That is precisely the term for the period on the educational calendar between mid-January (semester change for us) and Good Friday (start of spring break). The weeks stretch on endlessly, the weather vacillates between winter and proto-spring, and the kids and teachers feel under-energized. It is appropriate, I suppose, that the school doldrums fall during Lent.
Anyway, I have to attend a follow-up workshop one afternoon this week, and give my frickin' writing workshop again on Thursday. Want to guess how this week will go?
I do have one metaphysical question to ponder: why is it that the same kids (in this case, a little hispanic girl) who seem the most gung-ho to get in a fight end up looking the most confused, hurt, and miserable after the fight finally comes off? Didn't they get what they wanted all along?
26 February 2007
24 February 2007
Latest on PLC's; Also, The Curse Continues
A couple of quick updates:
1. On the subject of Professional Learning Communities(PLC's), and the big faculty meeting from last week (which I was unable to attend), I have vague news to report. It seems that there was no unveiling of any new school-wide initiatives or programs (keep your fingers crossed). The main focus of our principal's message, centered around some quotes from the wretchedly written PLC newsletter, was that of teacher collegiality. Unfortunately, I don't have many details on what was said, but I still have two cents to put in: collegiality is a wonderful trait for a faculty to have, but what do you do with those who won't play along? The answer to that question is essential.
2. The Curse of '06/'07 continues unabated, and it has once again struck our department. Our senior-most senior English teacher, the woman who was department chair when I started, and whom I would most choose to be like if I was going to be like another teacher, is the latest victim. For some freakish reason, she decided to ride a four-wheeler with her grandson. Apparently the throttle in the thing stuck, and they went into a ditch, where (I guess) she was thrown off. Two of her vertebrae, one at the top and one at the bottom, were broken, and following surgery she now will be in a brace for a couple of months.
Now, she could have retired after last semester, but chose to stay out of the goodness of her heart because it was going to be so hard on us to replace two English teachers in the middle of the year. But, in our Greek Tragedy kind of year, there was no averting fate, apparently. So now we will have to find a new teacher anyway.
I hate this for her, because she is such a good soul, and I hate it for her students (mostly seniors), who needed a tough old school marm to pound on them one last semester before the real world comes calling.
Oh, and in case you think this a bizarre injury for a grandma, one of our over-sixty math teachers broke both her legs a couple of years ago in a sky-diving accident.
1. On the subject of Professional Learning Communities(PLC's), and the big faculty meeting from last week (which I was unable to attend), I have vague news to report. It seems that there was no unveiling of any new school-wide initiatives or programs (keep your fingers crossed). The main focus of our principal's message, centered around some quotes from the wretchedly written PLC newsletter, was that of teacher collegiality. Unfortunately, I don't have many details on what was said, but I still have two cents to put in: collegiality is a wonderful trait for a faculty to have, but what do you do with those who won't play along? The answer to that question is essential.
2. The Curse of '06/'07 continues unabated, and it has once again struck our department. Our senior-most senior English teacher, the woman who was department chair when I started, and whom I would most choose to be like if I was going to be like another teacher, is the latest victim. For some freakish reason, she decided to ride a four-wheeler with her grandson. Apparently the throttle in the thing stuck, and they went into a ditch, where (I guess) she was thrown off. Two of her vertebrae, one at the top and one at the bottom, were broken, and following surgery she now will be in a brace for a couple of months.
Now, she could have retired after last semester, but chose to stay out of the goodness of her heart because it was going to be so hard on us to replace two English teachers in the middle of the year. But, in our Greek Tragedy kind of year, there was no averting fate, apparently. So now we will have to find a new teacher anyway.
I hate this for her, because she is such a good soul, and I hate it for her students (mostly seniors), who needed a tough old school marm to pound on them one last semester before the real world comes calling.
Oh, and in case you think this a bizarre injury for a grandma, one of our over-sixty math teachers broke both her legs a couple of years ago in a sky-diving accident.
19 February 2007
Pretend you are principal for a minute:
Let's say that on a state End of Course test in a certain subject area (you make the choice), a school has been performing exceptionally well, considering the make-up of its student population, for four or five years in a row. The sections of this particular course were split among two to three teachers in the department, all of whom got almost identical results. If they had honors classes, their honors kids all did as expected. If they had college prep or general classes, the majority of their kids all passed, and even sometimes exceeded expectations. All three of these teachers usually expressed some surprise that the results were so good, and generally chalked it all up to the students actually putting forth real effort for once, and the test score formula being dumbed down a bit. But all three teachers also knew that they at least did their best to teach the course and get the kids prepared.
Oh, and let's say that the scores from this particular test go into the "report card" formula for the school's overall rating. And that potential bonuses are riding on this rating, as well as the school's safe haven from prying state Dept. of Education types.
Now, let's say that another teacher in this department has not been able to pass the Praxis exam for high school certification after a number of tries. Thus, this teacher is constrained, by the NCLB Act, in what he/she is supposed to teach. Through the past few years, this teacher has been given grade levels that don't have this End of Course test attached to them, but they are not the grade levels he/she is certified for. The one grade level that he/she is certified for, alas, is the level that does have the test attached to it. Sooooo...
Over the summer the new administration decides that, so as not to run afoul of NCLB, this teacher has to be given all the sections from the grade level he/she is certified for. Yes, this means that all the kids taking the End of Course test will be taught by this one person, and all their scores, rightly or wrongly, will be this one person's responsibility. Reports abound from students as to the past teaching methods, or lack thereof, of this teacher. The methods are reported to include spending great amounts of class time rumor-mongering, picking out the foibles of students and teachers, and leaving the class for smoke breaks or chats in the hallway. But apparently administration felt its hands were tied. Soooo... (bored yet?)
The first semester's scores come back in, and fully one-third of this teacher's kids fail the test. The number of failures already exceeds, by more than a couple, the total number of test failures over any one year period from the last few school years. Let's also say that one of the other teachers in the department was at the county office for some business, and ran into the director of secondary schools, who was also the former principal of his particular school. This director immediately became animated about the large number of failures, and said he told the administration not to make the change, and that he hoped the change would be remanded for next year. All this confirmed the visiting teacher's suspicion that the score results were really, really bad, and were an eyesore for the school and the county.
Now - you are the principal. Assuming a non-topsy-turvy educational world (hah!), what would you do?
Oh, and let's say that the scores from this particular test go into the "report card" formula for the school's overall rating. And that potential bonuses are riding on this rating, as well as the school's safe haven from prying state Dept. of Education types.
Now, let's say that another teacher in this department has not been able to pass the Praxis exam for high school certification after a number of tries. Thus, this teacher is constrained, by the NCLB Act, in what he/she is supposed to teach. Through the past few years, this teacher has been given grade levels that don't have this End of Course test attached to them, but they are not the grade levels he/she is certified for. The one grade level that he/she is certified for, alas, is the level that does have the test attached to it. Sooooo...
Over the summer the new administration decides that, so as not to run afoul of NCLB, this teacher has to be given all the sections from the grade level he/she is certified for. Yes, this means that all the kids taking the End of Course test will be taught by this one person, and all their scores, rightly or wrongly, will be this one person's responsibility. Reports abound from students as to the past teaching methods, or lack thereof, of this teacher. The methods are reported to include spending great amounts of class time rumor-mongering, picking out the foibles of students and teachers, and leaving the class for smoke breaks or chats in the hallway. But apparently administration felt its hands were tied. Soooo... (bored yet?)
The first semester's scores come back in, and fully one-third of this teacher's kids fail the test. The number of failures already exceeds, by more than a couple, the total number of test failures over any one year period from the last few school years. Let's also say that one of the other teachers in the department was at the county office for some business, and ran into the director of secondary schools, who was also the former principal of his particular school. This director immediately became animated about the large number of failures, and said he told the administration not to make the change, and that he hoped the change would be remanded for next year. All this confirmed the visiting teacher's suspicion that the score results were really, really bad, and were an eyesore for the school and the county.
Now - you are the principal. Assuming a non-topsy-turvy educational world (hah!), what would you do?
13 February 2007
Field Trip Highlights Part III
Friday, February 9th, 1:00 pm: We entered the confines of Davidson's beautiful campus minutes ago, and I was looking forward to hearing the responses from the kids upon seeing it. Unfortunately, half the girls were too preoccupied with who stank up the middle of the bus. Seriously. No, when I typed in girls, it wasn't a mistake, and frankly I don't know if my gentlemanly sensibilities will recover. Sigh. You would think this was the JV Football bus or something.
1:15 Country-come-to-town moment? We walked into the student center of "The Princeton of the South", and I hear, from the front of the line, "Where's the gift shop?" Double sigh.
5:00 Pericles is now over, and it was a magical performance, as befits a play containing magic in its plot. The Royal Shakespeare Company is known for its unique presentations of the plays, and being a traditional-leaning person, this is sometimes disconcerting. But much can be overlooked as long as "the play's the thing." The setting for this one was, more or less, that of war-torn Africa, but to tell the truth, as the play progressed the setting dissolved in my consciousness, and the wonder of the drama and the language was all that mattered.
What made this performance so special was the promenade stage area built for the audience and actors. Several rows of seats in the performance hall have temporarily disappeared beneath a large platform structure that can accomodate about 100 people in addition to the actors. At one end of the platform a wooden ramp walkway curves upward from the floor to the balcony, and at the other end there is a ladder to an open apartment box, and sliding doors below the box from which actors can emerge and disappear. Thus, the actors were at times walking around us (literally touching us at times), acting above us, descending to us, and even sneaking up on us. One of my students got invited to join a feast table and eat and drink while the performers sat around her and, well, performed the play.
I'll just make passing mention of the live musicians, a red light district set complete with pole dancers, and the wonderfully rendered recognition scenes at the end of the play when Pericles discovers first his long-lost daughter, and then his long-lost wife, who gets to really meet her daughter for the first time. This, of course left my chaperone parent in tears (pregnant mom, you know), but it left me, and a few students, misty-eyed as well. Absolutely brilliant, RSC. Oh, and Shakespeare - yeah, you're alright too.
10:55: We are about to roll into the school parking lot after our latest five hours on the road. Once again, we had to stop twice for bathroom breaks. On the second one, we took an exit that was more populated with shopping centers than service stations. Finally we said "what the hell" and pulled into a Borders Bookstore, which have nicer facilities in any case. Again, pajama pants have myteriously appeared, but apparently no one in Borders cared. The girls informed me, however, through giggles and mock disgust, that upon leaving the bathroom they saw some book called the "Kuma Satra" which was about sex positions, and when you open it up there were little stickers in it. "Did someone force you to open it?" "No." Then I told them that when I worked in a book store long ago, there weren't any such stickers. "Ahhh... that means you've looked at one before, Mr. P!" they said with shocked laughter. Score some cool points for the old man.
On the bus, the sleepers are stirring around a little. A couple of seats behind me two of the BFF's, who have been obnoxiously singing for an hour now, warble along with the Ataris' version of "The Boys of Summer", which they've found while scrolling through my iPod Nano (more cool points). The bus driver tells me how surprised he was that he loved the play so much. One girl tells me she has already decided to attend Davidson in two years (I hope so, but let her dream, either way). We are home safe, the same people, but hopefully changed just a little. Twelve happy kids, and three tired, but fortunate adults. It's rare, but sometimes things work exactly as they should.
1:15 Country-come-to-town moment? We walked into the student center of "The Princeton of the South", and I hear, from the front of the line, "Where's the gift shop?" Double sigh.
5:00 Pericles is now over, and it was a magical performance, as befits a play containing magic in its plot. The Royal Shakespeare Company is known for its unique presentations of the plays, and being a traditional-leaning person, this is sometimes disconcerting. But much can be overlooked as long as "the play's the thing." The setting for this one was, more or less, that of war-torn Africa, but to tell the truth, as the play progressed the setting dissolved in my consciousness, and the wonder of the drama and the language was all that mattered.
What made this performance so special was the promenade stage area built for the audience and actors. Several rows of seats in the performance hall have temporarily disappeared beneath a large platform structure that can accomodate about 100 people in addition to the actors. At one end of the platform a wooden ramp walkway curves upward from the floor to the balcony, and at the other end there is a ladder to an open apartment box, and sliding doors below the box from which actors can emerge and disappear. Thus, the actors were at times walking around us (literally touching us at times), acting above us, descending to us, and even sneaking up on us. One of my students got invited to join a feast table and eat and drink while the performers sat around her and, well, performed the play.
I'll just make passing mention of the live musicians, a red light district set complete with pole dancers, and the wonderfully rendered recognition scenes at the end of the play when Pericles discovers first his long-lost daughter, and then his long-lost wife, who gets to really meet her daughter for the first time. This, of course left my chaperone parent in tears (pregnant mom, you know), but it left me, and a few students, misty-eyed as well. Absolutely brilliant, RSC. Oh, and Shakespeare - yeah, you're alright too.
10:55: We are about to roll into the school parking lot after our latest five hours on the road. Once again, we had to stop twice for bathroom breaks. On the second one, we took an exit that was more populated with shopping centers than service stations. Finally we said "what the hell" and pulled into a Borders Bookstore, which have nicer facilities in any case. Again, pajama pants have myteriously appeared, but apparently no one in Borders cared. The girls informed me, however, through giggles and mock disgust, that upon leaving the bathroom they saw some book called the "Kuma Satra" which was about sex positions, and when you open it up there were little stickers in it. "Did someone force you to open it?" "No." Then I told them that when I worked in a book store long ago, there weren't any such stickers. "Ahhh... that means you've looked at one before, Mr. P!" they said with shocked laughter. Score some cool points for the old man.
On the bus, the sleepers are stirring around a little. A couple of seats behind me two of the BFF's, who have been obnoxiously singing for an hour now, warble along with the Ataris' version of "The Boys of Summer", which they've found while scrolling through my iPod Nano (more cool points). The bus driver tells me how surprised he was that he loved the play so much. One girl tells me she has already decided to attend Davidson in two years (I hope so, but let her dream, either way). We are home safe, the same people, but hopefully changed just a little. Twelve happy kids, and three tired, but fortunate adults. It's rare, but sometimes things work exactly as they should.
12 February 2007
Field Trip Highlights Part II
(Not much time tonight, so here is a short part II of III)
Friday, February 9, 9:00 a.m.: Those of us who awoke on time ate from the continental breakfast at the hotel. No great shakes, but it did the job for me. Not so for one of the girls who sat with me. She attempted to make her own "waffle in a cup" and failed miserably, then gave up, then got back up and tried again, then brought her perfectly good waffle to the table, dipped it in syrup for one measly bite, and declared that she needed McDonald's ASAP. Is that something anyone should ever need ASAP?
Also, I was stopped by a friendly woman who wanted to know if we were real North Carolinians. Turns out she was from Vermont, and loved listening to our dialects as we were breakfasting. "One of them just said 'hisself', and I thought it was so cute," she enthusiastically told me. I agree with her, but would never tell the kids that, being an English teacher and all. And don't let them try that "hisself" or "theirselves" stuff out in a paper just because the nice Yankee woman liked it.
11:30: We are eating at the mall, the glorious mall. There was almost a revolt over this mall as we left the hotel. The morning manager told me we did not want to get involved in the traffic at South Park mall, the finest such establishment in nearby Charlotte, if we wanted to make the play on time. So I told the kids we were going to the big mall that was a little closer by, even if it wasn't as chic. Wailing and gnashing ensued for a few moments, but they soon accustomed themselves to the change. "As long as they have two of my three favorite stores [Hollister, American Eagle, and something else], I'll be o.k.," earnestly announced one of the freshmen. Yes, wars, pestilence, poverty, cruddy hotel coffee -these things we can survive. But imagine the horror if they didn't have two of those three stores...
(Tomorrow, I promise, I will blog on the actual play, which was our reason for going, after all)
Friday, February 9, 9:00 a.m.: Those of us who awoke on time ate from the continental breakfast at the hotel. No great shakes, but it did the job for me. Not so for one of the girls who sat with me. She attempted to make her own "waffle in a cup" and failed miserably, then gave up, then got back up and tried again, then brought her perfectly good waffle to the table, dipped it in syrup for one measly bite, and declared that she needed McDonald's ASAP. Is that something anyone should ever need ASAP?
Also, I was stopped by a friendly woman who wanted to know if we were real North Carolinians. Turns out she was from Vermont, and loved listening to our dialects as we were breakfasting. "One of them just said 'hisself', and I thought it was so cute," she enthusiastically told me. I agree with her, but would never tell the kids that, being an English teacher and all. And don't let them try that "hisself" or "theirselves" stuff out in a paper just because the nice Yankee woman liked it.
11:30: We are eating at the mall, the glorious mall. There was almost a revolt over this mall as we left the hotel. The morning manager told me we did not want to get involved in the traffic at South Park mall, the finest such establishment in nearby Charlotte, if we wanted to make the play on time. So I told the kids we were going to the big mall that was a little closer by, even if it wasn't as chic. Wailing and gnashing ensued for a few moments, but they soon accustomed themselves to the change. "As long as they have two of my three favorite stores [Hollister, American Eagle, and something else], I'll be o.k.," earnestly announced one of the freshmen. Yes, wars, pestilence, poverty, cruddy hotel coffee -these things we can survive. But imagine the horror if they didn't have two of those three stores...
(Tomorrow, I promise, I will blog on the actual play, which was our reason for going, after all)
11 February 2007
Field Trip Highlights, Part I
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Then are dreamt of in your shopping malls."
- Hamlet (sort of)
O.k., I made that last part up, but to prove a point. If you want to lure a few more teenagers onto a Shakespeare field trip halfway across the state, promise them the trip will include a stop at a shopping mall, one bigger than any near their homes. Works every time.
We made it back, and in one piece, from our whirlwind trip, which included about 11 total hours on the bus, innumerable bathroom stops, and the kind of teenage girl silliness that mad scientists can only dream of replicating in a lab. Since I didn't have my laptop with me, I couldn't do several logs a day, as I wished I could. So, instead, I've decided to do some blog re-enacting, if you will. Hope you enjoy the highlights:
Thursday, Feb. 8th - 4:15 p.m.: We are on the road on our Magic Bus. The final count includes 9 girls, three boys, a 42 year-old parent (who is pregnant, much to her surprise, with kidlet #4!), a mildly balding bus driver/teacher aide, and a rapidly balding me. Sounds like that Ruby Tuesday's about thirty minutes away is in for some trouble, don't you think?
6:30: You know, it takes a long time to feed, and take payments from, fifteen people. Most amusing, during this waitress-induced interregnum, is to hear so many of the kids exclaim in dismay about how much their bills were. One fast-forwards to the pleasures of hearing such from one's own know-it-all 18 year-old after his first week at college.
7:10: "Mr. P, I've got to pee." "Are you sure?" "Yes." (brilliant question I had, no?)
8:45: We've just had another bathroom stop, this time at a Burger King. As I walked toward the building, I saw the manager and another worker, who were taking a break outside, quickly get inside to their posts. This was only to watch us all come in and use the restrooms, or stand around inside just, you know, because. I wasn't hungry myself, but I felt for the guys, who probably expected some good business. Two of the girls finally, mercifully, bought drinks; however, this may just come across as an insult to the BK Lounge staff. Oh, and those soft drinks ought to help cut down on the pee stops.
9:40: We are getting close, and are now on a two-lane highway, which is bad news for my parent chaperone, because from her seat, she nervously watches the bus driver hugging those yellow lines. She has indicated her anxiety in polite, but unsubtle ways. But there is no stopping a bus driver once he's in the zone.
10:00: We've arrived, after overshooting the hotel once and having to turn around, little by little, in a cul-de-sac. Somehow a couple of the girls are now in their pajamas. No sooner do I have the room assignments finalized than the kids are off, not stopping for a millisecond to find out what room their fearless leader, stalwart guide, and valued mentor will be staying in. I guess they figure I'll be somewhere on their floor, and they can always just go around banging on doors if they need me. It feels great to be valued.
11:30: Curse that bus trip! Since I've been away from t.v/radio/computers for six hours, I've had no idea that Anna Nicole Smith passed away! I'm going to ask the school system to install XM Radio on the buses immediately. It is intolerable not to know about the latest C-list celebrity drug overdoses!
Before turning out I have watched the news, and, flipping around, a bizarre segment on HBO's "Real Sex" about middle-aged women who take dildos around to housewife parties and train said housewives in how to do hand jobs. I mention this only because, I'll bet, no account of a school field trip has ever mentioned anything like this. With good reason, I might add.
(Part II soon to come, with details on the actual play, the mall trip, another pee story, and probably some lapses into sentimentality)
Then are dreamt of in your shopping malls."
- Hamlet (sort of)
O.k., I made that last part up, but to prove a point. If you want to lure a few more teenagers onto a Shakespeare field trip halfway across the state, promise them the trip will include a stop at a shopping mall, one bigger than any near their homes. Works every time.
We made it back, and in one piece, from our whirlwind trip, which included about 11 total hours on the bus, innumerable bathroom stops, and the kind of teenage girl silliness that mad scientists can only dream of replicating in a lab. Since I didn't have my laptop with me, I couldn't do several logs a day, as I wished I could. So, instead, I've decided to do some blog re-enacting, if you will. Hope you enjoy the highlights:
Thursday, Feb. 8th - 4:15 p.m.: We are on the road on our Magic Bus. The final count includes 9 girls, three boys, a 42 year-old parent (who is pregnant, much to her surprise, with kidlet #4!), a mildly balding bus driver/teacher aide, and a rapidly balding me. Sounds like that Ruby Tuesday's about thirty minutes away is in for some trouble, don't you think?
6:30: You know, it takes a long time to feed, and take payments from, fifteen people. Most amusing, during this waitress-induced interregnum, is to hear so many of the kids exclaim in dismay about how much their bills were. One fast-forwards to the pleasures of hearing such from one's own know-it-all 18 year-old after his first week at college.
7:10: "Mr. P, I've got to pee." "Are you sure?" "Yes." (brilliant question I had, no?)
8:45: We've just had another bathroom stop, this time at a Burger King. As I walked toward the building, I saw the manager and another worker, who were taking a break outside, quickly get inside to their posts. This was only to watch us all come in and use the restrooms, or stand around inside just, you know, because. I wasn't hungry myself, but I felt for the guys, who probably expected some good business. Two of the girls finally, mercifully, bought drinks; however, this may just come across as an insult to the BK Lounge staff. Oh, and those soft drinks ought to help cut down on the pee stops.
9:40: We are getting close, and are now on a two-lane highway, which is bad news for my parent chaperone, because from her seat, she nervously watches the bus driver hugging those yellow lines. She has indicated her anxiety in polite, but unsubtle ways. But there is no stopping a bus driver once he's in the zone.
10:00: We've arrived, after overshooting the hotel once and having to turn around, little by little, in a cul-de-sac. Somehow a couple of the girls are now in their pajamas. No sooner do I have the room assignments finalized than the kids are off, not stopping for a millisecond to find out what room their fearless leader, stalwart guide, and valued mentor will be staying in. I guess they figure I'll be somewhere on their floor, and they can always just go around banging on doors if they need me. It feels great to be valued.
11:30: Curse that bus trip! Since I've been away from t.v/radio/computers for six hours, I've had no idea that Anna Nicole Smith passed away! I'm going to ask the school system to install XM Radio on the buses immediately. It is intolerable not to know about the latest C-list celebrity drug overdoses!
Before turning out I have watched the news, and, flipping around, a bizarre segment on HBO's "Real Sex" about middle-aged women who take dildos around to housewife parties and train said housewives in how to do hand jobs. I mention this only because, I'll bet, no account of a school field trip has ever mentioned anything like this. With good reason, I might add.
(Part II soon to come, with details on the actual play, the mall trip, another pee story, and probably some lapses into sentimentality)
07 February 2007
A-Barding We Go
Tomorrow afternoon we set sail (well, set bus engine) - my barbarous crew of middle-class white girls, a couple of geeky boys, two chaperones, and I - for Davidson College, where we will get to watch a full dress rehearsal of Pericles, performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company. This is the next to last year of the RSC's residency at Davidson, so we are taking advantage while we can. Unlike last year, my kids will not get to act, since last year's trainers are now this year's performers. However, we do get to sit on stage, as the plays are being done in promenade style, meaning we will be like movie extras, with the action going on all around us - even in our faces from time to time (only we don't exactly know what is coming). The reviews have been tremendous, and I can't wait.
I will have much to report, I'm sure, upon our return over the weekend.
I will have much to report, I'm sure, upon our return over the weekend.
02 February 2007
Uh-Oh.
Principal Goldberg (who, btw, I love as a boss more and more all the time - so this pains me a little) is working on his Phd., and apparently he drank some sort of Kool-Aid during his last "cohort" session at one of our state universities. He returned talking about being a more "instructionally-focused" leader, and about reprioritizing "90% of the way I spend my time and energy" as the principal. One of the first things he was going to change, he said, was the way we run faculty meetings, and there was some mention of the faculty reading a book together (yikes).
Well, this was all very heady sounding, but also gauzy. So since hearing this I've been most curious to learn of something concrete that was going to result from his epiphany. Today we received a copy of a professional development newsletter article from our DPI entitled "Leadership and Professional Learning Communities". We were asked to read it before our next faculty meeting on the 14th (which I won't be able to attend, darn the luck).
I've read it twice, and I hate to go negatore, but I need to have fun every now and then, so here goes. Strike one is that, while one gets little sense as to what kind of monster is hiding behind the dense "professional" prose of the article, one definitely gets the sense there is such a beast. Strike two against the article is that by sentence three these Professional Learning Communities are thereafter referred to as PLC's. Acronyms = Evil, my friends. Add to this the recurrence of the following words througout the article: vision, mission, empowering, collaboration, data, data, data, and data. Corporate Speak = Evil's Twin Brother.
(As an aside, one wonders how Shakespeare and his acting companies ever made it without formulating a mission statement.)
And then, strike three is constituted by the sheer fatuity of sentences and phrases like: "Change in PLC is an interconnected process, weaving faculty and staff together by design in webs of teams."; "But when we draw on what Brown and Lauder (2001) call 'collective intelligence,' that is infinite rather than fixed, multi-faceted rather than singular, and that belongs to everyone... the capacity for learning and improvement is magnified many times over." (me - I left out a syntax error from that one!); "This leadership is a combination of facilitative, transformational, visionary, and instructional." (me - instructional what, exactly?); "Leaders who create PLCs know that there is an urgent need for immediate results, but authentic, lasting and widespread change is a journey."
There is more from the article I could mock, but let me save some powder for the report I get after the faculty meeting in a couple of weeks. It is still unclear what all this really means, but I can give you one last bad omen. The picture that accompanies the last page of the article shows six people, sitting around a desk, having a freakin' meeting.
No doubt it is a collaborative one.
Well, this was all very heady sounding, but also gauzy. So since hearing this I've been most curious to learn of something concrete that was going to result from his epiphany. Today we received a copy of a professional development newsletter article from our DPI entitled "Leadership and Professional Learning Communities". We were asked to read it before our next faculty meeting on the 14th (which I won't be able to attend, darn the luck).
I've read it twice, and I hate to go negatore, but I need to have fun every now and then, so here goes. Strike one is that, while one gets little sense as to what kind of monster is hiding behind the dense "professional" prose of the article, one definitely gets the sense there is such a beast. Strike two against the article is that by sentence three these Professional Learning Communities are thereafter referred to as PLC's. Acronyms = Evil, my friends. Add to this the recurrence of the following words througout the article: vision, mission, empowering, collaboration, data, data, data, and data. Corporate Speak = Evil's Twin Brother.
(As an aside, one wonders how Shakespeare and his acting companies ever made it without formulating a mission statement.)
And then, strike three is constituted by the sheer fatuity of sentences and phrases like: "Change in PLC is an interconnected process, weaving faculty and staff together by design in webs of teams."; "But when we draw on what Brown and Lauder (2001) call 'collective intelligence,' that is infinite rather than fixed, multi-faceted rather than singular, and that belongs to everyone... the capacity for learning and improvement is magnified many times over." (me - I left out a syntax error from that one!); "This leadership is a combination of facilitative, transformational, visionary, and instructional." (me - instructional what, exactly?); "Leaders who create PLCs know that there is an urgent need for immediate results, but authentic, lasting and widespread change is a journey."
There is more from the article I could mock, but let me save some powder for the report I get after the faculty meeting in a couple of weeks. It is still unclear what all this really means, but I can give you one last bad omen. The picture that accompanies the last page of the article shows six people, sitting around a desk, having a freakin' meeting.
No doubt it is a collaborative one.
30 January 2007
The Scent of Weird...
...has been wafting around me at school lately.
First, about once a week over the last month or so, I've been getting a visit from a senior, whom I've never taught before (though I've taught his sister), intent on relating his firm belief that Jesus was just a good man, and that Christianity is a fraud first perpetrated on us for political reasons by Constantine. Why me? I have no idea, since I don't talk about Christianity at school unless it is in the context of reading something like Genesis, or The Divine Comedy. I might make the occasional mention of my church, but never when he's been around. Yet there he is lurking at my door at some point each week, apparently dying to get past the small talk and... what, evangelize me? I know I'm (over?)prone to putting real people and incidents in the context of Flannery O'Connor's fiction, but I swear this kid couldn't do a better Hazel Motes imitation to save his life (get the Flan pun there?). Next thing you know he'll be telling me he has started "The Church Without Christ."
And then there is my former principal's wife. She is retired from whatever it was she used to do, and so has been a substitute teacher in the county for the last couple of years. Just before Christmas, she stopped me in the hall and told me just how disappointed and upset she was that her husband wasn't featured enough in last year's yearbook: "He was only in two pictures! Where was the page all about the administrators? We thought everyone loved "us" here last year, and yet he's barely mentioned?" On and on she went, while I shifted nervously, and then she ran off to her class duty as the bell rang. Since that time, she apparently never fails to mention to any class she subs for how upset she is about the lack of coverage for her husband, and how she doesn't think she can support our book by buying one this year (she didn't buy one last year, anyway, btw), and shouldn't yearbooks have big features about the principal?, etc.
My solace is that everyone thinks she is crazy, and that she is being unprofessional, and just a wee bit paranoid. And since she's from NYC, you can imagine what her craziness gets attributed to, and what epithet gets attached to her. Fortunately, while I'm not above exposing her in my blog, I would never refer to her with the "Y" word. Well, rarely, at least.
First, about once a week over the last month or so, I've been getting a visit from a senior, whom I've never taught before (though I've taught his sister), intent on relating his firm belief that Jesus was just a good man, and that Christianity is a fraud first perpetrated on us for political reasons by Constantine. Why me? I have no idea, since I don't talk about Christianity at school unless it is in the context of reading something like Genesis, or The Divine Comedy. I might make the occasional mention of my church, but never when he's been around. Yet there he is lurking at my door at some point each week, apparently dying to get past the small talk and... what, evangelize me? I know I'm (over?)prone to putting real people and incidents in the context of Flannery O'Connor's fiction, but I swear this kid couldn't do a better Hazel Motes imitation to save his life (get the Flan pun there?). Next thing you know he'll be telling me he has started "The Church Without Christ."
And then there is my former principal's wife. She is retired from whatever it was she used to do, and so has been a substitute teacher in the county for the last couple of years. Just before Christmas, she stopped me in the hall and told me just how disappointed and upset she was that her husband wasn't featured enough in last year's yearbook: "He was only in two pictures! Where was the page all about the administrators? We thought everyone loved "us" here last year, and yet he's barely mentioned?" On and on she went, while I shifted nervously, and then she ran off to her class duty as the bell rang. Since that time, she apparently never fails to mention to any class she subs for how upset she is about the lack of coverage for her husband, and how she doesn't think she can support our book by buying one this year (she didn't buy one last year, anyway, btw), and shouldn't yearbooks have big features about the principal?, etc.
My solace is that everyone thinks she is crazy, and that she is being unprofessional, and just a wee bit paranoid. And since she's from NYC, you can imagine what her craziness gets attributed to, and what epithet gets attached to her. Fortunately, while I'm not above exposing her in my blog, I would never refer to her with the "Y" word. Well, rarely, at least.
28 January 2007
I Would Fire My Secretary...
... if I had one. As it is, I have only myself to blame for bad scheduling. How could it be that I had to drive back to school for a 7:00 Parent Open House Night on Thursday, and then had to pull basketball gate duty from 4:30-9:30 on Friday night? In any case, I think I've finally recovered now as I write on Sunday evening.
Once I get my senses back, I'll be better able to report on school doings. For a slight diversion, though, I would like to turn to the topic of Sports Broadcasting and The English Language. We all know that cliches are, apparently, a vital part of any sports broadcast. But there are also certain irritating phrases or terms that get introduced into the sports patois and, like viruses, infect all involved.
The latest I've noticed from basketball broadcasts and sports radio conversations are: "We need to get our bigs more involved." [Bigs used to be called centers, and sometimes power forwards]; "Their guards are quick and long."[Long has become the new "tall"]; and my favorite, "One of the strengths he brings to the team is his ability to score the basketball."[Hmmm. Since the only way you can score in basketball is with the basketball, I guess that is a good strength to have. Just think how much someone would be worth if he could, say, score the sneaker, or score the jersey!]
Once I get my senses back, I'll be better able to report on school doings. For a slight diversion, though, I would like to turn to the topic of Sports Broadcasting and The English Language. We all know that cliches are, apparently, a vital part of any sports broadcast. But there are also certain irritating phrases or terms that get introduced into the sports patois and, like viruses, infect all involved.
The latest I've noticed from basketball broadcasts and sports radio conversations are: "We need to get our bigs more involved." [Bigs used to be called centers, and sometimes power forwards]; "Their guards are quick and long."[Long has become the new "tall"]; and my favorite, "One of the strengths he brings to the team is his ability to score the basketball."[Hmmm. Since the only way you can score in basketball is with the basketball, I guess that is a good strength to have. Just think how much someone would be worth if he could, say, score the sneaker, or score the jersey!]
24 January 2007
Ambivalence and The New Semester
The new semester has started, and I'm not sure how I feel, besides slightly unmotivated. I have a class of 28 sophomores, a class of 20 sophomores, and a much improved yearbook class of only 14. I've managed to piss off a couple more of my former students because I wouldn't let them back into yearbook class; this after they did virtually nothing the whole first semester. Oh, well - seems to be a theme for me lately.
Anyhow, I can't seem to get a good read on the new classes yet. Frankly, the size of my first period class, along with the reputations of some of the kids in there, scares me to death - secretly I picture some kind of full-scale revolt, or brawl, or something awful. However, they have been good so far, and a couple of the thuggish types in there have behaved better this year, so I hear. Perhaps there is hope, but I definitely won't share with them that they worry me; that would be a huge mistake.
The second period class will probably be more fun, but there is a huge "Bubba" factor in there. These guys are of the "smarty-pants, huntin' and fishin', always making thinly veiled sex and alcohol jokes and snickering at themselves" variety. I have a lot of experience with such, so I'm not too worried about them, though no doubt they will irritate the snot out of me most days.
Somehow I didn't have any failures last semester, but I doubt that will be the case this time around. Oh, and can anyone give me tips on how to teach non-English speakers to write? in English?
Anyhow, I can't seem to get a good read on the new classes yet. Frankly, the size of my first period class, along with the reputations of some of the kids in there, scares me to death - secretly I picture some kind of full-scale revolt, or brawl, or something awful. However, they have been good so far, and a couple of the thuggish types in there have behaved better this year, so I hear. Perhaps there is hope, but I definitely won't share with them that they worry me; that would be a huge mistake.
The second period class will probably be more fun, but there is a huge "Bubba" factor in there. These guys are of the "smarty-pants, huntin' and fishin', always making thinly veiled sex and alcohol jokes and snickering at themselves" variety. I have a lot of experience with such, so I'm not too worried about them, though no doubt they will irritate the snot out of me most days.
Somehow I didn't have any failures last semester, but I doubt that will be the case this time around. Oh, and can anyone give me tips on how to teach non-English speakers to write? in English?
20 January 2007
The #1 Demographic for Those Who Hate MySpace.com...
... has to be high school teachers and administrators. Trust me, I don't hate all cutting-edge technology-related products and activities (though I probably won't know about them until they are old news to many of my family members and friends). I generally accept the conventional wisdom that the internet, and its popular sites, can be really beneficial, or really rotten, depending on how utilized. But MySpace? Let's just say I picture Screwtape and his buddies cooking that one up somewhere in the boss's basement. Anywhere there are kids on computers at school, it is highly likely that they are (at least on the side) finding a way around the security software and onto their idiotic personal MySpace pages.
Earlier in the year I expressed misgivings about how the MySpace format encourages teens to surrender to the world that which should remain private. It encourages narcissism and self-absorbtion, things most teens do not suffer from lack of in the first place. And,in passing, I'll just mention the well-documented fact that, oh, freakin' pedophiles use MySpace to great advantage. But here is what has me pissed off and ready crack heads right now:
One of our business teachers discovered on Thursday that there are two fraudulent (and public) MySpace pages that have been set up for a couple of teachers at our school. These were obviously set up by some smart-ass students(actually, it seems fairly clear who it was). One of them is set up for a popular gym coach, and the site doesn't mock or slander him, though it pokes some gentle fun at him. The other, set up for a civics teacher, is far more malicious.
Now, this teacher is a friend of mine, but I will readily admit he has an eccentric personality, and a kind of halting, labored delivery even in casual conversation. He is one of those teachers that we probably all had who was always a step behind his students, and therefore an easy target for practical jokes, purposely stupid questions, etc. But he is a really nice man, conscientious, and someone who constantly worries about both what his test scores will look like and the job he's doing as a girls basketball coach.
Not only was the fraudulent information on his page of a mocking nature, but the comments from "friends" on his page, who are of course other students at school, contain some awfully hateful language. Reading the thread, you can see that some got the joke right away, while others took a while; however, once it was clearly established that the page was not "real", the hate-spewers seemed to really unburden themselves.
The principal has already been informed, and the pages were printed out in their entirety in case they are deleted from the site. I have no idea what will happen from here, but I hope the discipline is severe. The gym teacher found out about his page and was angry, but so far as I know the civics teacher doesn't know, and for the sake of his feelings I hope he never finds out. (On the other hand, wouldn't it be just desserts for both of them to sue for defamation?)
Aside from my anger and disappointment in some of the students who were contributing to the "dialogue" on the site, most of whom are at least community-college bound,I'm astounded at their stupidity. By posting on a public site, which was so carelessly guarded that most of the faculty now knows about it, they have surrendered control of their reputations. Their posts, of course, all came attached with their little "friend" picture (duh!). Who would want to write a letter of recommendation for the most egregious of these posters? Who wants to give their rough drafts one more extra read, or cut them a break for a minor disciplinary matter? How might someone on the scholarship committee (I'm on it) view this when it came time to vote on a certain scholarships? And, as already mentioned, do they not have any clue about legal ramifications?
Plus, there are a couple of them I would really like to pull aside and punch. But that is one ramification, alas, that won't come to fruition.
Jerks.
Earlier in the year I expressed misgivings about how the MySpace format encourages teens to surrender to the world that which should remain private. It encourages narcissism and self-absorbtion, things most teens do not suffer from lack of in the first place. And,in passing, I'll just mention the well-documented fact that, oh, freakin' pedophiles use MySpace to great advantage. But here is what has me pissed off and ready crack heads right now:
One of our business teachers discovered on Thursday that there are two fraudulent (and public) MySpace pages that have been set up for a couple of teachers at our school. These were obviously set up by some smart-ass students(actually, it seems fairly clear who it was). One of them is set up for a popular gym coach, and the site doesn't mock or slander him, though it pokes some gentle fun at him. The other, set up for a civics teacher, is far more malicious.
Now, this teacher is a friend of mine, but I will readily admit he has an eccentric personality, and a kind of halting, labored delivery even in casual conversation. He is one of those teachers that we probably all had who was always a step behind his students, and therefore an easy target for practical jokes, purposely stupid questions, etc. But he is a really nice man, conscientious, and someone who constantly worries about both what his test scores will look like and the job he's doing as a girls basketball coach.
Not only was the fraudulent information on his page of a mocking nature, but the comments from "friends" on his page, who are of course other students at school, contain some awfully hateful language. Reading the thread, you can see that some got the joke right away, while others took a while; however, once it was clearly established that the page was not "real", the hate-spewers seemed to really unburden themselves.
The principal has already been informed, and the pages were printed out in their entirety in case they are deleted from the site. I have no idea what will happen from here, but I hope the discipline is severe. The gym teacher found out about his page and was angry, but so far as I know the civics teacher doesn't know, and for the sake of his feelings I hope he never finds out. (On the other hand, wouldn't it be just desserts for both of them to sue for defamation?)
Aside from my anger and disappointment in some of the students who were contributing to the "dialogue" on the site, most of whom are at least community-college bound,I'm astounded at their stupidity. By posting on a public site, which was so carelessly guarded that most of the faculty now knows about it, they have surrendered control of their reputations. Their posts, of course, all came attached with their little "friend" picture (duh!). Who would want to write a letter of recommendation for the most egregious of these posters? Who wants to give their rough drafts one more extra read, or cut them a break for a minor disciplinary matter? How might someone on the scholarship committee (I'm on it) view this when it came time to vote on a certain scholarships? And, as already mentioned, do they not have any clue about legal ramifications?
Plus, there are a couple of them I would really like to pull aside and punch. But that is one ramification, alas, that won't come to fruition.
Jerks.
17 January 2007
Mr. P Tells Unwelcome Truths; Girls in Snit
Usually the end of the semester, for me at least, is a time for fond farewells and sentimental remembrances that often have nothing to do with reality. Oh sure, I've wanted to strangle the hemoglobin out of many of these kids for months, but hey, I can afford to only remember the good times when I know I'm getting rid of the little lovelies for good (or at least for a semester).
Yesterday, the last day before exams, ended on a slightly more bitter note however. Things kind of came to a boil between me and three of the "it" girls from my honors class (they are also in my yearbook class) when they started complaining bitterly about how mean another teacher was to them (frankly, they are 75% right). But these are among the same girls (from a group that refer to themselves as "the Eight") who in the last couple of weeks have completely blown off class due to social dramas, and have decided they don't need to be quiet when someone (like, oh, their teacher) is speaking. And though this is none of my business, I suppose, two of "the Eight" just totally toyed with and dumped on a couple of boys in successive weeks.
I ended up telling the girls, in the most constructively critical way that I could, that they were quickly cementing a reputation around the school for being bratty and whiny.
Well.
Hysterics ensued, voices reached that completely irritating tone that only the adolescent is capable of, and what I said was already being misrepresented before the bell rung. An unfortunate, ugly ending to the day (though they couldn't help smiling as I laughed at their outrage). Still, I felt a little guilty about it for a while.
"The Eight", huh? I think I will begin referring to them as The Directorate.
Yesterday, the last day before exams, ended on a slightly more bitter note however. Things kind of came to a boil between me and three of the "it" girls from my honors class (they are also in my yearbook class) when they started complaining bitterly about how mean another teacher was to them (frankly, they are 75% right). But these are among the same girls (from a group that refer to themselves as "the Eight") who in the last couple of weeks have completely blown off class due to social dramas, and have decided they don't need to be quiet when someone (like, oh, their teacher) is speaking. And though this is none of my business, I suppose, two of "the Eight" just totally toyed with and dumped on a couple of boys in successive weeks.
I ended up telling the girls, in the most constructively critical way that I could, that they were quickly cementing a reputation around the school for being bratty and whiny.
Well.
Hysterics ensued, voices reached that completely irritating tone that only the adolescent is capable of, and what I said was already being misrepresented before the bell rung. An unfortunate, ugly ending to the day (though they couldn't help smiling as I laughed at their outrage). Still, I felt a little guilty about it for a while.
"The Eight", huh? I think I will begin referring to them as The Directorate.
14 January 2007
Curriculum Sans Content
I had a couple of thoughts to add to the discussion going on at Wyfe's blog about "theory" in English Departments. In the comments, reader Michael referenced a new book by Michael Berube entitled What's Liberal About The Liberal Arts? Classroom Politics and "Bias" in Higher Education. I haven't read the book, but recently read a lengthy review of it in the November "The New Criterion" by Mark Bauerlein, an English professor at Emory U. (registration is required to read the review on the TNC website).
I take it that Bauerlein is a conservative (gasp), and that Berube is a moderate liberal. Bauerlein's review contains some positive comments, including an acknowledgement of what Michael (the blog reader) says about Berube's evenhanded approach to theory. His chief criticisms, however, include Berube's acceptance of the notion that it really doesn't matter what you are teaching, as long as you are teaching kids to "open your minds, face verbal challenges, keep complacency at bay, and play fair."
Bauerlein has no problem with these practices in the classroom, except that they seem to become goals of a liberal arts education in and of themselves . He says, "This is today's fallback position for liberalism in higher education. It used to push curricular innovations such as 'opening the canon,' but those enthusiasms faded years ago. Now, shying away from content, it emphasizes forensic ideas and content-less habits such as critical thinking."
Ah, critical thinking. In case you ever wondered if the practices and ideas of the ivory tower really influenced public education, look no further than that loaded term. Go to any workshop, or heck, any teacher's meeting, and you will hear the mantra "Our kids just don't know how to do critical thinking anymore!" (as if the concept had a centuries-old tradition of usage). The Kool-Aid, it hath been swallowed.
In English especially, one can see the effects of this contentless "critical thinking" in the way state curriculum goals are written. There are rarely any specifics. Instead, the goals are written like this: "The learner will be able analyze a variety of fiction and non-fiction texts of increasing complexity from personal, social, and critical standpoints." For the last three years of high school, the goals include some mention of world (10th grade), American (11th grade), and British (12th grade) literature, but no specific works, authors, or eras are required to be taught. Our ninth graders take a state-mandated test at the end of ninth grade English that is, essentially, a reading aptitude test sprinkled with some questions involving literary terms. Why? Well, the curriculum for ninth grade demands that no particular texts or authors be taught during the year (not even Romeo and Juliet). Hamlet, Harry Potter, or Beatrix Potter; it doesn't matter, so long as we are hitting those critical thinking skills.
Well, I have and will continue to call hogwash on this concept. No one reads in order to improve their "critical thinking" skills, nor do they derive any moral benefit from concentrating on such abstract goals. Books, plays, or poems are not life-altering if they are approached in such a cold manner. In my experience as a teenager and college student, reading Huckleberry Finn or Macbeth stimulated me to think because I was moved by them (and, I was a slothful student who was, fortunately, forced to read them), not because of the reading skills the teacher was focusing on. Whatever "critical thinking" skills I learned came from my encounters with rather incredible content, and not the other way around.
Nor do such emphases really invite someone to wrestle with the traditions or aesthetic norms that have shaped so much of who we are (this is true, it would seem, even for those who want to repudiate them).
I would not want our state education boards to legislate what should be read in every classroom title by title, because some teacher autonomy and flexibility is important. But there are a few titles that should be in the curriculum, and certainly some authors that every student needs to encounter. And, since curricula is updated every few years, if reading Shakespeare no longer seems important to our society, say fifty years from now (ha!), then replace him with someone who has similarly stood the test of time. I just don't think we should continue to leave the English curricula, nor the testing that is based on it, in a completely free-floating content-zone.
I take it that Bauerlein is a conservative (gasp), and that Berube is a moderate liberal. Bauerlein's review contains some positive comments, including an acknowledgement of what Michael (the blog reader) says about Berube's evenhanded approach to theory. His chief criticisms, however, include Berube's acceptance of the notion that it really doesn't matter what you are teaching, as long as you are teaching kids to "open your minds, face verbal challenges, keep complacency at bay, and play fair."
Bauerlein has no problem with these practices in the classroom, except that they seem to become goals of a liberal arts education in and of themselves . He says, "This is today's fallback position for liberalism in higher education. It used to push curricular innovations such as 'opening the canon,' but those enthusiasms faded years ago. Now, shying away from content, it emphasizes forensic ideas and content-less habits such as critical thinking."
Ah, critical thinking. In case you ever wondered if the practices and ideas of the ivory tower really influenced public education, look no further than that loaded term. Go to any workshop, or heck, any teacher's meeting, and you will hear the mantra "Our kids just don't know how to do critical thinking anymore!" (as if the concept had a centuries-old tradition of usage). The Kool-Aid, it hath been swallowed.
In English especially, one can see the effects of this contentless "critical thinking" in the way state curriculum goals are written. There are rarely any specifics. Instead, the goals are written like this: "The learner will be able analyze a variety of fiction and non-fiction texts of increasing complexity from personal, social, and critical standpoints." For the last three years of high school, the goals include some mention of world (10th grade), American (11th grade), and British (12th grade) literature, but no specific works, authors, or eras are required to be taught. Our ninth graders take a state-mandated test at the end of ninth grade English that is, essentially, a reading aptitude test sprinkled with some questions involving literary terms. Why? Well, the curriculum for ninth grade demands that no particular texts or authors be taught during the year (not even Romeo and Juliet). Hamlet, Harry Potter, or Beatrix Potter; it doesn't matter, so long as we are hitting those critical thinking skills.
Well, I have and will continue to call hogwash on this concept. No one reads in order to improve their "critical thinking" skills, nor do they derive any moral benefit from concentrating on such abstract goals. Books, plays, or poems are not life-altering if they are approached in such a cold manner. In my experience as a teenager and college student, reading Huckleberry Finn or Macbeth stimulated me to think because I was moved by them (and, I was a slothful student who was, fortunately, forced to read them), not because of the reading skills the teacher was focusing on. Whatever "critical thinking" skills I learned came from my encounters with rather incredible content, and not the other way around.
Nor do such emphases really invite someone to wrestle with the traditions or aesthetic norms that have shaped so much of who we are (this is true, it would seem, even for those who want to repudiate them).
I would not want our state education boards to legislate what should be read in every classroom title by title, because some teacher autonomy and flexibility is important. But there are a few titles that should be in the curriculum, and certainly some authors that every student needs to encounter. And, since curricula is updated every few years, if reading Shakespeare no longer seems important to our society, say fifty years from now (ha!), then replace him with someone who has similarly stood the test of time. I just don't think we should continue to leave the English curricula, nor the testing that is based on it, in a completely free-floating content-zone.
10 January 2007
Gotta Love it When...
... life imitates art. We've been finishing up "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in honors class this week. A couple of days ago I stopped in the middle of Act III to emphasize that we could read the confusions among the two couples (Hermia and Lysander, Helena and Demetrius) as Shakespeare's way of exploring the risks and dangers of love. "In order to have true love," I said, "don't you have to give up a little of yourself? When you decide to completely trust someone, aren't you running the huge risks of being betrayed and hurt?"
Well, little did I know (until I noticed something amiss a little later in class) that the latest "hot couple" in there was a hot couple no more. They started dating right before Christmas, and I must say they looked adorable, and happy, together. But, over the weekend, he got word that she was hanging out with another boy from another school, and... well, you know. Of course, her story is that she didn't even like this other guy at first, he was just bothering her, etc. But now, since she's conveniently free, well he's just peachy.
As for boy #1, (with apologies to Jesse Jackson), he's now quite dejected after being rejected and unelected. I mean, talk about your sad puppy dog. Perhaps it's unfair, and sexist, but I don't feel like I have to be as sensitive to boys in this situation as I do to girls. It's not like he's going to cry when I needle him, after all (which I haven't done openly, of course - though I did ask him if the sun came up this morning).
From what I hear, he's pushing hard behind the scenes to retrieve the iPod Nano he gave her for Christmas.
What was that, Lysander? "The course of true love never did run smooth."
Well, little did I know (until I noticed something amiss a little later in class) that the latest "hot couple" in there was a hot couple no more. They started dating right before Christmas, and I must say they looked adorable, and happy, together. But, over the weekend, he got word that she was hanging out with another boy from another school, and... well, you know. Of course, her story is that she didn't even like this other guy at first, he was just bothering her, etc. But now, since she's conveniently free, well he's just peachy.
As for boy #1, (with apologies to Jesse Jackson), he's now quite dejected after being rejected and unelected. I mean, talk about your sad puppy dog. Perhaps it's unfair, and sexist, but I don't feel like I have to be as sensitive to boys in this situation as I do to girls. It's not like he's going to cry when I needle him, after all (which I haven't done openly, of course - though I did ask him if the sun came up this morning).
From what I hear, he's pushing hard behind the scenes to retrieve the iPod Nano he gave her for Christmas.
What was that, Lysander? "The course of true love never did run smooth."
07 January 2007
All Our Bad News, Contd.
I won't dwell on it, I promise. But since most of this blog is dedicated to daily school life, I'll touch on the memorial service that was. Perhaps our school district is just weird, or perhaps other schools do this, but Friday marked the second funeral memorial service in five months to be held in our auditorium. School was actually dismissed early, and the casket was actually rolled in and put in front of the stage. The procession drove up, and the large family walked in. No less than two Baptist preachers gave eulogy sermons with enough bad cliches for a lifetime, and there was a fair share of over-emotive contemporary spiritual songs with accompanying soundtracks played from the booth. There was a PowerPoint presentation produced by the funeral home which, whatever it's purpose, served as a perfect catalyst for making emotionally raw teenagers (and a few family members) sob even more loudly.
Much of this is a function of the Southern love affair with sentimentality, I think. Much of it is also a function of the way our general culture spurns the idea of dignity. For every dignified moment of the service, there seemed two moments of public wallowing. I just don't know that it was good for my poor, sweet student to mount the stage and attempt to say a few barely perceptible words about her boyfriend through her heaving and crying. Maybe it's just me, but if I were her parent or grandparent, I would have discouraged that scene.
Again, sorry for the hard heart I fear I'm displaying. But I just believe, in these situations, that many people aren't trying to help our kids grieve as much as they are encouraging a cult of suffering. As an example, I'll point to the sister of the murdered senior from the beginning of the school year. She has, apparently, been almost uncontrollable in class; she's behaving like a brat, and feels entitled to, it is believed, because her sister was killed and people have indulged her. I really, really hope that doesn't happen to this poor girl, my student, as well. She is only in tenth grade, for God's sake, and while she loved her boyfriend, he was not her husband. She still has a life to live; we need to love her and support her, but not turn her into a living martyr.
Much of this is a function of the Southern love affair with sentimentality, I think. Much of it is also a function of the way our general culture spurns the idea of dignity. For every dignified moment of the service, there seemed two moments of public wallowing. I just don't know that it was good for my poor, sweet student to mount the stage and attempt to say a few barely perceptible words about her boyfriend through her heaving and crying. Maybe it's just me, but if I were her parent or grandparent, I would have discouraged that scene.
Again, sorry for the hard heart I fear I'm displaying. But I just believe, in these situations, that many people aren't trying to help our kids grieve as much as they are encouraging a cult of suffering. As an example, I'll point to the sister of the murdered senior from the beginning of the school year. She has, apparently, been almost uncontrollable in class; she's behaving like a brat, and feels entitled to, it is believed, because her sister was killed and people have indulged her. I really, really hope that doesn't happen to this poor girl, my student, as well. She is only in tenth grade, for God's sake, and while she loved her boyfriend, he was not her husband. She still has a life to live; we need to love her and support her, but not turn her into a living martyr.
04 January 2007
Are We Cursed?
As soon as I walked in the school building yesterday morning, I knew something wasn't right. I saw the principal speaking earnestly with the guidance counselor, saw our former principal coming up the hall, and saw some girls talking to a teacher and crying. A few minutes later, one of my kids asked me if I had heard about the student who had been killed in an accident the night before. Evidently he was going way too fast around a sharp curve near his home, lost control, and went flying off the road.
He was a senior, and, as with our last student death, a kid I had never taught. Not having great academic or conduct records, he was nonetheless one of those kids who had been muddling through enough to graduate. Apparently he drove in this fashion all the time, and I've heard he had compiled nine tickets in his short driving life. Call me callous, but this lessens my sympathy for him, though not for his family.
By 8:30 yesterday morning, the usual army of counselors had set up shop in the media center, and, as with our student death earlier in the year, I stayed away. Some kids, including a few with virtually no connections to the student, were in there all day.
My real connection to this situation is that his girlfriend is in my first period class, so my second thought (after, "Dammit. Not again.") was about her. She's a sweet girl from a troubled family, and I knew she would be devastated.
She has been to school the last couple of days to talk with counselors and a teacher who is a good mentor for her, but has not been coming to class. Really, she shouldn't until Monday. And although I am very fond of her, I'll admit I was relieved that she didn't come to class today, and that I didn't have to squarely face the situation yet. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I find myself resistant to the whole idea of dealing with student grief right now. I'm not proud of this, but I've seen such excesses in response to death already this year that I'm a little numbed to it. (In addition to previously catalogued excesses over our murdered student earlier in the year, not long ago I had no less than seven girls tardy to class because they all had to be in the bathroom crying with their friend whose grandfather had just passed away from Alzheimer's complications).
Certainly if my student needs my help, I'll give it in a heartbeat. Maybe what she will need from me though, in the week and half we have left in this semester, is as much of a normal environment as possible.
Or maybe I'm trying to justify some disturbing reactions on my part.
He was a senior, and, as with our last student death, a kid I had never taught. Not having great academic or conduct records, he was nonetheless one of those kids who had been muddling through enough to graduate. Apparently he drove in this fashion all the time, and I've heard he had compiled nine tickets in his short driving life. Call me callous, but this lessens my sympathy for him, though not for his family.
By 8:30 yesterday morning, the usual army of counselors had set up shop in the media center, and, as with our student death earlier in the year, I stayed away. Some kids, including a few with virtually no connections to the student, were in there all day.
My real connection to this situation is that his girlfriend is in my first period class, so my second thought (after, "Dammit. Not again.") was about her. She's a sweet girl from a troubled family, and I knew she would be devastated.
She has been to school the last couple of days to talk with counselors and a teacher who is a good mentor for her, but has not been coming to class. Really, she shouldn't until Monday. And although I am very fond of her, I'll admit I was relieved that she didn't come to class today, and that I didn't have to squarely face the situation yet. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I find myself resistant to the whole idea of dealing with student grief right now. I'm not proud of this, but I've seen such excesses in response to death already this year that I'm a little numbed to it. (In addition to previously catalogued excesses over our murdered student earlier in the year, not long ago I had no less than seven girls tardy to class because they all had to be in the bathroom crying with their friend whose grandfather had just passed away from Alzheimer's complications).
Certainly if my student needs my help, I'll give it in a heartbeat. Maybe what she will need from me though, in the week and half we have left in this semester, is as much of a normal environment as possible.
Or maybe I'm trying to justify some disturbing reactions on my part.
01 January 2007
Reading List Update
I'm a book addict, so December (with b-day and Christmas) always brings a cache of dead trees that I have no shelf space for. And yet, I ask for more.
Any-hoo, for what it's worth, here is what my stack-o-books looks like as a result of December. This year there are a lot of spiritually-related titles, which wasn't really planned as I look back on it. Maybe the big Someone is trying to tell me something about my 2006?:
Novels:
Refiner's Fire and A Winter's Tale, both by Mark Helprin. - After reading A Soldier of the Great War last summer, I can't get enough of Helprin
Philosophy/Culture:
Manliness, by Harvey Mansfield - See last post for why I need this one. I actually heard Mansfield give a lecture based on this book way back last spring, at NC State. A brilliant, congenial man with an idiosynchratic writing style that takes a while to get used to.
Memoirs:
Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt - Obvious why someone gave me this. I never read McCourt's other bestsellers, but this one chronicles his thirty years as a creative writing teacher. From a few glances, it looks quite good.
Gentle Regrets, by Roger Scruton - Memoir-esque essays from the British philosopher. Read a great review of this a year ago, and never got around to buying it until now.
Non-Fiction:
Postmodernism 101 - A first course for the curious Christian, by Heath White - Yes, I've encountered more than enough postmodern readings in my life to know what it is (depending on your definition of "is"), but haven't read a serious take on it from a Christian, much less a philosophy prof. who professes Christianity. Already read this one, and enjoyed it more than I imagined I would.
The Language of God, by Francis Collins - Just read a couple of great reviews of this, and got excited about it. Collins, the head of the Human Genome Project, writes about his migration from atheism to faith, and squares evolution with belief in God.
Pensees, by Blaise Pascal - Been reading about Pascal for years, so thought I would finally go to the source. A Christian anti-Enlightenment Frenchman who was nonetheless a famous Enlightenment-era mathematician. Those were the days, I guess.
Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons, by Frederick Beuchner - What better way to finish such a fun-sucking list than with sermons from an old Presby minister? Actually, Beuchner's reputation as a writer is well-established, and after I read an excerpt from one of these sermons, I was hooked.
So there you go. In addition, I need to read both The Winter's Tale (Shakespeare, not Helprin), and Pericles before we go see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform at Davidson College next month. Maybe I should just top the whole thing off with a grim cherry like King Lear.
Should have another stack to report on by late spring or so.
Any-hoo, for what it's worth, here is what my stack-o-books looks like as a result of December. This year there are a lot of spiritually-related titles, which wasn't really planned as I look back on it. Maybe the big Someone is trying to tell me something about my 2006?:
Novels:
Refiner's Fire and A Winter's Tale, both by Mark Helprin. - After reading A Soldier of the Great War last summer, I can't get enough of Helprin
Philosophy/Culture:
Manliness, by Harvey Mansfield - See last post for why I need this one. I actually heard Mansfield give a lecture based on this book way back last spring, at NC State. A brilliant, congenial man with an idiosynchratic writing style that takes a while to get used to.
Memoirs:
Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt - Obvious why someone gave me this. I never read McCourt's other bestsellers, but this one chronicles his thirty years as a creative writing teacher. From a few glances, it looks quite good.
Gentle Regrets, by Roger Scruton - Memoir-esque essays from the British philosopher. Read a great review of this a year ago, and never got around to buying it until now.
Non-Fiction:
Postmodernism 101 - A first course for the curious Christian, by Heath White - Yes, I've encountered more than enough postmodern readings in my life to know what it is (depending on your definition of "is"), but haven't read a serious take on it from a Christian, much less a philosophy prof. who professes Christianity. Already read this one, and enjoyed it more than I imagined I would.
The Language of God, by Francis Collins - Just read a couple of great reviews of this, and got excited about it. Collins, the head of the Human Genome Project, writes about his migration from atheism to faith, and squares evolution with belief in God.
Pensees, by Blaise Pascal - Been reading about Pascal for years, so thought I would finally go to the source. A Christian anti-Enlightenment Frenchman who was nonetheless a famous Enlightenment-era mathematician. Those were the days, I guess.
Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons, by Frederick Beuchner - What better way to finish such a fun-sucking list than with sermons from an old Presby minister? Actually, Beuchner's reputation as a writer is well-established, and after I read an excerpt from one of these sermons, I was hooked.
So there you go. In addition, I need to read both The Winter's Tale (Shakespeare, not Helprin), and Pericles before we go see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform at Davidson College next month. Maybe I should just top the whole thing off with a grim cherry like King Lear.
Should have another stack to report on by late spring or so.
30 December 2006
My Merry Metrosexual Christmas
First, some housecleaning and apologies. I'm finally converted to "new" Blogger, and just realized, as a result, that I had somehow been blocking my comments. So, all unmoderated comments should now show up again. Sorry!
Now back to original programming:
There is a crude tradition among male golfers that when one of them fails to get his tee shot past the lady's tee box, he is always asked by his partners to pull down his pants in order to verify that he still qualifies as a man. I hardly ever golf these days, but having played a decent amount over the years, I can gladly say I never saw anyone actually oblige this request. Unrelated factoid: though I was not an eyewitness, I am aware of an acquaintance once pulling down his shorts and wiggling his wang at his (no doubt alarmed) television, all due to the poor play of his favorite football team in a big game. How's that for a digression?
In any case, I have felt like the guy with the short tee-shot during this festive season, with my own imaginative golf partners hectoring me for a lack of manliness. Why? Well, here are the highlights:
1. Last Thursday morning, I went to the mall in search of a certain diamond anniversary band (ahem - major brownie points) for my wife's surprise Christmas gift. While surreptitiously eye-balling jewelry store brochures without actually entering the stores, I walked by a middle-of-the-mall kiosk, and was accosted, in a friendly way, by a man of Middle Eastern descent. "Sir, do you have one minute?" he asked, and because I have an aversion to rudeness, even when it is not rude, I consented. The next thing I know, this guy is holding my hand in his, and is buffing one of my fingernails with some kind of nail-kit rubbing stuff. It was all I could do to not pull my hand away immediately, put a bag over my head, and leave the mall while gnashing my teeth. But I persevered, told the man I would consider the stuff for my wife, and walked on in shame.
2. Later, inside an actual free-standing jewelry store that got my business, I consented to being served a vanilla espresso while my credit report was being run. Fortunately, credit ratings don't rely on manliness points.
3. That afternoon, at another mall, I entered Victoria's Secret only to buy my wife some new undergarments. No g-strings, no lingerie, nothing to turn my face red, I swear (or else I wouldn't be telling you about it, now would I?). But, the girl at the counter did talk me into applying for a Victoria's Secret card, which I figured might be handy in the future (for the wife, of course). Unfortunately, while they were running my credit, the machine at my register went down, and I had to stand in line for at least 10 minutes while all around me women and teenage girls brought bras, panties, and who knows what else to the counter. Discomfort ensued. I could have just bided my time by staring at the softcore pinup advertisements on the walls (actually I did for at least, oh, three of those minutes), but too much of that would have made me seem a perv or a lecher, I decided. For those other seven minutes, there was simply no place to hide! Help!!
4. Moments later, while walking down the center of this mall, a young woman of Middle Eastern descent stops me and asks for "five seconds." So lost was I in the haze of paying for a diamond ring and being held captive (darn the luck) in Victoria's Secret, I don't think I even regained my mental faculties until I already found that my thumb was in this woman's hand and was getting the same damn polishing treatment that my other finger got earlier that morning at a separate location. "I CAN"T BELIEVE THIS!" I seem to recall thinking, and yet, as if paralyzed by kryptonite, I couldn't stop it. To make matters worse, I bought the kit this time after the lady haggled down the price.
5. Christmas morning I made an apple compote to accompany our breakfast casserole. Darn good, too. Got the recipe from watching Emeril on the... er... Food Network.
6. Later on Christmas morning I opened a package containing two Italian cookbooks which I... er... asked for for Christmas. (Hey, Clemenza in The Godfather cooked sauce for fifty men, remember).
So there you have it. I'm not even going to pretend to defend myself. You'll know I've really gone over the edge, metrosexually speaking, if I ever report going to a stylist instead of a barber.
Now back to original programming:
There is a crude tradition among male golfers that when one of them fails to get his tee shot past the lady's tee box, he is always asked by his partners to pull down his pants in order to verify that he still qualifies as a man. I hardly ever golf these days, but having played a decent amount over the years, I can gladly say I never saw anyone actually oblige this request. Unrelated factoid: though I was not an eyewitness, I am aware of an acquaintance once pulling down his shorts and wiggling his wang at his (no doubt alarmed) television, all due to the poor play of his favorite football team in a big game. How's that for a digression?
In any case, I have felt like the guy with the short tee-shot during this festive season, with my own imaginative golf partners hectoring me for a lack of manliness. Why? Well, here are the highlights:
1. Last Thursday morning, I went to the mall in search of a certain diamond anniversary band (ahem - major brownie points) for my wife's surprise Christmas gift. While surreptitiously eye-balling jewelry store brochures without actually entering the stores, I walked by a middle-of-the-mall kiosk, and was accosted, in a friendly way, by a man of Middle Eastern descent. "Sir, do you have one minute?" he asked, and because I have an aversion to rudeness, even when it is not rude, I consented. The next thing I know, this guy is holding my hand in his, and is buffing one of my fingernails with some kind of nail-kit rubbing stuff. It was all I could do to not pull my hand away immediately, put a bag over my head, and leave the mall while gnashing my teeth. But I persevered, told the man I would consider the stuff for my wife, and walked on in shame.
2. Later, inside an actual free-standing jewelry store that got my business, I consented to being served a vanilla espresso while my credit report was being run. Fortunately, credit ratings don't rely on manliness points.
3. That afternoon, at another mall, I entered Victoria's Secret only to buy my wife some new undergarments. No g-strings, no lingerie, nothing to turn my face red, I swear (or else I wouldn't be telling you about it, now would I?). But, the girl at the counter did talk me into applying for a Victoria's Secret card, which I figured might be handy in the future (for the wife, of course). Unfortunately, while they were running my credit, the machine at my register went down, and I had to stand in line for at least 10 minutes while all around me women and teenage girls brought bras, panties, and who knows what else to the counter. Discomfort ensued. I could have just bided my time by staring at the softcore pinup advertisements on the walls (actually I did for at least, oh, three of those minutes), but too much of that would have made me seem a perv or a lecher, I decided. For those other seven minutes, there was simply no place to hide! Help!!
4. Moments later, while walking down the center of this mall, a young woman of Middle Eastern descent stops me and asks for "five seconds." So lost was I in the haze of paying for a diamond ring and being held captive (darn the luck) in Victoria's Secret, I don't think I even regained my mental faculties until I already found that my thumb was in this woman's hand and was getting the same damn polishing treatment that my other finger got earlier that morning at a separate location. "I CAN"T BELIEVE THIS!" I seem to recall thinking, and yet, as if paralyzed by kryptonite, I couldn't stop it. To make matters worse, I bought the kit this time after the lady haggled down the price.
5. Christmas morning I made an apple compote to accompany our breakfast casserole. Darn good, too. Got the recipe from watching Emeril on the... er... Food Network.
6. Later on Christmas morning I opened a package containing two Italian cookbooks which I... er... asked for for Christmas. (Hey, Clemenza in The Godfather cooked sauce for fifty men, remember).
So there you have it. I'm not even going to pretend to defend myself. You'll know I've really gone over the edge, metrosexually speaking, if I ever report going to a stylist instead of a barber.
22 December 2006
Mathematically (and Pedagogically) Challenged?
(This perhaps should have been two separate posts, since I have a lengthy riff on an ancillary issue in my note at the end. Oh, well.)
There were a few fireworks at the schoolhouse just before break, and sad to say they fit a familiar pattern.
My bratty but bright second period reports almost en masse to our math department chair, two doors down, for third period Algebra II. Now, I need to point out that this lady was my school-selected mentor for my first three years in the biz, and is as sweet and kind a person as I could have asked for to help me along. Perhaps because I am her son's age, she even bought me birthday presents while I was her mentee.
She fits a certain Southern "type" that is probably familiar to some of you. Prim and proper, a former pageant girl whose daughter followed in her footsteps (pageant-wise and teacher-wise), married to a well-known gent of the community, and a pillar of the community herself, she is outwardly the very essence of the Southern lady. But not far beneath the surface, there are obviously conflicted feelings, disappointments, and even bitterness that can be detected. I do not know the source of these in full, but I can tell you that (in my opinion) her three children, all above the age of thirty, are spoiled and take great advantage of her, but she mostly reacts to them with the occasional passive/aggressive comment, rather than just telling them to grow up, grow a pair, and stop PISSING HER OFF!
In my amateur-psychologist opinion, the place she transfers these frustrations to is the classroom. Every year, about half way through each semester, I start to hear bright kids tell me that she can't teach and that she's mean as hell to them. For a couple of years, I passed this off as kids being frustrated with upper level math and finding a scapegoat in place of pinpointing their own laziness. But after a while, I had to admit something wasn't right in her classes, or I wouldn't have kept hearing this repeatedly from even my favority non-whiners. I've refused up until now to even get in a protracted conversation with my students about it, for fear of allowing them to trash another teacher (much less my former-mentor) in my room.
Fast-forward to Monday, when she was out sick, and five of our common spoiled-but-talented girls took the opportunity to converge on Principal Goldberg with their complaints about their bad grades and their teacher's "hateful" comments to them. When they later told me what they had done, I was a little upset with them, because I thought a) going over her head without their parents being present wasn't going to help matters, but worsen them and b) they probably had some malice mixed-in with their motivations. However, after really listening to them, and to an independent (and reliable) outside source, I have come to these conclusions (not solely on my own):
1) My teacher friend simply doesn't have the ability to grasp upper-level mathematical concepts, at least not enough to get them across to anyone.* The kids all say she can only tell them one way to do a problem, and if they seek alternatives they are chastised. She originally was certified for middle-school, and though she got secondary-school licensure later, anything beyond Algebra I is beyond her expertise. My independent source, now a senior, said in order to maintain an "A" she had to take her book home every night and work through the examples from the chapter introductions, then go back and do the work based on what she had taught herself.
2) Because she has department seniority, she does not want to teach any lower level classes.
3) As a result of #1, my teacher friend gets very defensive with her honors classes, because they are challenging her and it obviously threatens her. When kids realize this, even if their original intentions are not ugly, they latch on like evil-little pit bulls; thus, there is an upsetting atmosphere in that classroom most every day.
4) My teacher friend has simply run out of patience, as well. She is near retirement, and unfortunately seems to be leaning to the "The hell with it, I'm almost out of here" mind-set.
I have no idea how this will end up - the class has a state End of Course test, and everyone is worrying about their grades and transcripts. The principal came and sat in on the class Tuesday, but I don't know anything beyond that. What I do know is that it is a shame, a darn shame, all around.
*Note: You will often hear certain teachers, administrators, and (prepare your boos and hisses) Doctors of Education say, in a mildly indignant tone, that "You can know your subject backwards and forwards, but if you can't teach it, you won't be any good as a teacher." At first glance, this may seem like a "no duh" point to make. But make no mistake, this is coded language for the following: only those who have been given the special knowledge that Education Department Gnostic Ministers can impart are really teachers.
In other words, following the academic trends of the last thirty or forty years, content doesn't matter, only form and presentation. As long as you present it in at least thirteen different (excuse me, I mean diverse) ways, it doesn't really matter what you are presenting. This way of thinking, of course, allows certain groups to protect turf and keep a stranglehold on who can enter the profession.
Whenever I hear the old "you might know it but can't teach it without the right methods" canard, I simply want to cry, "CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!" I guarantee you that for every one hundred people who have a complete grasp of any subject, you can only find one or two who are so devoid of social and communication skills that they can't get it across to others who have the prerequisite intelligence in place.
Don't buy it, don't believe it, don't even entertain the idea. The high majority of the time, if someone cannot successfully teach a subject, it is because they don't understand it themselves.
End of seminar.
There were a few fireworks at the schoolhouse just before break, and sad to say they fit a familiar pattern.
My bratty but bright second period reports almost en masse to our math department chair, two doors down, for third period Algebra II. Now, I need to point out that this lady was my school-selected mentor for my first three years in the biz, and is as sweet and kind a person as I could have asked for to help me along. Perhaps because I am her son's age, she even bought me birthday presents while I was her mentee.
She fits a certain Southern "type" that is probably familiar to some of you. Prim and proper, a former pageant girl whose daughter followed in her footsteps (pageant-wise and teacher-wise), married to a well-known gent of the community, and a pillar of the community herself, she is outwardly the very essence of the Southern lady. But not far beneath the surface, there are obviously conflicted feelings, disappointments, and even bitterness that can be detected. I do not know the source of these in full, but I can tell you that (in my opinion) her three children, all above the age of thirty, are spoiled and take great advantage of her, but she mostly reacts to them with the occasional passive/aggressive comment, rather than just telling them to grow up, grow a pair, and stop PISSING HER OFF!
In my amateur-psychologist opinion, the place she transfers these frustrations to is the classroom. Every year, about half way through each semester, I start to hear bright kids tell me that she can't teach and that she's mean as hell to them. For a couple of years, I passed this off as kids being frustrated with upper level math and finding a scapegoat in place of pinpointing their own laziness. But after a while, I had to admit something wasn't right in her classes, or I wouldn't have kept hearing this repeatedly from even my favority non-whiners. I've refused up until now to even get in a protracted conversation with my students about it, for fear of allowing them to trash another teacher (much less my former-mentor) in my room.
Fast-forward to Monday, when she was out sick, and five of our common spoiled-but-talented girls took the opportunity to converge on Principal Goldberg with their complaints about their bad grades and their teacher's "hateful" comments to them. When they later told me what they had done, I was a little upset with them, because I thought a) going over her head without their parents being present wasn't going to help matters, but worsen them and b) they probably had some malice mixed-in with their motivations. However, after really listening to them, and to an independent (and reliable) outside source, I have come to these conclusions (not solely on my own):
1) My teacher friend simply doesn't have the ability to grasp upper-level mathematical concepts, at least not enough to get them across to anyone.* The kids all say she can only tell them one way to do a problem, and if they seek alternatives they are chastised. She originally was certified for middle-school, and though she got secondary-school licensure later, anything beyond Algebra I is beyond her expertise. My independent source, now a senior, said in order to maintain an "A" she had to take her book home every night and work through the examples from the chapter introductions, then go back and do the work based on what she had taught herself.
2) Because she has department seniority, she does not want to teach any lower level classes.
3) As a result of #1, my teacher friend gets very defensive with her honors classes, because they are challenging her and it obviously threatens her. When kids realize this, even if their original intentions are not ugly, they latch on like evil-little pit bulls; thus, there is an upsetting atmosphere in that classroom most every day.
4) My teacher friend has simply run out of patience, as well. She is near retirement, and unfortunately seems to be leaning to the "The hell with it, I'm almost out of here" mind-set.
I have no idea how this will end up - the class has a state End of Course test, and everyone is worrying about their grades and transcripts. The principal came and sat in on the class Tuesday, but I don't know anything beyond that. What I do know is that it is a shame, a darn shame, all around.
*Note: You will often hear certain teachers, administrators, and (prepare your boos and hisses) Doctors of Education say, in a mildly indignant tone, that "You can know your subject backwards and forwards, but if you can't teach it, you won't be any good as a teacher." At first glance, this may seem like a "no duh" point to make. But make no mistake, this is coded language for the following: only those who have been given the special knowledge that Education Department Gnostic Ministers can impart are really teachers.
In other words, following the academic trends of the last thirty or forty years, content doesn't matter, only form and presentation. As long as you present it in at least thirteen different (excuse me, I mean diverse) ways, it doesn't really matter what you are presenting. This way of thinking, of course, allows certain groups to protect turf and keep a stranglehold on who can enter the profession.
Whenever I hear the old "you might know it but can't teach it without the right methods" canard, I simply want to cry, "CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!" I guarantee you that for every one hundred people who have a complete grasp of any subject, you can only find one or two who are so devoid of social and communication skills that they can't get it across to others who have the prerequisite intelligence in place.
Don't buy it, don't believe it, don't even entertain the idea. The high majority of the time, if someone cannot successfully teach a subject, it is because they don't understand it themselves.
End of seminar.
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