"Winter Sunset" by Heidi Malott
My Kindle reader (with light)
A NEW YEAR'S EVE SNOWSTORM
MP3 File
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
A serious snowstorm blustered into town this morning, and, now at 3:00 p.m., the snow is still swirling through the streets. It’s not a good storm for an offhand stroll, what with the wind and bitter cold. I set forth to take a walk a few hours ago but reached only the end of the block before I turned back in a blur of blowing snow. I’ve resigned myself to enjoying the storm from the security of my cheerful apartment, reading David Copperfield on my Kindle eReader (see photo) and enjoying an occasional Clementine orange.
Softness is an important quality in my work as a middle school teacher. Obviously the word has many negative connotations (weakness, indecision, uncertainty, etc), but its positive aspects are useful to me as I carry out my classroom responsibilities. For instance, the word suggests a willingness to yield readily to pressure or weight, a trait I find helpful when it comes to appreciating and respecting the students’ comments and suggestions. I come to class with my own set of beliefs and goals, but I’m always ready to yield, if it seems appropriate, to new ideas offered by the students. If the pressure of their good thoughts builds to a point where their accuracy seems undeniable, I try to be ready to softly and bravely acquiesce. Far from being a sign of weakness in a teacher, I believe it’s a sign of inner clout and authority. It’s a valiant teacher who is prepared to capitulate to a strong and true idea. The word ‘softness’ also suggests a classroom atmosphere that is neither loud, harsh, nor irritating – the kind of ambiance I’m entirely committed to maintaining. The ‘real world’ may be callous and chaotic, but Room 2 in my school is a different kind of world entirely. In English class we treat each other with gentleness instead of severity, with consideration instead of insensitivity. If the outside world is a school of hard knocks, my classroom, I’m pleased to say, is one of soft acceptance and enthusiastic acknowledgment.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
One of my goals for the second half of the school year is to allow myself to be shocked more often. I purposefully say ‘allow’ because all sorts of wonderful shocks are constantly occurring around me as I teach, but I’m too full of fuss and hubbub to let myself see and appreciate them. While I’m in a dither to complete all the steps in my lesson plan, small marvels are happening in the classroom which I completely miss. I allow myself to see the next item in the lesson plan but not the surprises softly exploding throughout the 48 minutes of class. If a shock can be defined as something that jars the mind or emotions as if with an unexpected blow, how many of these might there be during a typical 8th grade English class! One small example would be my own breathing. If I took a few seconds every so often during class to notice, again, the miracle of my own breath coming in and going out, what a pleasant shock that would be. Another example would be the look of sunlight as it lands on a table or a book – a small wonder in the midst of the labor of English class. Even more shocking, perhaps, would be the performance of the students, if I could only be more attentive to it. A single sentence spoken by a boy in a literary discussion, provided I heard it with genuine awareness, could be thoroughly shocking -- “something that jars the mind or emotions” in the best and most positive way. Similarly, an expression of sudden comprehension on the face of a girl could be as jolting as a rainbow in a rainy sky. These are the kind of shocks I want to be more watchful for in the next few months – jolting, joyful surprises that are always taking place in my classes and simply shouldn’t be missed.
Monday, December 29, 2008
"Extreme busyness, whether at school, [church] or market, is a symptom of deficient vitality; and a faculty for idleness implies a catholic appetite and a strong sense of personal identity."
-- Robert Louis Stevenson, "An Apology for Idlers"
Over the long years (42 and counting) of my teaching, I have developed a significant appreciation for the role of pauses in the classroom. In fact, I have come to think of them as ‘sacred’, not in any religious sense, but in the sense of being inviolable and of substantial consequence. Indeed, in this age of rapidity and busyness bordering on bedlam, it’s vital that we pause now and then to take a breath and look around. Students are just as caught up in the dashing chaos of the times as the rest of us, and therefore they, too, need an occasional break – a moment or two to silently recognize the value of what’s happening. Even a 20-second ‘recess’ from the prattle and bustle of a typical class – just a few seconds of peaceful silence – can be as restorative as a glass of cold water after exercising. We have these pauses every so often during my English classes. When moving from one activity to another, instead of keeping up a non-stop flow of directives, I try to stay silent for a few seconds, just to give us all a gap of serenity in between the business of the day’s lesson. It’s like when a breeze dies for a moment and the ruffles on a lake’s surface become suddenly smooth. The breeze does start up again, and the English lesson does proceed ahead in all seriousness, but that brief moment of idleness – that serene and healing pause – has made all the difference.
Over the long years (42 and counting) of my teaching, I have developed a significant appreciation for the role of pauses in the classroom. In fact, I have come to think of them as ‘sacred’, not in any religious sense, but in the sense of being inviolable and of substantial consequence. Indeed, in this age of rapidity and busyness bordering on bedlam, it’s vital that we pause now and then to take a breath and look around. Students are just as caught up in the dashing chaos of the times as the rest of us, and therefore they, too, need an occasional break – a moment or two to silently recognize the value of what’s happening. Even a 20-second ‘recess’ from the prattle and bustle of a typical class – just a few seconds of peaceful silence – can be as restorative as a glass of cold water after exercising. We have these pauses every so often during my English classes. When moving from one activity to another, instead of keeping up a non-stop flow of directives, I try to stay silent for a few seconds, just to give us all a gap of serenity in between the business of the day’s lesson. It’s like when a breeze dies for a moment and the ruffles on a lake’s surface become suddenly smooth. The breeze does start up again, and the English lesson does proceed ahead in all seriousness, but that brief moment of idleness – that serene and healing pause – has made all the difference.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
A TEACHER AS AN UNCARVED PIECE OF WOOD
Somewhere in his writings, Lao Tzu advises readers to be like an uncarved piece of wood, which strikes me as excellent advice for a middle school English teacher. Just as a plain piece of wood in the hands of a gifted artist can be transformed in limitless ways, so can a modest and accommodating teacher be completely made over each day by the students, ideas, and events he encounters. He can start each school day as one person and end it as an entirely new person. In this way, each school day can be the artist, and the teacher is the material being magically molded into something new and wonderful. This would appear to be exactly the opposite of the usual image of a teacher as a skilled artist who shapes the minds of her students, but perhaps it’s not as contradictory as it seems. Perhaps an artist has to first allow the material to transform her before she can transform the material. It could be that the artist must first open herself completely to the uniqueness of her subject before she can work with the subject in a truly creative and transformative way. In the same way, I must learn to present myself in my classroom each day as an unassuming, ready-to-learn apprentice, for only in that way will I be able to see the matchless qualities of each of the students. To use another phrase from Eastern philosophy, I must have a ‘beginner’s mind’ each morning, fully prepared to experience the students as exceptional individuals the likes of which I’ve never seen before. In that way, like an uncarved piece of wood, I can be transformed each day, which will perhaps enable me to at least attempt to fulfill the most hallowed duty of a teacher – that of transforming the lives of students.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
A DIFFERENT KIND OF CLASSROOM OBEDIENCE
It is, of course, important that students obey any rules I establish for my classroom, but I also want to promote another kind of obedience. Interestingly, the word ‘obey’ derives from the Latin oboedire, which originally meant ‘to listen to’ – and I want to encourage my students to listen to their own thoughts as much as to my rules and regulations. One of their most solemn duties – and one they sorely neglect, I’m afraid – is to pay attention to and abide by the inspirations that arise inside them. They need to listen to themselves as alertly as they listen to me. Unfortunately, this seems to be a challenging task for my students, I suppose because they have often been exposed to environments that have not encouraged them to think highly of their own thoughts. It’s probably been suggested to them, sometimes in veiled and subtle ways, that they must, first and foremost, hearken to the thoughts of their elders, and that their own ideas must be viewed with guardedness and hesitancy. From this arises the timidity I often see in my students as they abashedly attempt to share a thought during class or compose a sentence in an essay. It’s as if they are saying to themselves, “This is a dumb idea. Why am I even thinking it?” What I hope to gradually convey to them is the fact that their own thoughts are at least as reasonable as mine, and sometimes more so, since they arise out of the wholesomeness and sincerity of childhood. I want them to treat their thoughts like the first sproutings of flowers, considerately cultivating them to see what the blossoms bring. That’s the kind of ingenuous obedience that might transform a classroom from a friendly autocracy into a true neighborhood of scholars.
Friday, December 26, 2008
TEACHING AND LEARNING WITH AUTHORITY
In my middle school English classes, I want to develop a sense of ‘authority’, in both my students and me. Here I’m not thinking of the most common definition of authority -- the power to enforce laws, exact obedience, and pass judgment – but of some less familiar meanings – the power to influence or persuade resulting from knowledge or experience, and the confidence derived from experience or practice. This is authority that’s natural, not contrived – authority that’s established gradually from inside a student or teacher, not abruptly and artificially from outside. It’s the kind of authentic and unpretentious authority that usually arises unhurriedly with the passage of time, like a tree that slowly but surely grows stronger from within. I have been awkwardly and hesitantly growing as a teacher for over 40 years, and I’m feeling a little more of this kind of genuine authority each year. I no longer do much enforcing of laws or demanding of obedience (as I did in earlier years) simply because it no longer seems necessary; the passing of these many years has somehow blessed me with the ability to influence my students in gentler and less stressful ways. Instead of raising my voice or parceling out stern looks, my simple presence before the students as a person who has been chastened by four decades of failures and triumphs in the classroom seems to speak loudly enough to the students. Instead of giving orders, I let the ordinary but weighty authority that life -- given enough time -- gradually bestows on all of us, administer the activities of the classroom. I hope, too, that my students increasingly feel this kind of authority within themselves. It doesn’t come from outside – from a high grade or a compliment from a teacher or an elected position – but from inside, from a slowly blossoming feeling of understanding and self-assurance. It’s the kind of authority a 9th grader sometimes acquires simply because she’s survived eight years of strenuous schooling with audacity and dignity. It’s the kind of authority a student feels within himself when he receives an essay assignment and knows, without a shred of doubt, that he will write a triumphant essay. I would like to see authority like that in my classroom – in a teacher grown old and longlasting like an oak, and in students capable of commanding attention not because of some external acclamation, but because there’s strength inside that simply won’t be denied.
In my middle school English classes, I want to develop a sense of ‘authority’, in both my students and me. Here I’m not thinking of the most common definition of authority -- the power to enforce laws, exact obedience, and pass judgment – but of some less familiar meanings – the power to influence or persuade resulting from knowledge or experience, and the confidence derived from experience or practice. This is authority that’s natural, not contrived – authority that’s established gradually from inside a student or teacher, not abruptly and artificially from outside. It’s the kind of authentic and unpretentious authority that usually arises unhurriedly with the passage of time, like a tree that slowly but surely grows stronger from within. I have been awkwardly and hesitantly growing as a teacher for over 40 years, and I’m feeling a little more of this kind of genuine authority each year. I no longer do much enforcing of laws or demanding of obedience (as I did in earlier years) simply because it no longer seems necessary; the passing of these many years has somehow blessed me with the ability to influence my students in gentler and less stressful ways. Instead of raising my voice or parceling out stern looks, my simple presence before the students as a person who has been chastened by four decades of failures and triumphs in the classroom seems to speak loudly enough to the students. Instead of giving orders, I let the ordinary but weighty authority that life -- given enough time -- gradually bestows on all of us, administer the activities of the classroom. I hope, too, that my students increasingly feel this kind of authority within themselves. It doesn’t come from outside – from a high grade or a compliment from a teacher or an elected position – but from inside, from a slowly blossoming feeling of understanding and self-assurance. It’s the kind of authority a 9th grader sometimes acquires simply because she’s survived eight years of strenuous schooling with audacity and dignity. It’s the kind of authority a student feels within himself when he receives an essay assignment and knows, without a shred of doubt, that he will write a triumphant essay. I would like to see authority like that in my classroom – in a teacher grown old and longlasting like an oak, and in students capable of commanding attention not because of some external acclamation, but because there’s strength inside that simply won’t be denied.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
“A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM…”
On this Christmas morning, a day when Christians honor a frail, defenseless child born in a barn, it is fitting that I give a little thought to the middle school children whom I teach. Because they are, in many ways, frail and defenseless, it is my duty to protect, instruct, and lead them, but it’s also essential that I honor them. What makes the mystery of Christmas so extraordinary is that it’s all about the power of a child to show the way to peace and fulfillment. It’s about children, not adults, being the teachers, and about how important it is for we adults to sometimes sit quietly and listen to the wisdom of children. In my own English classroom, I’m 'the teacher', but I'm also a student. I plan lessons and give directions, but I also learn lessons and take directions from my students’ youthful level-headedness and sagacity. Truthfully, they teach me as much as I teach them. When I again read the story of the wise scholars from the East journeying to give reverence to a child lying in a farm animal’s stall, I nod my head in understanding. I’ve been there. I’ve seen the glory that shines in the unadorned wisdom of children, and I honor it.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
On my pre-dawn hike up and down Granite Street this morning, wearing my reflector vest with the flashing red lights, I felt like I fit in perfectly with the celebratory atmosphere of the season. I was a lit-up, walking Christmas decoration in the early darkness of this Christmas Eve morning. I especially enjoyed passing one particular house at the top of the hill, because its holiday lights strung along the eaves seemed partners to my brightly blinking vest. The entire walk was like a festive occasion. I can’t recall ever exercising in a merrier way. I felt like my glowing vest was a Christmas ship cheerily carrying me along.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
This week, when people around the world will be unwrapping gifts, I’ve been thinking about another kind of unwrapping that I’m trying to do in my work as a middle school English teacher. Over the last 15 years or so, I have been trying to unwrap my role as an educator and see it for what it really is. For a good part of my long career, I’ve been covered over with a ‘packaging material’ called the ego, or 'self', and I’m continuing to try to untie the strings, take off the tissue, and discover what’s truly inside. I guess I would call it ‘unselfing’ instead of unwrapping, because what I’m hoping to do, more and more, is step out of my confined and tiny self and experience my true role as a participant in the unrestrained, universal, and truly miraculous process called learning. Indeed, this fake covering called ‘my self’ has been the only thing holding me back from coming into contact with the limitless realm of real education. For too long I toiled inside the small box of the ego – trying to create my lessons so that my students in my classroom would think of me as a good teacher – but now I'm slowly unwrapping the box. I'm gradually taking the cover off my teaching and bringing to light the limitless -- and selfless -- universe of learning that’s been there all along.
Monday, December 22, 2008
“[The poet Percy Bysshe] Shelley speculated that poets of all ages contributed to one Great Poem perpetually in progress.”
-- Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence
I love Shelley’s idea, and I like to apply it to my line of work. It pleases me to think that all teachers everywhere are helping to teach one Great Class that’s ceaselessly in progress. We’re separated by distances and times, and some of us are 1st grade teachers, others teach 7th grade math, and others struggle and celebrate in the classrooms of high schools and colleges, but the aim of our instruction is basically the same – to uncover and share ideas that will improve lives. We teachers are involved with thoughts more than things – and thoughts are not confined to any one teacher or student or classroom. The ideas we discover and nourish in our classrooms go forth with our students and are spread abroad like imperceptible seeds in the wind. What is taught in a 4th grade room in a village in China ripples out endlessly in secret, transformative ways. Students in upstate New York receive the blessings, though indiscernible to them, of thoughts spawned in classrooms in Texas, New Zealand, and elsewhere. We work not alone in our classrooms, but jointly and collectively – the lone human family sharing knowledge and constructing wisdom. We’re all in one immeasurable class, journeying toward a graduation that – thankfully – will never happen.
-- Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence
I love Shelley’s idea, and I like to apply it to my line of work. It pleases me to think that all teachers everywhere are helping to teach one Great Class that’s ceaselessly in progress. We’re separated by distances and times, and some of us are 1st grade teachers, others teach 7th grade math, and others struggle and celebrate in the classrooms of high schools and colleges, but the aim of our instruction is basically the same – to uncover and share ideas that will improve lives. We teachers are involved with thoughts more than things – and thoughts are not confined to any one teacher or student or classroom. The ideas we discover and nourish in our classrooms go forth with our students and are spread abroad like imperceptible seeds in the wind. What is taught in a 4th grade room in a village in China ripples out endlessly in secret, transformative ways. Students in upstate New York receive the blessings, though indiscernible to them, of thoughts spawned in classrooms in Texas, New Zealand, and elsewhere. We work not alone in our classrooms, but jointly and collectively – the lone human family sharing knowledge and constructing wisdom. We’re all in one immeasurable class, journeying toward a graduation that – thankfully – will never happen.
“… and so fill up the gap where force might fail
With skill and fineness … “
-- Alfred Lord Tennyson, “The Idylls of the King”
The above quote, referring to a knight’s strategy in battle, could be applied to my own ‘battles’ as a middle school English teacher. My wars aren’t against my students (fortunately, they are all well-behaved and fairly eager to learn) but against ignorance, and, like Tennyson’s knight, I’ve found that “skill and fineness” works far more effectively than force. In fact, over the years my use of force (in the form of harangues, glares, consequences, and other assorted warnings) has diminished to almost nothing. I have gradually given up pushing, shoving, and pulling in favor of supporting, encouraging, complimenting, and congratulating. I’ve found that a smile is a “fineness’ that can work wonders, and that gentleness can transform a possible combat zone into a peaceful place for instruction and illumination.
With skill and fineness … “
-- Alfred Lord Tennyson, “The Idylls of the King”
The above quote, referring to a knight’s strategy in battle, could be applied to my own ‘battles’ as a middle school English teacher. My wars aren’t against my students (fortunately, they are all well-behaved and fairly eager to learn) but against ignorance, and, like Tennyson’s knight, I’ve found that “skill and fineness” works far more effectively than force. In fact, over the years my use of force (in the form of harangues, glares, consequences, and other assorted warnings) has diminished to almost nothing. I have gradually given up pushing, shoving, and pulling in favor of supporting, encouraging, complimenting, and congratulating. I’ve found that a smile is a “fineness’ that can work wonders, and that gentleness can transform a possible combat zone into a peaceful place for instruction and illumination.
I took a frigid walk this morning, up the icy hill of Granite Street beneath a slice of a silver moon. It was probably foolish of me to climb a street that seemed sheer ice, but I somehow survived, plotting a course carefully up and down the hill three times. The wind was a squally one that pushed me up the hill and then drove against me coming down. There seemed to be hardly any cars out and about, just a few lamps in windows, and only a couple of strings of holidays lights lit up in the darkness. The silver piece of moon was the brightest and cheeriest sight I saw.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
“… and Gareth … wrought
All kind of service with a noble ease
That graced the lowliest act in doing it.”
-- Alfred Lord Tennyson, “The Idylls of the King”
I think of teaching as service. I’m the servant of the students and their parents, not in a submissive way, but in the best sense of the word ‘servant’ – one who helps others. Like Gareth in Tennyson’s poem, I hope I can perform my teaching duties ‘with a noble ease’ – a wonderful phrase implying both dignity and effortlessness. Indeed, I find teaching, more and more, to be the most demanding, the most august, the most venerable activity I’ve ever been involved in, but also, paradoxically, the simplest and easiest. ‘The lowliest act’ I have to perform in the classroom seems to me to be ‘graced’ with an otherworldly kind of ease and splendor.
"...the city is built
To music, therefore never built at all,
And therefore built forever."
-- Alfred Lord Tennyson, "The Idylls of the King"
In a strange way, my teaching is 'built to music'. I don't mean that I listen to music when I'm planning my lessons, nor do I often play music during class, but still, when I read these lines in Tennyson this morning, they seemed to speak about my English classes. I guess there's a kind of 'music' in my thoughts and feelings that I try to follow when I'm teaching. The universe is constantly producing a mysterious kind of harmony that we’re all part of, and, when I sit at my desk and type out a lesson on the computer, I guess I simply listen to that harmony and let it tap the keys and write the lesson. The same happens in class. The students and I always have innumerable thoughts in our minds, all of which, whether we realize it or not, are blended together like melodies, and it’s these thought-melodies that make an English class what it is. Today the music of our ideas makes one song, tomorrow another song, and the next day yet another. Do we – my students and I – create these songs? No, I rather think the thoughts create the songs; all we do is follow along and sing the melody that’s given us. In a way, then, since thoughts and melodies are made of little more than the infinite air, you might say my teaching, like Camelot, ‘is never built at all/ And therefore built forever.’
To music, therefore never built at all,
And therefore built forever."
-- Alfred Lord Tennyson, "The Idylls of the King"
In a strange way, my teaching is 'built to music'. I don't mean that I listen to music when I'm planning my lessons, nor do I often play music during class, but still, when I read these lines in Tennyson this morning, they seemed to speak about my English classes. I guess there's a kind of 'music' in my thoughts and feelings that I try to follow when I'm teaching. The universe is constantly producing a mysterious kind of harmony that we’re all part of, and, when I sit at my desk and type out a lesson on the computer, I guess I simply listen to that harmony and let it tap the keys and write the lesson. The same happens in class. The students and I always have innumerable thoughts in our minds, all of which, whether we realize it or not, are blended together like melodies, and it’s these thought-melodies that make an English class what it is. Today the music of our ideas makes one song, tomorrow another song, and the next day yet another. Do we – my students and I – create these songs? No, I rather think the thoughts create the songs; all we do is follow along and sing the melody that’s given us. In a way, then, since thoughts and melodies are made of little more than the infinite air, you might say my teaching, like Camelot, ‘is never built at all/ And therefore built forever.’
Saturday, December 20, 2008
In the Wheat Fields at Gennevilliers
1875
Berthe Morisot (1841-1895 French)
1875
Berthe Morisot (1841-1895 French)
ON SOWING BUT NOT REAPING
My work as a middle school English teacher might be compared to that of a farmer sowing seeds, with this difference: I often don’t get the pleasure of reaping the harvest. Each day I plan detailed lessons and say thousands of words to the students, every one of which, I like to think, is a seed dropped into the their lives. Some – maybe most – of the seeds never sprout (probably because they are thoroughly sterile); a small number germinate quickly and come to fruition that very day or soon after; but most of the seeds probably don’t develop and grow until months and even years have passed. A lesson on a poem about courage may lie dormant inside a student for long years, only to slowly sprout and bloom in a situation where she or he can make use of it. My former student may not even be aware of the supportive growth that's happening inside him or her – this idea that was first planted in an English lesson way back in 8th grade – but it may be there nonetheless, pushing up to offer the young man or woman some helpful wisdom. It’s a humbling enterprise, this sowing of seeds in English class. Who knows when - if ever - the seeds of my lessons will germinate? All I can do is quietly cast forth the thoughts and themes I hope will be valuable, and then stand aside. I may be far away and long gone when the blossoming - if there is any - happens.
Today I did my usual morning hill climbing, around 5:00 a.m., and I was especially struck by the various effects of light on the snow-covered town at that pre-dawn hour. Although the darkness of the winter night still prevailed, there seemed to be a surprisingly intense illumination everywhere. The whiteness of the snow on lawns and streets surely caused some of this brightness, as did the golden glow of the streetlamps. There also seemed to be an unusual number of lights glowing in windows, especially for that early hour, and several houses were adorned with all-night Christmas lights. What surprised me the most, however, was the brightness of the sky. The sun would not rise for another 90 minutes, yet the sky was suffused with a soft shine. On this frosty, snow-white morning, I felt like I was exercising in a universe made mostly of light.
Friday, December 19, 2008
A Sledder in Wilcox Park
On this first day of my Christmas vacation, a soothing snowstorm has descended on our town, a perfect way for me to loosen up after fifteen weeks of serious teaching. Watching the snow swirl down in its soft, insistent way this afternoon, I could almost feel my bloodstream slowing down, my thoughts settling into peaceful patterns. I took a walk through the storm in Wilcox Park a few minutes ago, and even striding against the driving snow, I felt perfectly peaceful. Now, typing at the computer, my fingers tap the keys effortlessly while the snow blows easily past the window.
Teaching Journal
Day 68, Thursday, December 18
There was an explosion of gift-giving today, the last before Christmas vacation, and it started me thinking about the gifts exchanged during my English classes. While I listened to the tumult down the hall as the kids unwrapped presents and guffawed with glee, I thought about the quieter kind of gift-giving that happens every day in my classes (and all classes, no doubt). Every smile, every friendly glance during class, is a present as sincerely offered as any gaily-wrapped gift. Each nod of a head toward a speaker is a generous offering of friendship, and every spoken word in a discussion is a gift bestowed on the rest of us, a small treasure that will unfold its effects inside us in ways beyond our knowing. Also, at the end of each of my classes, we try to remember to thank each other as a way of exchanging the gift of gratitude. Yes, there was wild unwrapping and hugging and celebrating in the halls today, but I realized, as I listened to the merriment, that we do our own kind of more modest giving during every English class.
Day 68, Thursday, December 18
There was an explosion of gift-giving today, the last before Christmas vacation, and it started me thinking about the gifts exchanged during my English classes. While I listened to the tumult down the hall as the kids unwrapped presents and guffawed with glee, I thought about the quieter kind of gift-giving that happens every day in my classes (and all classes, no doubt). Every smile, every friendly glance during class, is a present as sincerely offered as any gaily-wrapped gift. Each nod of a head toward a speaker is a generous offering of friendship, and every spoken word in a discussion is a gift bestowed on the rest of us, a small treasure that will unfold its effects inside us in ways beyond our knowing. Also, at the end of each of my classes, we try to remember to thank each other as a way of exchanging the gift of gratitude. Yes, there was wild unwrapping and hugging and celebrating in the halls today, but I realized, as I listened to the merriment, that we do our own kind of more modest giving during every English class.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 67, Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I noticed a boy gazing out the window during one of the lessons, obviously following his thoughts wherever they were leading. It struck me, as I thought about it later, that they could have led him absolutely anywhere. His body was restricted to the chair in my classroom, but his mind was as free as the clouds that were drifting above the school. Only a tiny part of him was with us in the English classroom. Most of the real boy was gone somewhere ‘on a wing and a prayer’, searching for more enthralling mysteries than punctuation rules.
.....
I gave a punctuation test to the 8th grade scholars, projecting the questions on the screen. Since I could only show two questions at a time, the speedier students had to wait for the slower ones to finish before we could move to the next two questions. Many teachers (and perhaps parents) might consider this a waste of the quicker scholars’ time, but it depends upon our definition of ‘waste’. Is sitting silently in a relaxed manner a waste of time? Is a few moments of quiet thinking a waste of time? Is catching your breath in the midst of a frantic school day a waste of time?
Day 67, Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I noticed a boy gazing out the window during one of the lessons, obviously following his thoughts wherever they were leading. It struck me, as I thought about it later, that they could have led him absolutely anywhere. His body was restricted to the chair in my classroom, but his mind was as free as the clouds that were drifting above the school. Only a tiny part of him was with us in the English classroom. Most of the real boy was gone somewhere ‘on a wing and a prayer’, searching for more enthralling mysteries than punctuation rules.
.....
I gave a punctuation test to the 8th grade scholars, projecting the questions on the screen. Since I could only show two questions at a time, the speedier students had to wait for the slower ones to finish before we could move to the next two questions. Many teachers (and perhaps parents) might consider this a waste of the quicker scholars’ time, but it depends upon our definition of ‘waste’. Is sitting silently in a relaxed manner a waste of time? Is a few moments of quiet thinking a waste of time? Is catching your breath in the midst of a frantic school day a waste of time?
.......
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 66, Tuesday, December 16, 2008
During quiet reading time, I noticed a small commotion behind me in the area where the server prepares refreshments for the scholars. For a moment (for some unfathomable reason) I thought about reprimanding them for being noisy, but instead (thankfully) I just listened. CM Soon it became clear that the ‘commotion’ was the rustling of paper towels as the server and two classmates tried to clean up a spill. As I listened, I could tell that they were trying their best to be extremely quiet. It became obvious that what I was going to reprimand was actually an act of courtesy and good manners. Three people (two of whom apparently jumped in voluntarily to help the server with the cleanup) were truly ‘serving’ the rest of us by allowing us to read in peace while they took care of the problem. I grew more admiring as the seconds passed. When the workers finally sat in their places and opened their books to read, I took a breath and smiled. I felt like I had just witnessed something extraordinary.
....
A few wandering flakes of snow passed my windows during one of the classes, which caused an immediate eruption of enthusiasm. I was talking, at the time, about how to use participles in writing, but that topic instantly paled in the light of these softly descending flakes. There was a small hullabaloo for a few moments, including this happy shout: “It’s a hailish kind of snow!” We did get back to discussing participles, but I’m fairly sure they are not what the students will most remember about today’s class.
Day 66, Tuesday, December 16, 2008
During quiet reading time, I noticed a small commotion behind me in the area where the server prepares refreshments for the scholars. For a moment (for some unfathomable reason) I thought about reprimanding them for being noisy, but instead (thankfully) I just listened. CM Soon it became clear that the ‘commotion’ was the rustling of paper towels as the server and two classmates tried to clean up a spill. As I listened, I could tell that they were trying their best to be extremely quiet. It became obvious that what I was going to reprimand was actually an act of courtesy and good manners. Three people (two of whom apparently jumped in voluntarily to help the server with the cleanup) were truly ‘serving’ the rest of us by allowing us to read in peace while they took care of the problem. I grew more admiring as the seconds passed. When the workers finally sat in their places and opened their books to read, I took a breath and smiled. I felt like I had just witnessed something extraordinary.
....
A few wandering flakes of snow passed my windows during one of the classes, which caused an immediate eruption of enthusiasm. I was talking, at the time, about how to use participles in writing, but that topic instantly paled in the light of these softly descending flakes. There was a small hullabaloo for a few moments, including this happy shout: “It’s a hailish kind of snow!” We did get back to discussing participles, but I’m fairly sure they are not what the students will most remember about today’s class.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 65, Monday, December 15, 2008
Feeling sick, I went home after my second period class today, but before I left I saw excellent leadership exhibited by my students. I explained to the 8th graders that I wasn’t feeling well, and I asked the designated ‘teacher’s assistant’ to take on the heavy responsibility of basically running the class. I had made a detailed lesson plan, and I hoped the TA would be able take the class through the steps of the lesson while I sat in one of the ‘comfy chairs’ and observed and occasionally commented. It worked better than I could have imagined. The TAs in both classes took on the duty with dignity and poise. They seemed to stand straighter and speak more purposefully than usual. Their voices contained youthful strength and a trusting kind of wisdom. I sat back in the comfortable chair, listening and feeling grateful that these 13-year-olds were willing to step up and carry the learning forward.
Day 65, Monday, December 15, 2008
Feeling sick, I went home after my second period class today, but before I left I saw excellent leadership exhibited by my students. I explained to the 8th graders that I wasn’t feeling well, and I asked the designated ‘teacher’s assistant’ to take on the heavy responsibility of basically running the class. I had made a detailed lesson plan, and I hoped the TA would be able take the class through the steps of the lesson while I sat in one of the ‘comfy chairs’ and observed and occasionally commented. It worked better than I could have imagined. The TAs in both classes took on the duty with dignity and poise. They seemed to stand straighter and speak more purposefully than usual. Their voices contained youthful strength and a trusting kind of wisdom. I sat back in the comfortable chair, listening and feeling grateful that these 13-year-olds were willing to step up and carry the learning forward.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 64, Friday, December 12, 2008
One of my daily goals as a teacher is to never raise my voice or say a loud ‘shhhh’, and on most days this year I’ve been successful. To me, a raised voice or a noisy ‘shhhh’ means the teacher is pushing, shoving, and pulling, and I would rather be leading. Forcing is not leading. Leading is done by example more than by stern looks or severe words. Anyone can raise his voice or do a vigorous ‘shhhh’, but that's not leading – and leading is what I want to learn to do. I want to learn to maintain a civil and considerate atmosphere in my classroom, not by imposing it by force and fear, but by being civil and considerate myself. Good behavior is catching, and I want to learn to allow mine to quietly infect the scholars. It seems to work better than the loudest ‘shhhh’.
........
Day 64, Friday, December 12, 2008
One of my daily goals as a teacher is to never raise my voice or say a loud ‘shhhh’, and on most days this year I’ve been successful. To me, a raised voice or a noisy ‘shhhh’ means the teacher is pushing, shoving, and pulling, and I would rather be leading. Forcing is not leading. Leading is done by example more than by stern looks or severe words. Anyone can raise his voice or do a vigorous ‘shhhh’, but that's not leading – and leading is what I want to learn to do. I want to learn to maintain a civil and considerate atmosphere in my classroom, not by imposing it by force and fear, but by being civil and considerate myself. Good behavior is catching, and I want to learn to allow mine to quietly infect the scholars. It seems to work better than the loudest ‘shhhh’.
........
As we were starting to listen to a song and do our weekly freestyle writing, one girl asked if she could use the bathroom. I gave her permission, and then decided to wait for her to return before starting the activity. When she came back, she was surprised that we had waited. She smiled and said "Thank you for waiting." When she was sitting down and ready to write, we began the song.
............
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 63, Thursday, December 11, 2008
We had a visitor in one of the classes this morning (a student’s mom), and, for me (and perhaps some of the students) it made the class an extra-special event. Just having a guest sitting in a comfortable chair and sipping hot chocolate while we went about the business of today’s lesson was a delight – an uncommon treat in the middle of a dark, wet day. As usual at this festive time of year, we turned off the overhead lights and worked by the light of the holiday lights strung around the room, which added to the distinctive atmosphere. I felt like my students and I were on stage, performing for an exclusive and appreciative audience of one.
.........
During the quiet reading time in one class, I noticed a girl swinging her foot back and forth as she read. It was a slow, rhythmical motion, and for some reason it made me think of music (possibly because I often listen to background music as I read). Could this, perhaps, be her music, this gentle swaying of her foot as she followed the story on the page?
..........
Day 63, Thursday, December 11, 2008
We had a visitor in one of the classes this morning (a student’s mom), and, for me (and perhaps some of the students) it made the class an extra-special event. Just having a guest sitting in a comfortable chair and sipping hot chocolate while we went about the business of today’s lesson was a delight – an uncommon treat in the middle of a dark, wet day. As usual at this festive time of year, we turned off the overhead lights and worked by the light of the holiday lights strung around the room, which added to the distinctive atmosphere. I felt like my students and I were on stage, performing for an exclusive and appreciative audience of one.
.........
During the quiet reading time in one class, I noticed a girl swinging her foot back and forth as she read. It was a slow, rhythmical motion, and for some reason it made me think of music (possibly because I often listen to background music as I read). Could this, perhaps, be her music, this gentle swaying of her foot as she followed the story on the page?
..........
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 62, Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I noticed this morning that one of the 8th grade girls is almost finished with the book she’s been reading. She started it on the first day of school, and she’s now on the final few pages. She’s probably a slow reader (like her English teacher), or perhaps she simply likes to read at an unhurried, restful pace. Perhaps reading a book, for her, is like idling away the hours on an enchanting island – a sojourn you never want to end.
.......
At 8:50 this morning, as the students were assembling for class, the thought came to me that everything, at that moment, was happening exactly as it had to happen. My heart was beating the way it had to, the students’ lungs were taking in air the way they had to, and the wind was whipping around the windows precisely as it had to. All was correct, proper, and perfect. And then another thought came – that there were countless similarly perfect moments awaiting all of us today.
..........
At the break in one of the classes, most of the kids went out into the hall or outside, but one girl sat at the table reading. This is a popular girl with many friends, but today she chose to read. Perhaps she has found additonal friends in the pages of her book.
.............
Day 62, Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I noticed this morning that one of the 8th grade girls is almost finished with the book she’s been reading. She started it on the first day of school, and she’s now on the final few pages. She’s probably a slow reader (like her English teacher), or perhaps she simply likes to read at an unhurried, restful pace. Perhaps reading a book, for her, is like idling away the hours on an enchanting island – a sojourn you never want to end.
.......
At 8:50 this morning, as the students were assembling for class, the thought came to me that everything, at that moment, was happening exactly as it had to happen. My heart was beating the way it had to, the students’ lungs were taking in air the way they had to, and the wind was whipping around the windows precisely as it had to. All was correct, proper, and perfect. And then another thought came – that there were countless similarly perfect moments awaiting all of us today.
..........
At the break in one of the classes, most of the kids went out into the hall or outside, but one girl sat at the table reading. This is a popular girl with many friends, but today she chose to read. Perhaps she has found additonal friends in the pages of her book.
.............
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 61, Tuesday, December 9, 2008
SD One boy in the 9th grade had a genuine epiphany today, and all of us in the room benefited from it.CM We were discussing Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”, which we’ve been reading this month, and, just when I happened to turn to this student, he jumped a little in his seat, opened his eyes wider, and gave a small burst of enthusiasm. CM I quickly said, “Yes. What is it? What have you realized?” CM He proceeded to tell us, in a faltering, uncertain manner, that he had suddenly realized something about Scrooge, and he went on to explain it with great fervor. CM The students and I were totally attentive as we listened, for we sensed that this was a special moment. CS A lamp had turned on in this boy, and we were all in the glow of its light.
..........
Day 61, Tuesday, December 9, 2008
SD One boy in the 9th grade had a genuine epiphany today, and all of us in the room benefited from it.CM We were discussing Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”, which we’ve been reading this month, and, just when I happened to turn to this student, he jumped a little in his seat, opened his eyes wider, and gave a small burst of enthusiasm. CM I quickly said, “Yes. What is it? What have you realized?” CM He proceeded to tell us, in a faltering, uncertain manner, that he had suddenly realized something about Scrooge, and he went on to explain it with great fervor. CM The students and I were totally attentive as we listened, for we sensed that this was a special moment. CS A lamp had turned on in this boy, and we were all in the glow of its light.
..........
SD During a free period today, I was sitting in my classroom, surrounded by the holiday lights, when it suddenly came to me, with stunning and somewhat overwhelming clarity, how many people have contributed to my education. CM In a just a few seconds, I thought of a high school coach who taught me to be brave, a college history teacher who said I was ignorant because I was not a serious reader (he was right), another college professor who said I wasn’t working anywhere close to my potential (she was right), and my father who showed me how to be a scholar, a servant, a leader, and a gentleman. CM But even more ‘teachers’ flashed through my mind in those few moments -- nameless, forgotten people who, by just a few words or a gesture, showed me a better way. CM Sitting there in my classroom among the glimmering lights, I realized, to my shock, that the number of people who have taught me what it means to be a good human being is way too large to be counted. CS In my 67 years, literally thousands of people have helped me stay on the right path.
It was an overpowering fact to think about. I felt dazed -- and grateful beyond words.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 60, Monday, December 8, 2008
Walking down the hall toward the copy machine on Friday, I noticed a lot of excitement in the 3rd grade room, so I wandered down to see what was happening. Well, it turned out that “a lot of excitement” was an understatement. There seemed to be boundless enthusiasm, pleasure, unrest, and exhilaration in those rooms. Pages of newspapers were spread around the floor, and students were eagerly studying the papers or sitting at their desks keenly making math calculations. The children welcomed me into their excitement and happily explained their project. It involved (if I understood correctly) buying and selling things that were advertised in the paper, and carefully keeping track of their expenses. Alexandra rather breathlessly explained that she simply couldn’t decide what to purchase, but luckily, just at that moment, young Colin came over with a bit of profit-making advice for her.
Another girl came to class carrying a large black book. She set it down at her place and began to stroke it affectionately, as though it was a priceless possession. I asked her what she was reading, and she said it was the third book in a series about vampires. “I absolutely love these books,” she said. When I glanced at her a few minutes later, during the reading time, she was guiding herself down a page with her finger, as though she was following a breathtaking trail.
Day 60, Monday, December 8, 2008
Walking down the hall toward the copy machine on Friday, I noticed a lot of excitement in the 3rd grade room, so I wandered down to see what was happening. Well, it turned out that “a lot of excitement” was an understatement. There seemed to be boundless enthusiasm, pleasure, unrest, and exhilaration in those rooms. Pages of newspapers were spread around the floor, and students were eagerly studying the papers or sitting at their desks keenly making math calculations. The children welcomed me into their excitement and happily explained their project. It involved (if I understood correctly) buying and selling things that were advertised in the paper, and carefully keeping track of their expenses. Alexandra rather breathlessly explained that she simply couldn’t decide what to purchase, but luckily, just at that moment, young Colin came over with a bit of profit-making advice for her.
I stayed only a few minutes, and left with the excitement of the room trailing behind me. As I walked back to the copy machine, I wondered when was the last time that kind of fervor was felt in my classroom. If excitement = enthusiasm = learning, there was a ton of learning down in the 3rd grade room.
............Now, I thought: What about my own room?
............
This morning, as one of the 8th grade classes was getting underway, I couldn’t help but feel, once again, the value of regular routines. As the students entered the room, they knew exactly where to sit and what to do. They checked the new jobs list, and one student promptly began collecting mugs and preparing the refreshments for class. All was in order, all was routine and regular, and because of that, all was at peace.
..............
............
This morning, as one of the 8th grade classes was getting underway, I couldn’t help but feel, once again, the value of regular routines. As the students entered the room, they knew exactly where to sit and what to do. They checked the new jobs list, and one student promptly began collecting mugs and preparing the refreshments for class. All was in order, all was routine and regular, and because of that, all was at peace.
..............
When I noticed one girl was reading a classic novel during quiet reading time, I mentioned to her that it was considered one of the greatest novels of the 20th century. She smiled as though she had received a compliment, as though she felt honored to be reading such a celebrated book. She said her parents had recommended it, and that she was enjoying it very much. I smiled, and then we went back to our reading. For a few minutes, though, she lingered in my thoughts, this wholeheartedly fervent young reader.
Another girl came to class carrying a large black book. She set it down at her place and began to stroke it affectionately, as though it was a priceless possession. I asked her what she was reading, and she said it was the third book in a series about vampires. “I absolutely love these books,” she said. When I glanced at her a few minutes later, during the reading time, she was guiding herself down a page with her finger, as though she was following a breathtaking trail.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
MODESTY IN TEACHING
It’s interesting to me that the word ‘modest’ derives from the Indo-European root ‘met’, which means ‘to take appropriate measure’. A modest person is one who has ‘measured’ himself correctly -- one who understands who he is (his ‘size’) in relation to the Universe. He knows that the Universe is vast beyond measurement, and realizes that, in comparison, any individual person is minuscule -- a ripple in an endless sea. He knows that each ripple is important, but no more important than any other -- that all the numberless ripples are equally essential to the amicable workings of the Cosmos. A modest teacher has correctly measured himself in this way, and therefore walks quietly in his classroom, speaks with benevolence, and listens to what the Universe is telling him.
It’s interesting to me that the word ‘modest’ derives from the Indo-European root ‘met’, which means ‘to take appropriate measure’. A modest person is one who has ‘measured’ himself correctly -- one who understands who he is (his ‘size’) in relation to the Universe. He knows that the Universe is vast beyond measurement, and realizes that, in comparison, any individual person is minuscule -- a ripple in an endless sea. He knows that each ripple is important, but no more important than any other -- that all the numberless ripples are equally essential to the amicable workings of the Cosmos. A modest teacher has correctly measured himself in this way, and therefore walks quietly in his classroom, speaks with benevolence, and listens to what the Universe is telling him.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
INSPIRATION AND FOOLISHNESS
After watching a TV show this afternoon about the Para-Olympics in Bejing, I feel both inspired and foolish. The inspiration comes from watching these valiant athletes overcome their adversities to become champions of a rare kind. They braved the curious looks of others and their own insistent doubts to rise to the level of conquering heroes.My feeling of foolishness stems from reflecting on my own petty concerns -- I who am blessed with a million gifts but often can only see as far as the next thing I can buy or the next compliment I can receive. I have been fortunate beyond reason, and yet I usually am more interested in moaning over my misfortunes than in thanking the universe for setting me down in paradise each day. These intrepid athletes put me to shame.
After watching a TV show this afternoon about the Para-Olympics in Bejing, I feel both inspired and foolish. The inspiration comes from watching these valiant athletes overcome their adversities to become champions of a rare kind. They braved the curious looks of others and their own insistent doubts to rise to the level of conquering heroes.My feeling of foolishness stems from reflecting on my own petty concerns -- I who am blessed with a million gifts but often can only see as far as the next thing I can buy or the next compliment I can receive. I have been fortunate beyond reason, and yet I usually am more interested in moaning over my misfortunes than in thanking the universe for setting me down in paradise each day. These intrepid athletes put me to shame.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 59, Friday, December 5, 2008
This morning, as they always do on Friday, the 9th graders did some free writing while listening to a song (“Walking to Memphis” by Marc Cohn), and, as usual, I was impressed with what they were able to write in only 13 minutes. Some of the lines in their small, spur-of-the-moment fragments were filled with tenderness and beauty. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Sunshine can create loveliness in just a few fleeting moments, so why shouldn’t the 14-year-olds in my class?
.............
I felt very special today in my new blue corduroy pants, and it made me hope that the scholars in my classes sometimes feel special too. There’s no feeling we prize more than the sense that we’re unique, extraordinary, irreplaceable. The feeling comes to most of us only now and again, but when it does, we stretch out and relax in it, as I did today. My step was a little more supple, my back a little straighter because of my blue cords, and I hope the scholars occasionally feel that way. New clothes could do it, but perhaps, for them, a finely-tuned sentence in an essay or a complimentary note from their English teacher could be just as elevating as my swanky new pants were for me.
Day 59, Friday, December 5, 2008
This morning, as they always do on Friday, the 9th graders did some free writing while listening to a song (“Walking to Memphis” by Marc Cohn), and, as usual, I was impressed with what they were able to write in only 13 minutes. Some of the lines in their small, spur-of-the-moment fragments were filled with tenderness and beauty. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Sunshine can create loveliness in just a few fleeting moments, so why shouldn’t the 14-year-olds in my class?
.............
I felt very special today in my new blue corduroy pants, and it made me hope that the scholars in my classes sometimes feel special too. There’s no feeling we prize more than the sense that we’re unique, extraordinary, irreplaceable. The feeling comes to most of us only now and again, but when it does, we stretch out and relax in it, as I did today. My step was a little more supple, my back a little straighter because of my blue cords, and I hope the scholars occasionally feel that way. New clothes could do it, but perhaps, for them, a finely-tuned sentence in an essay or a complimentary note from their English teacher could be just as elevating as my swanky new pants were for me.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 58, Thursday, December 4, 2008
I was thinking this morning about my version of a familiar Bible quote – “Stand still and see the works of the Universe” – and how I might apply it to my work in the classroom today. Certainly I need to occasionally “stand still”, not necessarily physically, but mentally and emotionally. I need to intermittently stop talking, stop worrying about how the class is going, stop thinking a million thoughts at once, and just step back and see what’s happening. Whenever I do that, I’m sure I’ll see that what’s happening is quite worthy of note – 12 students thinking hundreds of new thoughts, 12 students speaking with each other in kind and clever ways, 12 students growing and transforming before my eyes. But I also need to step back now and then and give a moment’s thought to the rest of the ‘works’ of the grand universe we’re a part of. While the scholars and I are toiling away on our English tasks, countless numbers of people around the globe will be thinking happy thoughts, innumerable birds will be living their exceptional lives, and untold millions of stars will be twirling where they’ve been twirling for eons. All the works of the Universe are astounding beyond belief and deserve our attention and reverence. A few of them will be happening in Room 2 on Barnes Road.
............
I noticed a girl carefully stirring her hot chocolate as we were finishing the quiet reading period. It occurred to me that she was being as meticulous with that as she is with her work for English class – slowly sweeping the spoon around the edges of the cup to make sure all the powder was dissolved. As I glanced around the table, I could see that most of the other students were also enjoying their refreshments with attention and concentration, the same attitudes I expect of them when they do their reading and writing assignments.
Day 58, Thursday, December 4, 2008
I was thinking this morning about my version of a familiar Bible quote – “Stand still and see the works of the Universe” – and how I might apply it to my work in the classroom today. Certainly I need to occasionally “stand still”, not necessarily physically, but mentally and emotionally. I need to intermittently stop talking, stop worrying about how the class is going, stop thinking a million thoughts at once, and just step back and see what’s happening. Whenever I do that, I’m sure I’ll see that what’s happening is quite worthy of note – 12 students thinking hundreds of new thoughts, 12 students speaking with each other in kind and clever ways, 12 students growing and transforming before my eyes. But I also need to step back now and then and give a moment’s thought to the rest of the ‘works’ of the grand universe we’re a part of. While the scholars and I are toiling away on our English tasks, countless numbers of people around the globe will be thinking happy thoughts, innumerable birds will be living their exceptional lives, and untold millions of stars will be twirling where they’ve been twirling for eons. All the works of the Universe are astounding beyond belief and deserve our attention and reverence. A few of them will be happening in Room 2 on Barnes Road.
............
I noticed a girl carefully stirring her hot chocolate as we were finishing the quiet reading period. It occurred to me that she was being as meticulous with that as she is with her work for English class – slowly sweeping the spoon around the edges of the cup to make sure all the powder was dissolved. As I glanced around the table, I could see that most of the other students were also enjoying their refreshments with attention and concentration, the same attitudes I expect of them when they do their reading and writing assignments.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 57, Wednesday, December 3, 2008
As I was planning today’s lessons yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me that ‘I’ don’t really do the planning, just as I don’t plan what thoughts will arise today or how the winds will blow across the school campus. Ideas came to mind yesterday in the planning process, but where they came from or what power originated them is beyond my understanding. They simply suggested themselves to me, and somehow the ‘best’ ideas separated themselves and become part of today’s lesson plan. It’s silliness to pretend that some separate, isolated person called Hamilton Salsich ‘makes’ a lesson plan by himself. All of the ideas that are put to use in my classroom come not from any particular individual, but from the boundless cosmos of ideas. On their endless journeys, thoughts drop into Room 2 for a short stay before sailing on to other rooms and other people. All I do is humbly welcome them.
............
In the first 9th grade class this morning, I got the feeling that the kids hadn’t understand much of the reading in “A Christmas Carol” last night. It’s certainly a tricky and demanding story, and it may also be that the students simply weren’t as alert during the reading as they might have been. In any case, the glory and power of the story passed them by last night, so it’s my duty to slow the pace down and do some watchful re-reading and conversing with the students. If we miss a miracle the first time around, wouldn’t we go back for a second look?
............
“Majesty” is an interesting word that, surprisingly, can be related to teaching middle school English. One definition says the word means “a deeply impressive and dignified quality”, which is what I see every day in my classes. In one way or another, I am always thoroughly impressed with each of my students each day. They are not always superior scholars of reading and writing, and they (like all of us) sometimes make mistakes, but they are always excellent human beings. Always. I see an inner dignity in each of them. They bring ingenuous and uncomplicated majesty to my classroom.
Day 57, Wednesday, December 3, 2008
As I was planning today’s lessons yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me that ‘I’ don’t really do the planning, just as I don’t plan what thoughts will arise today or how the winds will blow across the school campus. Ideas came to mind yesterday in the planning process, but where they came from or what power originated them is beyond my understanding. They simply suggested themselves to me, and somehow the ‘best’ ideas separated themselves and become part of today’s lesson plan. It’s silliness to pretend that some separate, isolated person called Hamilton Salsich ‘makes’ a lesson plan by himself. All of the ideas that are put to use in my classroom come not from any particular individual, but from the boundless cosmos of ideas. On their endless journeys, thoughts drop into Room 2 for a short stay before sailing on to other rooms and other people. All I do is humbly welcome them.
............
In the first 9th grade class this morning, I got the feeling that the kids hadn’t understand much of the reading in “A Christmas Carol” last night. It’s certainly a tricky and demanding story, and it may also be that the students simply weren’t as alert during the reading as they might have been. In any case, the glory and power of the story passed them by last night, so it’s my duty to slow the pace down and do some watchful re-reading and conversing with the students. If we miss a miracle the first time around, wouldn’t we go back for a second look?
............
“Majesty” is an interesting word that, surprisingly, can be related to teaching middle school English. One definition says the word means “a deeply impressive and dignified quality”, which is what I see every day in my classes. In one way or another, I am always thoroughly impressed with each of my students each day. They are not always superior scholars of reading and writing, and they (like all of us) sometimes make mistakes, but they are always excellent human beings. Always. I see an inner dignity in each of them. They bring ingenuous and uncomplicated majesty to my classroom.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 56, Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I enjoy having three 9th grade
Day 56, Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I enjoy having three 9th grade
classes back to back on Tuesday mornings, mostly because I find it to be an efficient way of improving my teaching. I teach the same lesson to each class, and my teaching seems get a little better each time. After each class, I make tiny modifications and slight reshufflings, and almost invariably the next class seems somewhat superior. I feel like a chef, testing and tweaking a recipe by preparing it for three consecutive groups.
.............
The literary discussions in the 9th grade classes were impressive, not because they were particularly profound but because the students participated with poise and dignity. They’re only 14-years-old, so their insights into the literature are understandably straightforward and unsophisticated, but their ability to be attentive listeners and self-assured contributors surpasses what I’ve seen in many adults. I stepped back from the discussions and allowed the scholars to supervise it themselves, and they did a first-rate job. If I had gone to the faculty room for coffee, I’m convinced the discussions would have proceeded in a peaceable and confident manner.
..............
We didn’t have a designated server today, so a 9th grade girl quickly asked me if she could serve. She was the first student to arrive, and she seemed eager to request the job. When I said I would he happy if she served, she seemed delighted, as if I had done her a distinguished act of kindness.
...............
Something occurred today that made me question whether some of my on-line comments about my students’ essays are perhaps too critical. One of my students’ essays on his blog received an anonymous comment saying that my comment about the essay was ‘hurtful’ and ‘disappointing’. When I read this comment, I was stunned, mostly because I had not – at least recently -- considered the possibility that my comments were anything but positive and helpful. I immediately re-read my comment to the student, as well as many other comments I had posted to other students, looking for sentences that might be construed as ‘hurtful’. I found many critical statements – comments that frankly pointed out shortcomings in the essays – but it was hard for me to decide whether they were hurtful or not. I puzzled over this for quite a while this afternoon, often rebuking myself for perhaps being an unnecessarily stern teacher. I will continue to give it serious thought. I certainly want to be known as a ‘hard’ teacher (one who has high expectations for his students), but not as a ‘harsh’ one.
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The literary discussions in the 9th grade classes were impressive, not because they were particularly profound but because the students participated with poise and dignity. They’re only 14-years-old, so their insights into the literature are understandably straightforward and unsophisticated, but their ability to be attentive listeners and self-assured contributors surpasses what I’ve seen in many adults. I stepped back from the discussions and allowed the scholars to supervise it themselves, and they did a first-rate job. If I had gone to the faculty room for coffee, I’m convinced the discussions would have proceeded in a peaceable and confident manner.
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We didn’t have a designated server today, so a 9th grade girl quickly asked me if she could serve. She was the first student to arrive, and she seemed eager to request the job. When I said I would he happy if she served, she seemed delighted, as if I had done her a distinguished act of kindness.
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Something occurred today that made me question whether some of my on-line comments about my students’ essays are perhaps too critical. One of my students’ essays on his blog received an anonymous comment saying that my comment about the essay was ‘hurtful’ and ‘disappointing’. When I read this comment, I was stunned, mostly because I had not – at least recently -- considered the possibility that my comments were anything but positive and helpful. I immediately re-read my comment to the student, as well as many other comments I had posted to other students, looking for sentences that might be construed as ‘hurtful’. I found many critical statements – comments that frankly pointed out shortcomings in the essays – but it was hard for me to decide whether they were hurtful or not. I puzzled over this for quite a while this afternoon, often rebuking myself for perhaps being an unnecessarily stern teacher. I will continue to give it serious thought. I certainly want to be known as a ‘hard’ teacher (one who has high expectations for his students), but not as a ‘harsh’ one.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Teaching Journal
Day 55, Monday, December 1, 2008
One part of my lesson with the 8th grade didn’t go the way I’d hoped it would this morning, but I’m trying my best not to ‘pass judgment’ on it. I showed the students a website that I thought was quite exciting, but after a minute or so, it was clear that the students felt differently. As I demonstrated how the website works, there was a palpable feeling of bewilderment and weariness in the air. I ended my presentation early, and for a few moments I was feeling discouraged and disappointed. However, it occurred to me after the students left that ‘judging’ the relative success of the presentation would be a foolish and useless enterprise. After all, who really knows how the students might have benefited from it? Who has enough wisdom and perspicacity to see into the hearts of each student and perceive how their minds were affected by the website, and by what I said? Who has access to a big enough picture to be able to assess the trillions of possible benefits that the students might have received? Certainly not me. I am merely one breeze in the infinite wind of learning that blows through the universe. I blew a certain way this morning, and I have to feel that, in one way or another, my actions will eventually produce some advantageous results. I simply have to keep teaching, keep analyzing my lessons, keep trying different approaches, keep having faith in myself -- and let the great universe itself do the judging.
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When the student rings the chimes to bring the silent reading period to an end, I must remember to wait a few moments – maybe more than a few – before moving the scholars on to the next part of the lesson. There is no hurry. The clocks will keep ticking at the same pace, the planets will continue turning at their accustomed speed, and night will fall whenever it will fall – no matter how fast I push the students in my classes. Like the slowly changing sunlight on a given day, I need to allow my students to unhurriedly travel through my lessons. It’s the only way for them to truly see the sights I’ve prepared for them.
...........
I was surprised today when a girl who is the designated ‘comfy chair sitter’ this week politely declined the privilege. When I asked her about it, she simply said, “I prefer to have a table to work on.”
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During yesterday’s daylong storm, I got to thinking about the hundreds and thousands of thoughts that occur to my students during each English class. It’s a ‘rainstorm of thoughts’ – a steady shower of ideas falling freely on the scholars from who knows where. Best of all, like rain, this constant shower of thoughts does not discriminate. Rain fell on every house in Westerly yesterday, and splendid thoughts fall on each of my students during every class. Perhaps I should occasionally sit back and try to picture this mental storm, this graceful and ceaseless descent of ideas in Room 2.
Day 55, Monday, December 1, 2008
One part of my lesson with the 8th grade didn’t go the way I’d hoped it would this morning, but I’m trying my best not to ‘pass judgment’ on it. I showed the students a website that I thought was quite exciting, but after a minute or so, it was clear that the students felt differently. As I demonstrated how the website works, there was a palpable feeling of bewilderment and weariness in the air. I ended my presentation early, and for a few moments I was feeling discouraged and disappointed. However, it occurred to me after the students left that ‘judging’ the relative success of the presentation would be a foolish and useless enterprise. After all, who really knows how the students might have benefited from it? Who has enough wisdom and perspicacity to see into the hearts of each student and perceive how their minds were affected by the website, and by what I said? Who has access to a big enough picture to be able to assess the trillions of possible benefits that the students might have received? Certainly not me. I am merely one breeze in the infinite wind of learning that blows through the universe. I blew a certain way this morning, and I have to feel that, in one way or another, my actions will eventually produce some advantageous results. I simply have to keep teaching, keep analyzing my lessons, keep trying different approaches, keep having faith in myself -- and let the great universe itself do the judging.
..............
When the student rings the chimes to bring the silent reading period to an end, I must remember to wait a few moments – maybe more than a few – before moving the scholars on to the next part of the lesson. There is no hurry. The clocks will keep ticking at the same pace, the planets will continue turning at their accustomed speed, and night will fall whenever it will fall – no matter how fast I push the students in my classes. Like the slowly changing sunlight on a given day, I need to allow my students to unhurriedly travel through my lessons. It’s the only way for them to truly see the sights I’ve prepared for them.
...........
I was surprised today when a girl who is the designated ‘comfy chair sitter’ this week politely declined the privilege. When I asked her about it, she simply said, “I prefer to have a table to work on.”
..............
During yesterday’s daylong storm, I got to thinking about the hundreds and thousands of thoughts that occur to my students during each English class. It’s a ‘rainstorm of thoughts’ – a steady shower of ideas falling freely on the scholars from who knows where. Best of all, like rain, this constant shower of thoughts does not discriminate. Rain fell on every house in Westerly yesterday, and splendid thoughts fall on each of my students during every class. Perhaps I should occasionally sit back and try to picture this mental storm, this graceful and ceaseless descent of ideas in Room 2.
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