Publications Hell

Let's begin with a quick round-up of the publication for which I bear responsibility, that darned yearbook I've been whining about all year. Of all the times of the year I thought I wouldn't struggle with, the spring would have been my choice. But our books came in about 10 days ago, and suffice to say I was not at all prepared for what distributing 900 yearbooks would be like. Literally, I could have (and if it was a regular business, would have) spent the entirety of each day last week on nothing but yearbook matters. I could easily have sold thirty more, as well, if there had been any left.

What killed me was, in the midst of trying to prepare and teach academic classes, being bombarded by phone calls, kids at the door, parent e-mails, teachers and teacher's aides regarding YEARBOOKS! YA GOT ANY YEARBOOKS LEFT? ONE OF MY KIDS ALREADY HAS A BOOK, BUT CAN I BUY ONE EACH FOR MY OTHER 5 KIDS? I KNOW I PAID FOR A BOOK, BUT I'M NOT ON THE LIST (yeah, right)! MY FORMER NEIGHBOR ORDERED A YEARBOOK BUT SHE MOVED TO DENMARK - CAN I SEND IT TO HER?

AARGH!!

I also had to call a "come to Jesus meeting" with the staff because of bad feelings brewing between class members over who was yelling at whom, and who was bossing whom during book distribution, and who will be bossing whom next year, and the editors for next already have a big head and are going to treat us like slaves, and blah, blah, blah. My message to everyone was real simple: they don't pay me nearly enough to deal with constantly unhappy people who are at each other's throats all year; get it out in the open now and work it out, and tell me when you're done (and happy again). So, they did, and I emerged from the room to declare "peace in our time." And yes, that analogy is apt because I'm sure the length of my success will be about the same as old Mr. Chamberlain's (we are talking about teenage girls, after all).

***

I will nonetheless take my publication issues, warts and all, over what happened to the newspaper advisor last week. Now, she has been doing this for a long time, and is VERY SERIOUS about journalism, and very prickly about complaints regarding her paper. Having said that, she has been really nice to me, and in my opinion the paper has generally seemed o.k. - not too controversial or too insipid, decent enough if not extrememly well-written. However...

Somehow one of her kids decided, in a teacher profile piece printed in the last edition, to include both pro and CON opinions of a civics teacher, as related by some of her students. These were quoted, verbatim, from a survey form. And, some of the quotes were of this variety: "She's too boring, gives us pointless homework, and is more interested in being a coach than a teacher." OH... MY...!

Well, the teacher hit the roof and was so upset she had to go home for the day, an immediate apology is now being printed in what is supposed to the final senior-dedicated edition of the year, parents of the quoted kids are outraged, and the rest of us are scratching our heads and wondering how in the heck-fire those quotes ever saw the light of day, how they got past the editors, and especially how they got by the advisor and/or the principal if he saw it. What - teacher defamation in the name of balanced reporting? I think the advisor gets to keep the job, and since that paper is her baby, I hope so. But like I said, oh my.

Yeah, I'll take MY publication issues anyday.

Careful Where You Step

Around these parts, you know summer is just around the corner when you spot visitors like this fellow in your backyard (he/she was about 4 ft. long):



In case you're worried, we just let him go on his merry way.

A Summer of Torturous Prose

Well, I'm in the middle of a five games in six nights t-ball stretch (seriously, is this the major leagues?), so that explains the stony silence of the blog lately. This is, however, the last week of spring season, which is fortunate for the health of the adults in the house.

Just a little something to preview what my summer at the writer's project institute will be like. You see, when you throw together a group of highly intelligent people who love to read, who teach reading and writing, and who therefore secretly, or otherwise, harbor pretensions of making a best-seller list one day, you can pretty much assume the worst. In a situation like this, where these people will be doing a lot of writing for others to read, one can readily anticipate encounters with the "trying too hard" syndrome.

Whatever it says about me, I am absolutely resolved to avoid purple prose and forced metaphors throughout this process, even at the cost of being boring. However, as you check out the following three excerpts (all from different people) culled from a message thread on our group's website, you tell me if others share my attitude. The topic, btw, is what it means to be in the "writing state of mind":

"When I do experience the "writing frame of mind" while I am at my computer or when I have pen in hand, it is like steping into a wave and allowing the cool, calm watering words to seep onto the page. It is a comforting feeling, an excitement that I am rediscovering. I am allowing myself to write without the 'full outline.' I have a quiet expectation, but I am genuinely surprised when the ebb of this tide recedes and I examine what is left on the shore before me."

"When I consider my writing "good," the frame of mind occurs naturally because my body is possessed. There is a writing ghost who inhabits my spirit."

"When I'm in the writing frame of mind it’s as if my brain itches. There is nothing I can do about it, I can't scratch fast enough, deep enough, long enough. In fact, the more I scratch, the more I itch. The words pour out like a salve, and the passion that inspired it is calmed as the thoughts pour out on the page."

Well, time for me and my writing ghost to hit the sack. See ya.

This is Why I'm Not in Management

Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth, but here goes anyway. At my first school, the problem with recruiting a staff for the yearbook class was that there weren't enough talented, hard-working kids, and that many of those who did fit that bill were in band the same period as my class. So, I would usually get my top two or three for editor positions, and the rest was a combination of kids who liked me but weren't too interested in the book, or people the guidance counselors stuck in.

Now I have much different problems. I have a pretty good group to start with, and only four positions available for next year. There are 10 applicants for those positions, and they are all great candidates. Plus, instead of the advisor making the call by fiat, the tradition has been to let him/her hold the right of veto but let the staff interview the candidates and vote on them themselves.

Well, two of the four slots were slam-dunks to fill, and one of the other two was also decided fairly easily, if not unanimously. That last spot, however, was the source of an hour-long bare-knuckle brawl today. Cheerleader politics, comments about what someone's mom is going to be like to deal with, and every shade of what's-fair and what's-not-fair argument ensued. Nothing has yet been resolved, and I may be called on to make the final call, in which case I become even more of a contributor to someone's heartache.

Why should this bother me? Because I hate, hate, hate to be the one to give bad news, that's why. What if someone cries, for God's sake? Should causing people to cry be part of my job description, unless I'm being paid Dr. Phil money? Nay, I say, nay.

I think next year I'll hand the whole business over to one of the coaches; their used to cutting people all the time, and probably don't give a rip when they do.

Yes, I'm Alive...

...but don't have much in the tank after my second weekend in a row of workshop/think-tank/seminar/reflecting heaven (I guess it's heaven to somebody, anyway). Give me a couple of days to get ball games out of the way, and I promise a full rant about some real live deconstruction cultists I wanted to punch during a keynote address yesterday.

In the meantime for any of you literary nerds, below is a link to a great piece on those pesky (mostly Southern, I must add) New Critics whom the deconstructionists like to think they've killed off. They're very much alive in my classroom, by the way, but then I've always been a sucker for the unfashionably old-fashioned. Enjoy!

Grammars of a Possible World

Day One of Writer's Project

That was my entire Saturday, save for the little bit of mowing I squeezed in before dark. As you may recall the first two sessions of my summer Writer's Project class take place on back to back Saturdays in the spring, and now one is down. I must say it was fun, and the group of 15, plus three instructors, were fairly irritant-free. We wrote quite a bit, natch. And talked about writing quite a bit, natch. It was enjoyable, but the contrarian in me already points out that in contemporary America people who like to read and write can make books and writing a bit too precious, or a bit too much like religion. I'm well aware of this, because I'm sure I've been guilty of it myself. On the whole, though, I'll say I'm looking forward to spending so much concentrated time writing this summer, even while I try to suppress that "This could lead to big things! Maybe you could be a real writer!" voice I've heard all my life. You know you hear it too (or perhaps you are a real writer!)

Since I'll be spending three weeks of my summer with these people, it's important for me to go ahead and anticipate who will cause me heartburn during that time. The only candidate who sticks out right now is a near-retirement-age teacher from the coast who will be living in Raleigh on campus for all of July. She had a long-winded comment about everything, and while not unpleasant, was the least helpful person in the group writing assignment we did. We'll see if I'm right about my unkind speculation, but I read this as a "divorced and no grandkids" situation.

Wow, that was mean.

The only other person I'll mention at this point was this really sweet granola child in her mid-thirties who teaches in Chapel Hill (heh, heh). Seemed like one of the coolest people there. Among the things she is excited about is the new "Social Justice" academy she helped start at her school, which is run by some English and some history teachers (heh, heh, heh). But you know, she seemed like such a good soul, talking about the organic garden she and her husband have behind their house, and was so nice, that I don't have it in me to completely mock said academy. Yet.

I know that won't stop some of you, though. I hear you, Brad and Phil.

I'm a Made Man

Not quite in the same way the guys from "Goodfella's" were, mind you. Last Thursday an office assistant brought me the following ominous note:

Please see me during your planning period. This is an important matter regarding your employment for next year.
-The Principal

I suppressed feelings of panic enough to make it through the class period, then went down to check on it. The agony wore on as I had to wait while he dealt with a couple of boys who had been fighting. Then, when I finally got in, he explained it was nothing bad, and in fact was good. Because of the particular license cycle I am on this year, he had to make a decision to deem me a tenured teacher at the school, or to let me go. "You're too good for me to let you go, so I'm signing off on your tenure," he said.

Now, tenure for public school teachers does not offer the all-encompassing protection it offers for a college professor. Essentially it means that I cannot be moved to another school by the county office against my will, and that my position cannot be eliminated unless our student population dwindled tremendously, and even then I believe they would have to find a spot for me. Of course, I could still get fired for not doing my job, and I suppose there are a number of unforeseen disasters, like half the county getting wiped out by an alien flu, that could alter my employment status. But basically, I'm safe.

Still, the "made man" analogy might not be too far off, judging from the mood around the school the last couple of weeks. Let's just say that everywhere I turn teachers are talking junk about other teachers, palpable dislike hovers over most meetings, and malicious subtexts abound. Yikes. Better find Tessio and Clemenza (I know, I'm mixing movies).

Boobs Again (Sorry!)

Well, both t-ball (for the boy) and softball (for me, in an attempt at a limited comeback) have started, and for my pains on Monday and Tuesday nights I contracted a bad enough cough to warrant a visit to the doc-in-the-box again. Nice, huh? But at least there is no infection this time.

Onto the real item for today, which, unfortunately causes me to revisit the prom once again. On that fateful night, I've mentioned previously, there was much to take notice of. However, one thing I did not observe (because I'm a good boy), but that a colleague mentioned that she and her fiance did, was the volume of cleavage on display - in particular, the volume of inauthentic cleavage on display.

This was a bit shocking to hear, 17-18 year-olds and all, and without knowing who some of these belonged to the whole idea of it seemed a bit unreal (pun intended) to me. But then on Monday I had the following conversation with my yearbook editor over the prom page she was checking. Names are changed here to protect the not-so-innocent:

Editor: Mr. P. you need to look at the this picture we have on the prom page. It's got Holly in it, and we should probably take it out since she's on the staff. But also... well, look at her in that dress. Isn't that inappropriate.

Me (glancing at the cleavagy picture as gingerly as possible): Yeah, probably. You can take it out. You know, my wife and I happened to notice Holly's dress was really short.

Editor: I know. It was scandalous.

Me: Well, I'll tell you this also. I didn't happen to see this, but some other teachers were remarking on the number of... uh... implants they saw on a number of the girls there.

Editor: Oh, definitely.

Me: Unbelievable. What are their parents thinking? [pause] But now my curiosity has the best of me. Any chance Holly is one of those they were talking about?

Editor: Well, you know the rumor from last year, don't you?

Me: No.

Editor: She missed a lot of school spring semester last year, and she said it was because she had mono. But the rumor was she really had implant surgery. Everyone thinks it's true because no one can remember her having anything close to those before she was gone for so long.

End of sordid conversation. I will only add that "Holly" at one point drove a pink Barbie Jeep (yes, they make those), that she occasionally participates in pageants, and that she has already done a bit of modeling. I now leave it to you, gentle reader, to draw your own conclusions and do your own railing (and/or snickering).

Sign of Things to Come, or Just an Accurate Description?

We picked up our uniforms for my son's tee-ball team last night (I get a shirt too, for being asst. coach). We knew we were the Braves, but didn't know our sponsor, until we saw it printed on the back. This season, we will proudly display the following on our jerseys for the world to see:

All Star Waste

I think I'll post a picture of myself in that shirt on my teacher web page.

Congrats To Me; Let the Whining Commence

So, I attended a one day writing workshop back in January at N.C. State, and was so impressed by some of the tips I got that I decided to apply to the summer institute the Dept. of Education there puts on in conjunction with the National Writing Project. I was also highly motivated by the fact that I have two years left to get the rest of my continuing education credits out of the way, and thought I might as well do it in one big potentially enjoyable chunk.

Well, I applied to the summer institute, and just found out I was accepted. There were only 15 spots for 35 applicants, so yay for me, etc., etc. In reading the material, though, I began to seriously contemplate the pain in the rear this will be. In April, I have to go to a day long orientation one Saturday, followed by an even longer workshop and debriefing the next Saturday. That means working - gasp! - 12 out of 14 days. On top of that, it means missing two tee-ball games. DON'T YOU PEOPLE KNOW I'M AN ASSISTANT COACH?!!

And, as for the summer institute, it goes on for almost three full weeks, and, because it also counts for graduate credits, will no doubt involve some sort of research project/paper, in addition to heavy writing practice, as one of the core principles of NWP is that "Effective professional development programs provide frequent and ongoing opportunities for teachers to write and to examine theory, research, and practice together systematically." Whoo.

I need my Mommy.

Even the Prom Has Its Melancholy Side

Well, Wyfe has now spoken on the prom, but I wanted to add something bothersome that I quite accidentally observed.

We had to man the registration table for the latter, interminable half of the prom, and after the king and queen had officially been announced, it wasn't long before a sizeable group of prom-goers gathered in the lobby, ready to head out for (ahem) other doings, which I had heard a little about from passive eavesdropping earlier in the week. Now, I did not know most of the these kids, but I knew enough to know this was the ultimate creme-de-la-creme in-crowd, partly because a few of my yearbook girls were among the throng. I watched a couple of these girls more intently than the rest, because I noticed how preoccupied they seemed. In fact, they walked right by us several times and never even noticed us at the table. I don't take this as a slight, because they are always friendly, and if they had seen us they would have spoken. They are good girls, off to good colleges, and in fact, though these particular girls are in the in-crowd, they are in no way partiers - I've heard them rail about the partying life before. I don't believe it was their intent to get too involved in doing the wrong things, but clearly they were going to be escorted off to the site of the proceedings nonetheless.

One of these girls is not currently dating, but her prom escort, a red-faced, overly self-assured seeming chap, was rubbing her back as they stood there talking with the others. Let's just say she did not look relaxed with this, but also was not discouraging it. Another normally confident girl shifted nervously, and went into the bathroom twice in the span of 10 minutes - I never saw her smile (in fact, if she had broken into tears it wouldn't have been a shock). Other girls whispered among themselves with serious expressions, and there was little jollity among them. As for the the boys in the group, I know I'm probably exaggerating a bit, but mostly they were what you might expect: the jocks and other cocks-of-the-walk who (in my jaded opinion) were clearly on-the-make, and disgustingly, smarmily professional in their on-the-make demeanors. I realize I flatter myself, but any decent man would have shared the same urge to punch every one of them.

Yes, the girls must make their own decisions, but I can't help but remember the horrifying seduction scenes from I Am Charlotte Simmons. I hope these girls made the right calls, but in an effort to stay popular they already gave in by putting themselves in a bad situation, I feel sure. Why, oh why, do we allow our girls to go through this, and allow our boys to become such predators?

As a counter image, I also noticed that most of the couples who stayed for the entire time seemed to be really enjoying themselves, and were not nervous or shifty at all. Some of their parents dropped by to see them briefly, and some of these kids I know are labeled as being "real Christian". Others were nerdy types, happy in their nerdiness. In contrast with the early departers, I felt relieved to watch these remaining couples. Believe it or not, some of them actually came to the prom in order to enjoy, you know, the prom!

Survived

Last week's tour-de-force probably took years off my life, but I did survive, as you can now see. The week started with a wonderfully-timed three-hour leadership training session, scheduled right after school, that is required by the county for all employees who haven't undergone the training yet (so that each year the poor saps new to the county have to participate). From Monday to Thursday, my entire life was yearbook-related, except when I was trying, you know, to teach, or help coach tee-ball. In the last three weeks, I swear I've worked harder than at any point in my life (cue the sad violins).

Then, Thursday night was prom chaperone night, which I'll refrain from giving too many details about now in deference to my kind Wyfe, who was forced to join me and now wishes to blog about it herself (hint: it wasn't that interesting, and we were there from 7:00 to 12:40). Friday it was in the car and off to the in-laws while still in a daze, and after yesterday's Easter service and Sunday dinner we finally limped back in to town.

So... I plan to blog a lot this week, though I've threatened that before and fallen short. Since I have the week off, though, I may plague your in-boxes with many a new post. Bear with me!

Yesterday's Highlights

(Which I whine about simply by passing them along)

7:30 - 1st period thrown behind by donut deliveries from a DECCA fundraising event (yes, of course I bought some - they were Krispy Kreme!)

8:25 - 1st period finally gets around to the Prologue of Oedipus Rex after class members whined their ways for thirty minutes through a slightly harder than usual vocab. test. We only squeeze in 15 mins. of reading.

9:10 - I determine I have to write-up a student, who by the way failed my same class last semester, because he snuck out of my room during his mandatory remediation time and never returned except to get his stuff at the bell.

10:10 - I have to actually take a time-out and upbraid my entire 2nd period for their rude talking and laughing (first time I've had to do that all semester). One normally good boy in there pouts on one side of the room, after I made him change seats, while his buddy pouts on the other side.

10:20 - The real prize of 2nd period - a loud and rude white girl who seems to have talked herself into believing she is a loud and rude black girl - continues to be disruptive and refuses to hand over her phone after I catch her texting someone. Mental note: second write-up of the day to turn in.

11:40 - 12:05 - Hateful tri-weekly lunch duty, at which I find out my prom duty (since I'm a junior homeroom sponsor), will last from 7-12:30 next Thursday - five and a half hours of sheer boredom, with an unhappy Wyfe in tow!

1:45: One of my English colleagues, who has the same planning period, stops by my room to ask about some vocabulary word activities, and just to shoot the breeze for a few minutes. About five minutes later, her nose twitches, and she says, "That smells an awful lot like pot!" We walk out into the hall, and trace the smell from the boy's room across the hall. I go in, but no one is there. Whoever it was must have just left. I call the principal, who investigates and then goes off to check the security cameras.

3:30 I leave with my bag full of 50 tests to grade and 20 yearbook pages to proofread. If I were a drinker, I know where I would head next...

Can't wait 'til Monday!

Yearbook Blues

It is easy to look ahead at a challenge that lay far into the future and say, "Yeah, that will be tough, but we'll deal with it then." Then, then is suddenly here, and it turns out it is not just a challenge, but a giant, pulsating pain in the rear.

At my old school, we ran the yearbook on a rare fall schedule, so I had the summers to wrap up any yearbook issues (i.e., doing pages that certain kids let go by the wayside and quit caring about as summer break approached). Not so, now that I am in the big leagues. We have a spring book, and it is supposed to be finished by next Thursday, before our spring break. So, my staff and I are all running around with our hair on fire, while also in the midst of other classes we are taking/teaching. We'll get close to being finished, but I'm already preparing my plea for the mercy of my yearbook representative's court. Just a couple of late pages won't be a disaster, will it (will it)?

Speaking of yearbook, my editor was scheduled to go to Spain, France, and Germany on a Spanish Club trip for 10 days. For weeks she's been pinching herself over this, often saying (excitedly), "I can't believe I'm going to Europe!" So, the plane left last Tuesday. A couple of days before that, my editor started feeling bad, and by Monday (the day before the trip), she sounded awful and apparently felt awful. She went to the doctor that afternoon, sat in the waiting room for an hour, and was summarily told she had the flu and under no circumstances could go on the trip. So, she sat at home for a week, sick and devastatingly depressed.

Well, we did our best for her by throwing a little "We're Bringing Spain/France/Germany To You" party on Monday, when she returned to school. Of course, all the food the kids brought was Italian-like (not counting the thoroughly American Chips-A-Hoy), so they were a little off geographically. But hey, at least they got the right continent.

Some Tidbits

First of the penis joke variety (got your attention?). Our department head, a woman about my age, was helping one of her students - "a sweet redneck boy" to use her description - work out some details of his senior project. She began to sit in the chair beside him, and ended up half missing the chair, causing her to teeter. She attempted to reach out and grab her student's arm in order to steady herself, but she began falling and her hand caught his leg area instead. Again, to her description: "My thoughts were, 'Oh, I've got his leg... OH!, that's not his leg my hand is on. I really wish I would have just fallen."

Can we say, "Teenager scarred for life?"

***

The next afternoon, I sauntered into the cafeteria, along with other department members, a few minutes before the scheduled faculty meeting. Another of my female colleagues greeted me and then was about to ask me a literary question, when she interrupted herself to say, "Uh, Mr P., your fly is kind of open there..." Well, there are no easy places to duck behind in the cafeteria, as you can imagine, so the best I could do is turn my back on everyone and act quickly. Too late, though, to avoid the tale being told around the table within a mere minute or so. Can you say, "Me scarred for life?"

Like I've said before, it's tough being a man in the English Department, what with women looking at your fly and all. I'm sure Wyfe agrees with me.

***

My Lenten reading of late has included (surprise, surprise!) Flannery O'Connor's first short story collection. My biggest belly laugh so far came from the following passage of "The Temple of the Holy Ghost", when two silly teenage Catholic school girls sing in Latin for the guitar-toting evangelical farm boys who live near the house the girls are visiting. Spying on the scene is the precocious child who set up the date in the first place:

The girls dragged out the Amen, and then there was a silence.
"That must be Jew singing," Wendell said and began to tune the guitar.
The girls giggled idiotically but the child stamped her foot on the barrel. "You big dumb ox!" she shouted. "You big dumb Church of God ox!" she roared and fell off the barrel and scrambled up and shot around the corner of the house as they jumped from the banister to see who was shouting.

PLC's? Puh-leaze! (Part III)

Though in practice I think PLC's can be promising, helpful, and flexible enough to fit local, particular needs (something most educational trends, coming from on high, fail at miserably), irritants still abound in PLC-land (natch). The two most problematic irritants are that 1) PLC people like to talk way too much about PLC's, and do so in a hubristic "we can save the whole world" tone, and 2) there is already an unhealthy amount of crap jargon that has grown out of PLC-ism (something probably related to irritant #1). Here is a sample:

1)"PLC's concentrate on students learning, not on teachers teaching": This is the philosophical pearl of PLC-ism, a mantra insisted upon as profound wisdom. Translation: some teachers get up and go through their motions, and don't care whether their students are getting it or not. Well, o.k., we all have known teachers like this, but the point is that these were/are bad teachers. Good teachers have always been concerned about whether or not their kids were learning. I find this mantra daft, and the point it is making only profound in that it is profoundly obvious.

2)"Each PLC should set a standard of norms for each meeting": Norms? Norms? Sounds like we are on Cheers. Whatever happened to the word rules? I know, too masculine and heirarchical... Anyway, translation: People in PLC meetings should act like adults.

3) "PLC's help identify specific, attainable learner objectives": In many ways No Child Left Behind is the co-author of little nuggets like this one. Translation: Let's figure out what even below-average students can learn, and establish that as our goal. As for upper level students, well you're on your own kiddos.

4) "PLC's use collaborative teams and collective inquiry to achieve school goals": Yes, there are a lot of scary words that begin with "c" in PLC-land. Unkind Translation: Communism was a failure but the old lefty's among us still need a place to use the word "collective". Or, Kind Translation: If we work together a little more, we might be able to make the school a better place. If you aren't interested, the Borg will probably assimilate you anyway.

Well, there is a brief tour for you. My final, omniscient pronouncement is that PLC's can be good for a school if they are taken seriously, but not too seriously. I think most people like the idea of working more closely with their colleagues in a productive way. However, no one wants to be thought of as merely a faceless part of the team. Value me as an individual, and I'll value my contributions to the effort.

For God's sake, though, lose the jargon!

PLC's? Puh-leaze! (Part II)

You may have deduced by now that I have some heavy guns loaded and aimed at PLC-nation, but actually my only major qualms have to do with smaller, laughable annoyances, so I'll save that for my next/last/most enjoyable of three posts on the subject. Before being a little unfair and snarky, I thought I should give an account here of some of the positives that I've witnessed, or see the potential for, in a school that goes PLC.

1) The regular "collaborative meetings" we have probably help provide firmer accountability for teachers, since it would be fairly easy to figure out which teachers aren't doing jack in their classrooms when they have to give an account of activities each week. After all, no one wants to look like a slacker.

Now, no one has come off as a slacker in the meetings I've been in, but at my old school, I can picture a couple of bad teachers squirming mightlily under this system. Of course, even then, I don't know that it would have mattered if the principal didn't feel he could get rid of them to begin with.

2) Considering the fracturing that has occured in so many American communities, striving to give public schools a more communal feel is a worthwile goal, I believe, and this may be one way to accomplish that goal. One key in this, however is that the faculty turnover needs to be at a minimal, acceptable rate, which is something many schools have trouble with.

Another facet of this involves the now boiler-plate mantra of "meeting every student where they are" in life. Well, this if fine, but part accepting "where they are" and fostering a communal school also means having due respect for the local community you serve, and laying off the heavy-handed approach of many that goes something like, "These provincial yokels need to think like the rest of the world (i.e., urban Northeasterners and Southern Californians), and it's my job to lead them there."

Not that I'm necessarily thinking about both the New Yorker and the Californian on my hall that I've heard implying such things...

3) From what I read, PLC-mania has been a bottom-up phenomenan which has grown out of schools looking to change their approaches and then reached academicians, and not the other way around. Something that bloomed from the seeds of actual practice, and wasn't invented by some fool with a Phd. Ed. must have something to recommend it.

4) For this all to work well, administrations have to allow teachers more flexibility in the classroom, and not scratch the micro-managing itch too often.

So, really I'm on board if we are going doing these things, with the understanding that there are parts of the PLC approach which will bother me. One of the biggest annoyances is that it seems we've done nothing but talk about the damn things for the last month, and I just want to get on with them. You may feel the same by the time I finish my next, and last, PLC post for a while. Please bear with me until then!

PLC's? Puh-leaze! (Part 1)

Last year, at almost this exact same time, I blogged about the introduction of the term PLC into the lingo at my old school, and poked fun at the the jargoned-up description that my principal handed out to us about said Professional Learning Communities. Little did I know, from my lofty perch at the top of Mt. Smarmy, that in less than I year I would be working at a high school that had gone whole-hog PLC-ing. I have refrained from blogging about it so far this school year partially because the topic is so overwhelming, partially because it is kind of boring "inside baseball" school talk, and partially because it has taken this long to form some views that are in any way insightful. Now, however, the topic is unavoidable at work, and things seem to be reaching a new level of intensity over the whole matter.

In this post, I'm going to try and give you a short PLC primer, and then in subsequent posts I'll give more specific accounts of the good, the bad, and the ugly. Hope it's not too dull.

Essentially, PLC's are a new label for what used to be called "team-teaching", with a few other cherries on top. The centerpiece is that teachers of the same or similar subjects meet at least once a week and discuss their curriculum and what they are doing, and as their subject allows they try to come up with a few tests or assignments that they can all give, perhaps followed by a comparison of results. [Oh, did I say "tests or assignments"? Sorry, the prevailing jargon won't allow that denomination anymore - I mean common assessments. However, I'm jumping ahead of myself here, as I will spend more time ripping the jargon later.] During these meetings there is also supposed to be lots of sharing and supporting and affirming, and there are even fancy mechanisms for how to catch failing students early on and find more inventive ways to get them interested in their own educations and back on track.

A corollary benefit of PLC's is, ideally, that a the entire school and faculty will have more cohesion - that schools might, I suppose, have more of the community feel that has disappeared from so many of them. But there is only nostalgia for that one aspect of the schools of the past, because PLC-acolytes like to denounce "older school models" where the teacher was "an independent contractor who closed his or her door, took care of his or her own business, and rarely made contact with the rest of the school."

Some departments at my school have been doing their own PLC's for a couple of years, but sometime last spring our School Improvement Team (SIT)decided to forge ahead with PLC's for the entire school, starting the next (now current) year. So, most all of us have been dutifully showing up early on Monday mornings all year for our collaborative meetings. But the high majority of us have had little to no training in what we were actually supposed to be doing, and eventually this became a very apparent wart.

In response, the SIT decided all our staff development days this semester needed to be redirected so that we are only talking about PLC's (something that should have happened last spring). As a result, I've sat through about 10 butt-numbing hours of PLC talk in the last month, with four more hours to come in a couple of weeks.

Yes, kind patron, you should feel my pain.

Just as a preview, I'll tell you my feelings and opinions on the whole experiment are quite mixed, and I'll go into that in detail next post.

Sorry People!

I've got a couple of posts in me that are just dying to burst out like gestating aliens in a body-snatcher B-movie, but I'm just completely jammed with paper grading right now. Be patient, please.

The good news is that our writing test is fast approaching, and the crush of major essay instruction will soon pass. In any case, I promise I'll get something substantial to you later in the week.

You Know You Have A Non-Serious Student When...

The opening for an essay on responsibility goes thusly:

Recently, I just became president, and it was cool. I had lots of responsibilities and things I had to do. Then I wanted to become a police officer, and then I had even more responsibilities.

Well, at least she didn't spell it "kool."