Tagged: teachers
Hot For Teacher
“She has to know, right?”
“I don’t know, man. Does she? Know what?”
“Know that her words are very flattering. Very, very flattering.”
“I mean, sure she’s your teacher and we’d all like to believe teachers are more aware than their students, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s thinking like you think she’s thinking.”
“I’m not saying I know how she’s thinking. I’m just saying that it has been a long time since anyone has said I’m fascinating, endearing, and an enigma.”
“Whoa, slow down buddy. She didn’t say you were fascinating, endearing and enigmatic. She said your writing was.”
“Hey, don’t ruin this moment for me.”
“Okay, okay.”
“So what do you think my next play should be?”
“All I know is that she’s your number one contender right now.”
“Think so?”
“Definitely.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“You said she reads your blog?”
“She said she does. She even used the word ‘wildly’ to describe an aspect of them. ‘Wildly’. I like that.”
“You told me that she said your blog was ‘wildly different’ than your discussion posts for class.”
“Like I said, ‘wildly’.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
To Humanity or Not To Humanity
Those of you who left the world of academia long ago might be unaware that there is a debate raging about the humanities. Are college students interested in majoring in the humanities? Are they not? Would they like to, but their practical mind says, “Don’t be a fool. There are no jobs for humanities majors.”
My question is why is this debate even happening? I suspect that students who major in vocational type degrees get their long-sought-after jobs and live happily ever after. Just like students who major in the humanities or liberal arts degrees don’t get jobs related to their degree and live happily ever after.
There is some notion that accompanies attending college which goes something like, “If only we all do this right, we can achieve heaven on earth.” Is that what we (humans) really think?
I say do what you want. I wanted to get good grades and learn about why people behave they way they do. So I majored in sociology. Some people want to become very rich, so they major in fields that lend themselves to making money. Other people want to paint, so they major in art. I don’t see why this is a discussion. Am I missing something?
I want to be the best that I can be. Isn’t that enough? Why do I have to conform to your utopia? How about this: You just do your best rather than worry about forecasting what will happen if nobody studies English or History anymore. And I’ll do the same. And then we’ll see what happens.
Review of A Fly Went By by Mike McClintock and Fritz Siebel
In the classic children’s book A Fly Went By, Mike McClintock harnesses the The Great War’s lesson and with perfect eloquence tells a story that frees children from fear. With Fritz Siebel’s poignant illustrations as the glue holding a child’s gaze, McClintock’s repetitious prose etches its way into a young listener’s mind. The story is simple: a boy sees a fly go by, and asks him, “Why?” We soon find out that the fly ran from the frog. But the frog isn’t chasing the fly; he “ran from the cat, who ran from the dog.” The boy continues his search for the thing behind all the running, and in perfect metaphor to life, it turns out that a man was the first to run, and he ran from sounds of unknown origin. The chain reaction resulting in all the characters running in fear thus began. We soon discover, though, that these sounds were caused by “a sheep with an old tin can.”
Like any toddler whose parents read this book to them, apparently I had the big finale memorized before I knew how to read. It wasn’t until after college, though, that in reading the book to a nephew I realized the lesson that stamped itself on my person. Have no fear. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Be brave. These sentiments and more are captured within McClintock’s fun little book. It is a sure winner for parents who are looking for ways to teach their children a timeless truth–without the children knowing class is in session. A life without fear is a life worth living and a gift worth giving. Give children freedom from fear. Share with them the story of a boy who “sat by the lake, and looked at the sky.”
****
McClintock, Marshall, and Fritz Siebel. A Fly Went by. [New York]: Beginner, 1958. Print.
Out Of Touch…The End Is Near
The students took their standardized test. Everyone waited to see if they had learned anything over the last quarter of school.
Notable results:
When asked why a student’s performance decreased tremendously, the student replied hopefully, “Does that mean I’m out of your class?”
When told that she scored higher than her end-of-year growth goal on this the second assessment, the student says smiling sheepishly, “Oh. That’s because I didn’t really try on the first one.”
Weirder still is that if an observer wasn’t told the students were the lowest performing in the entire country, the observer would never have guessed it. Most students had no clue what the test scores were “out of”, yet they proceeded to celebrate and congratulate each other in precisely the same manner as the highest performing students do upon receiving grades.
What really takes the cake, however, was the “lead” teacher’s reaction to the generally positive test results. In an email to the principal she asked:
“Do we have money we could spend as rewards for the students who are proficient or who have growth on the assessment? How about $5 in “school cash” toward a school colors shirt/hoodie?”
Yep. Kids who hate the–admittedly ridiculous and difficult to enforce–dress code (only really concerned with preventing the kids from wearing gang colors) that leads them to choose to just wear school t-shirts and hoodies; kids whose parents have failed to create in them any appreciable amount of dignity or self-respect from which they could base an internal motivation to succeed at anything academic; these kids are going to be happy to have earned a ratty t-shirt.
One day and a wake up left. Pray for me.
The principal responded “yes” by the way.
The “Prep” Period
The bell rang. “Alright everyone, we’ll pick up here on Monday. Be safe this weekend.”
“Finally,” he exhaled, “I have a moment to prepare for the rest of the day.”
After one last glance making sure the hallway was clear, he closed the classroom door. Inside, he sat alone. He cleared his throat.
“Do your work,” he said. But he wasn’t pleased. He tried again.
“Do your work.” He still thought something wasn’t right.
“Do your work.” Eek! Too much Batman. He chuckled to himself before continuing.
“Do your work.” Getting better, but still not perfect.
“Do your work. Do your work. Do your work. Do your work. Do your work. Do your work. Do your work. Do your work. Do your work.” It was subtle, but he heard improvement. Looking up at the clock, he saw his prep period was almost over.
“One last time,” he said to himself.
“Do your work.” He smiled. “Perfect! And just in time.”
The bell rang. Getting up to go stand outside his classroom door, relieved, he said to himself, “Okay, I’m ready for the students.”
Rage Against Home School Teachers
“It is simply a matter of time. Quantity over quality,” he told his boss, the principal, as he resigned. He had never been so torn in his entire life.
How does one give up on a child?
****
He felt like crying.
The first step in solving any problem, he knew, was identifying it. The school district wanted high performance on standardized tests. The start of his resignation began when, as an outsider looking in, he surmised that the powers that be thought there was a direct correlation between the amount of paper on classroom walls and high performance on standardized tests. Finding himself in vehement disagreement, he wouldn’t support this doctrine. Remembering, or rather, not remembering there being much paper, certainly not much memorable paper on the walls of his childhood classrooms–save an attempt to show Pi’s irrational nature and a few motivational quotes–he couldn’t help but laugh at the sick joke.
In dealing with 13 year old’s who didn’t know their times table (and didn’t care to learn it), he recollected something he learned in college. He recalled learning that the notion of a juvenile, that is a 13-18 year old human, is man made. The theory goes something like, “until relatively recently puberty marked the coming-of-age of a human.” Puberty marked the entrance to manhood. It marked the entrance to womanhood. In at least Western civilization, however, we have something in between childhood and adulthood. We have the juvenile. For the deserving, this truly is a privilege. The deserving, those 13-18 year old’s who possess an ability to appreciate this extended grace period, should reap a benefit from past generations diligence. But the undeserving? What should happen to them? No matter whose fault it was, the undeserving should be placed where they’ll be placed in a few years anyhow–the adult world. “Don’t want to learn? Work. Find the simple joy of labor. Or, regret with a vengeance the stupid decision to not want to know how to think for yourself.” Either way, they’d be better for it.
Alas, frustratingly, even if he identified the problem as a misunderstanding of human biology, he only opened the door to another problem. What could have been done to teach 13 year old’s to value a readily available, free, and rigorous education? The answer? A home where education is valued. A better home school.
In his short tenure at the school he refused to call any of his student’s parents–for their protection. He wasn’t trying to protect the students, but the parents. He knew once the conversation began he wouldn’t be able to stop. “How could you raise your children with such carelessness? How could you not read to your children? How could you not ask about school and homework? How could you not demand the highest standards of behavior and performance? How could you reward their poor behavior with enabling feigned as ignorance?”
His own achievements convinced him of the simple truth that no expectation was too high. His own achievements began with the fear of earning a mother’s scorn. No way would she, or his father, have let his school advance him to 4th grade without doing his best in 3rd grade–and having the grades to show for it. His student’s parents though? Ha. They weren’t human beings. They were jokes.
****
How does one give up on a child? Most adults avoid situations which might result in needing to answer that question. He finally saw why. The answer was simultaneously unthinkable and the right thing to do. He cried.
Is There A Point Beyond Which Truth Overtakes “Honor Thy Father and Mother”?
Rounding the corner, he heard her yelling. Creating one of the most iconic images of a teacher lecturing a child imaginable, she loomed over the student one hand on her hip and the other extending her finger towards the students face. Walking closer, he finally heard what she was saying.
“What was respectful about walking into the classroom with your mom berating the teacher on speaker phone?”
Secretly wishing he could hear the rest of that conversation, he hurriedly walked to his classroom. Along the way he ran into a student.
“Didn’t class start 10 minutes ago?”
“Yeah, I tried to skip but got caught. I didn’t want to come to school today.”
“Ha.”
“Hey Mister, did you hear what happened this weekend?”
Applying the no-news-is-good-news standard, he dreadfully replied, “Umm, nope. What?”
“One of the students was shot and killed.”
**
“Huh-uh, my three year-old niece is going to be so smart. She’s playing these learning video games already.”
“I don’t think video games are so great for three year old’s, even if they are supposed to be educational.”
“What?! No Mister, you’re wrong. She’s already so smart, and her one year old sister is even smarter already and she’s only one.”
Clearly an un-winnable argument, he tried to change the subject. Then it occurred to him. What these kids needed to do was unthinkable, unspeakable even.
For weeks he had struggled as he tried to pinpoint the problem that needed to be solved. Step one of problem solving required “Recognize the problem.” It wasn’t that the kids didn’t know information, it was that the kids didn’t want to know and didn’t need to know. Unfortunately for them, he also knew what he knew: Learning opens the door to life. The news from the morning reminded him this wasn’t a metaphor. This day–especially this day–he was reminded of this not only logically, but emotionally.
As if an insatiable itch, his conclusion wouldn’t allow him peace. He was a doer. But this? He could not bring himself to do it.
He wondered if anyone could understand the fear he felt. He knew his track record. Once he made up his mind he went to work. But this time, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. It was too dangerous. Literally. He wished he would’ve seen it coming so he could have just avoided the whole mess. Where was his intuition this time?
These kids had one chance. If they had any hope of changing their future, they had one and only one opportunity. Someone they respected had to tell them the truth.
“Sorry kids. Your parents are epic failures. This is observable scientifically; it is measurable and quantifiable according to every scale imaginable. The only thing you can learn from them is what not to do. Your only hope is to internalize this and its unavoidable conclusion: You are on your own. The good news is that none of this was your fault. The better news is at your age you are fully equipped to take responsibility for your actions. And if you choose to believe this and act accordingly, one day you will look back on this decision as simultaneously the greatest and worst day of your life. So…what do you want to do?”
Frustration
“Okay,” he sighed. “So you don’t want to do division… Let’s chat for a second,” he said to the 15 year-old high school student. “Do you plan on getting a job soon?”
“No. Why would I?” she answered withdrawing and scrunching up her face in disgust.
“Don’t you want money to buy things you want that your parents won’t buy for you?” he nearly pleaded.
“My mom buys me what I want,” she snapped.
“Okay, well what about the expensive stuff. Like when I was in high school, if I wanted a $30 or $50 video game, I had to use my own money. What about that kind of stuff?” he calmly inquired.
“Umm…my mom just bought me two pair of Jordan’s for, what was it, um, like two hundred,” she stated defiantly.
He had nothing. He had no cards up his sleeve. He had no bargaining chips. There was nothing he could say that was true. She could literally never learn division and still live out her life. She literally would be able to eat, drink and be merry without knowing how to compare fractions, without knowing how to simplify improper fractions. Still, he felt that something was terribly wrong.
Where was her drive? Where was her motivation? Where was her self-worth? Where was her desire to improve herself?
Racking his brain, he could only conclude that she had never been given those things to lose. He couldn’t remember a specific day he was given them, but he knew he had them. Maybe he was just getting old.
He was hired to teach her. The problem became clearer every day. Kids like her didn’t need teachers. They’d had skillful, motivated, capable teachers their entire lives. They needed parents.
She was almost an adult, yet if it was cold enough for mittens, she couldn’t do a 12 x 12 times table. And she didn’t care.
Before You Subtract…Abstract
What makes a person want to learn?
What makes a person want to teach?
What does it take to convince a 14-year old that knowing how to add/subtract/multiple/divide fractions is valuable? Is knowing how to manipulate fractions valuable?
I spent some time reading a book about algebra recently, and noticed the author put special, but still less than I would have, emphasis on some major moments in the history of math. The first being the invention/recognition of the number “0”. Another being the move from numbers being practical to being abstract; that is, from counting 5 apples or 5 sheep to understanding that “5” can be a useful concept without the practical application. Did you catch that? Numbers began with practical application. Afterwards, the giants of math discovered numbers and math in abstraction. Because of these giants, we’ll be colonizing other planets in our lifetime.
In reviewing this chronology, I think I picked up on something. The problem a high school teacher faces is not convincing several-grade-levels-behind teenagers of the practical application of fractions, but convincing them of the importance of abstract thought. You might be thinking that reminding students that if Matt pays $3.75 and John $1.25, unless Matt is feeling nice, John should only get 2 slices of the Hot’n’Ready seems the better route at this juncture. Don’t be foolish, it is not. Really, who cares how many slices of pizza a couple of high teenagers eat? The bigger problem is that there are four years left until these two knuckleheads will never again be members of a captive audience. There are four years until they will officially become adults in the legal sense of the word, regardless of their not having achieved manhood in the abstract sense of the word.
How to proceed then? How about heeding Thoreau?
“No wonder that Alexander carried the Iliad with him on his expeditions in a precious casket. A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; — not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself. The symbol of an ancient man’s thought becomes a modern man’s speech. Two thousand summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian literature, as to her marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal tint, for they have carried their own serene and celestial atmosphere into all lands to protect them against the corrosion of time. Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. Books, the oldest and the best, stand naturally and rightfully on the shelves of every cottage. They have no cause of their own to plead, but while they enlighten and sustain the reader his common sense will not refuse them. Their authors are a natural and irresistible aristocracy in every society, and, more than kings or emperors, exert an influence on mankind. When the illiterate and perhaps scornful trader has earned by enterprise and industry his coveted leisure and independence, and is admitted to the circles of wealth and fashion, he turns inevitably at last to those still higher but yet inaccessible circles of intellect and genius, and is sensible only of the imperfection of his culture and the vanity and insufficiency of all his riches, and further proves his good sense by the pains which be takes to secure for his children that intellectual culture whose want he so keenly feels; and thus it is that he becomes the founder of a family.”
Shhh!
He did it. He was so proud of himself. Well, that’s not saying much, but the point is the first day of school had come and gone. What’s that? You’d like to know what high school is like these days? …if he has time? Let me ask him. He said he’s on his way out the door, but for you “anything.”
Oh okay, I get it. He wants me to let you know he’s mumbling inaudibly. Forgive him, he was just attempting to demonstrate what he experienced all day today. He’s telling me that no kids speak loud enough to hear. Yeah, it’s a joke that just doesn’t work so well in writing, but trust me, it was effective in person.
He apologizes for the lame joke, and thinks you’d be interested to know that today’s 9th graders were born in 1999. Shocking. Actually, that year is super familiar to me. Oh, I know. That’s the year The Matrix came out! Now he wants me to let you know that he’s not joking about the mumbling. He says “literally, only 2 out of 99” 9th graders spoke loud enough for him to hear. And with this new touchy-feely way of teaching and thinking about them, he says he actually felt like it was inappropriate for him to ask them to speak up–like it was too harsh and might hurt their feelings. Crazy.
Besides the fact that they need a class on confidence before they proceed, he doesn’t think that you’d be surprised by much else. For example, the school has a dress code. One rule is no blue jeans or dark blue jeans. He’s telling me that he mentioned to a student that her jeans today seemed to be dark blue. But then he confessed that they might be okay because they were so dark they might be black. He says his wavering prompted a young man to tell the class his dark blue jeans were black. Sheesh, give ’em an inch….
Okay, he’s telling me that he has to get going now. He really would like to share more, but he literally couldn’t hear anything. You should see this, he cares so much for you that as he’s getting further away he’s raising his voice so I can still hear him. He’s yelling from a distance now. Okay, I think he just said it was just seven 50-minute periods of low-talking. At least he doesn’t look stressed.
Captain’s Log 