

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I had a wonderful grammar class with the 9th grade today. For 30 minutes we discussed, in a fairly intense and focused manner, some of the subtleties of our language -- the uses of adverbs, the difference between compound and complex sentences, the effect of purposeful repetition. The students behaved like serious scholars. They sat up straight, responded in a thoughtful and attentive manner, and actually seemed to be rather absorbed in the lesson.

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Teaching Journal

Day 41, Wednesday, November 5

I realized again today how important the 2-minute breaks are to the scholars. Their days at school are bursting with required tasks, which makes them greatly appreciate a few minutes in which they are required to do nothing more than hang out. I can almost hear a great sigh of liberation when the timer bell rings to single the break. It’s only two minutes, and nothing special happens, but it’s a longed-for and appreciated time for the students.

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During our 8^th grade literary discussions today, we worked on counting to 2 before a new person starts talking, just to make sure the speaker is entirely finished. To make it easier to remember, I asked the teacher’s assistants to hold up their fingers and silently count, which worked very well. The discussions were even more courteous and urbane than usual. It’s a gratifying sight to see teenagers conducting themselves with such mature civility and graciousness.

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During one of the silent reading periods at the start of class, I paused for a moment in my reading just to take in the ambiance. There was a silence and peace that seems rare in these frantic times. Heads were bent over books, and the only sounds were the occasional tinkling of a spoon against a cup or the turning of a page. Now and then a bird would flutter to the feeder outside, but otherwise the hustle and buzz of the world seemed to have come to a standstill.

Teaching Journal

Day 40, Tuesday, November 4

During the quiet reading time at the start of one of the classes today, I noticed that several students didn't seem to be focused on their books, but before I could get concerned or upset about it, I also noticed (thankfully) that several others seemed very focused. Yes, there were a few kids who appeared to be "wasting" these few minutes of class time, but there were some who were reaping significant benefits from it. The question for me was: Which do I focus on? Is the glass half empty or half full? Luckily, I've been a half-full guy most of my life, so I settled back, smiled to myself, and continued reading my own book.

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One of the 9th grade boys was an extremely earnest student today. First of all, I noticed that, during our two-minute break, he immediately opened a book and did some quiet reading -- something I haven't noticed him doing in the past. Then, when we reconvened and began discussing the fairly inscrutable story we've been reading and studying, he mentioned a song that one of the characters performed, and suggested that it might be important evidence of one of the themes of the story. It was an intelligent, erudite comment -- a giant step forward for this blossoming scholar.

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In all of the classes today, we had serious literary discussions for about 12 minutes. That would add up to about 1 hour of discussion per week, and perhaps 34 hours during the full school year. Hmmm...34 hours of intellectual, sophisticated conversation about books: not a bad accomplishment for an 8th or 9th grade year!
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We had especially productive literary discussions in the 8th grade classes. I was proud of the way the scholars conducted the conversations on their own, with very little help (or interference) from me. We've been working on not raising hands, which requires the students to wait patiently until the previous speaker is entirely finished, and to defer to a classmate if two people start talking simultaneously. I've also been encouraging the designated "teacher assistant" to take charge of running the discussion, which enables me to "step back" more often and be a silent observer and note-taker. Today the discussions were perfect models of the kind of classy and cultured dialogues teenagers can organize and run on their own. I rarely spoke. The kids talked to each other, looked at each other, responded to each other, and helped each other. I was in the background, where every teacher should be as often as possible. After all, education is about the students, not the teacher -- and today was almost all students.

Teaching Journal

Day 39, November 3, 2008

“Gilding the Lily”

When we “gild the lily”, we try to make something beautiful that already is beautiful, a mistake I make over and over again in my teaching. I constantly worry about whether my teaching is “good enough”. Are the students learning enough about reading and developing enough skills as writers? Is my lesson for today sufficiently detailed? Did I do a good enough job as a teacher today? These kinds of concerns can be healthy, of course, but they can also suggest a mistakenly egocentric understanding of the nature of teaching and learning. Whether my scholars learn and grow and become thriving adult readers and writers is not dependent on the meager efforts of an individual teacher called Mr. Salsich. The wonderful fact is that the scholars are always learning and growing and thriving, no matter what I’m doing as their teacher. I could come to class in a Halloween costume and tell jokes all day, and the boys and girls’ lives would continue to flourish. I don’t mean to disparage my good efforts as an English teacher. I carefully plan lessons and try my best to be an effective teacher, and I’m sure I have some effect on the students’ development. However, the scholars are already amazing young people when they come to my classroom each day. They are easily as beautiful, in their own way, as the most resplendent lily. Therefore, for me to be overly worried about how my good or bad teaching will affect them is a little like worrying about gilding a lily. Neither flowers nor people need to be gilded. The first and best thing to do in the presence of lilies and young English scholars is not to try to change them, but simply to admire them.

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Ah, the comforts of hot water on a chilly day in English class! Today the designated student servers began offering hot water and tiny cookies (two apiece) to the scholars in my classroom. I plugged in the big hot water pot in the early morning, and it sang softly while I was doing last minute preparations for class. By the time the first students came for class, the water was steaming and all was ready for some comfortable (perhaps even comforting) teaching and learning. Some of the students brought hot chocolate powder and others brought tea bags. As we all read silently for the first few minutes of class, the servers passed quietly among us with the refreshments. I heard many quiet "thank you's" as I sipped my tea.

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TYPING A POEM

With a click of some keys,

something flashed on the screen,

just like the sorrow

that flashed through her life

long ago.

He was six years old

when he suddenly died,

a dazzling boy

dead in a street.

She typed another word

to send out some more memories,

and then more words,

and more,

and soon the screen

was flashing with words

like small signals

in darkness.