Jeesh.
I wrote that at the bottom of an email today and realized that I don't use that word ever. But I should because it's just so cool.
Anyway, realized that it's been a while since I've been on this. Yikeys! That wasn't meant to happen. But that's what happens sometimes when you got something to do or somewhere to be every night for a couple of weeks. This week should slow down a bit. I'm still craving more sleep apparently. For instance, today I almost slept through school. Yes, if I didn't live right below Janet, I would have slept on and on and on this morning as evidently I set my alarm for 5:45 p.m., not a.m. Ooops.
But I got ready in 20 minutes, and my students were only waiting outside my room for a couple of minutes before I got there. They were really nice about it. Unfortunately, maybe because of the weather change or my sick feeling or just plain busyness, I still don't feel quite "with" it. I frustrated myself today because during 7th period, I was so immature. It's so embarrassing to think about. I hang my head at myself. I laugh at words in front of my whole class that I know other teachers would frown upon or give out demerits for. I probably should, too, but how can I when I laugh just as hard as everyone else?
Of course, the kiddos don't think that's a bad thing, but I just . . .doubt that. I felt like my filter of thoughts that usually knows when I should and should not mention something just wasn't working today, like it was still sleeping, waiting for that NPR morning edition to wake it up.
Oh, crapola. Must enter some grades and then head to bed so I don't have a repeat of this morning tomorrow. Although I did change my alarm time like a good little teacher . . . Ooh, bonus: a good book of which to read a chapter or two before the final "lights out." I am the Messenger . . .check it out!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Empowered
Phew.
Considering I've been awake and functioning for nigh on 14 and 1/2 hours today, I feel unexpectedly energetic . . .even exuberant.
Yes. I know. It's strange.
And I was worried 5 hours ago that I wouldn't be able to make it till the end of my 2 1/2 hour writing class tonight.
But I stroll in, wash my dishes, grab a glass of wine, and wah-lah: here I am.
From where does such energy stem? From feeling not only the interest of my small writing group, but their support and their sympathy, and admiration . . .?? Yes, I think that's it. I was so nervous about tonight's class--the 2nd one--potentially more nerve-wracking than the first because tonight we were separated into little groups of 4 . . .and these are the women we're sharing our writing with for the next 12 Mondays. Holy shit. No pressure or anything.
I brought a very long poem I wrote for KC. She hasn't gotten it yet. But I think if three before-unknown women can get what I want her to get, then it should go ok. I bawled my freakin' eyes out as I read it. Another woman grabbed a tissue, too. And they liked my poem's format. And the crying woman said she wished she had a sister like me. Actually, she said some other really nice things, too, but they're probably not best shared here.
So I just felt so affirmed, like it was the right thing for me to do this writing class. Their writing, too, made me want to hear more. We all seem quite different, but alike in willingness to be open and supportive. I hope that proves true throughout the semester.
Considering I've been awake and functioning for nigh on 14 and 1/2 hours today, I feel unexpectedly energetic . . .even exuberant.
Yes. I know. It's strange.
And I was worried 5 hours ago that I wouldn't be able to make it till the end of my 2 1/2 hour writing class tonight.
But I stroll in, wash my dishes, grab a glass of wine, and wah-lah: here I am.
From where does such energy stem? From feeling not only the interest of my small writing group, but their support and their sympathy, and admiration . . .?? Yes, I think that's it. I was so nervous about tonight's class--the 2nd one--potentially more nerve-wracking than the first because tonight we were separated into little groups of 4 . . .and these are the women we're sharing our writing with for the next 12 Mondays. Holy shit. No pressure or anything.
I brought a very long poem I wrote for KC. She hasn't gotten it yet. But I think if three before-unknown women can get what I want her to get, then it should go ok. I bawled my freakin' eyes out as I read it. Another woman grabbed a tissue, too. And they liked my poem's format. And the crying woman said she wished she had a sister like me. Actually, she said some other really nice things, too, but they're probably not best shared here.
So I just felt so affirmed, like it was the right thing for me to do this writing class. Their writing, too, made me want to hear more. We all seem quite different, but alike in willingness to be open and supportive. I hope that proves true throughout the semester.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
One of those special teaching moments
Under the influence of a teacher whose work I admire, I've been sharing some poems with my children.
They groan. They fling their heads down in misery on their desks when I pass out the day's poem. They ask if I intend to do this every day.
From their general air of excitement, I can tell I'm making a positive impression on them.
I wish.
Last Friday I shared a poem with them entitled "The Little Boy." At first I wasn't even going to go there. It's a long poem, about three pages. It's about a kid who goes to school and loves to color, but his teacher always stops him and shows him the "right" way to make his picture. She always draws a red flower with a green stem. So the kid learns to imitate her. Eventually, he goes to another school, and this teacher wants him to draw, too. However, this teacher just walks around the room and waits for the boy to decide what he wants to do. When he questions her, she says she wants him to pick any drawing and any color. So he draws a red flower with a green stem.
I loved that poem. I was so inspired; I shared it with my classes because I thought it would be great for them to see how much it matters to me that I develop who they are and what they think. I yearned for them to see that I don't want them all to grow up to be the same person, crammed into the same mold.
They were unimpressed.
This week I gave them an assignment: they were to pick one of their topics from their list of writing ideas and write me anything they wanted in any form they wanted as long as it was at least 10 lines long. The number of puzzled faces that stared blankly back at me might amaze you. Many kids asked if they could just write an essay. When questioned further, they said they didn't think they knew how to write anything else. So today I show them an example of a poem written about craisins--yes, those yummy pieces of dried cranberries. And again I tried to explain that I just wanted to see what they could do if the only constraints I gave them were that it must be from their writing list and must be at least 10 lines long. One girl appeared terrified.
"But I only know how to write an essay!" she exclaimed.
Her neighbor gaped at her, "I think this sounds way easier."
And then this group of girls who sit on the outer section of my two semi-circled group of desks suddenly seem to connect ideas.
"Oh, you're like the teacher from the poem!" one shouted.
I had no idea what she meant. I expressed my confusion with articulation. "Huh?"
"You know--the one with the red flower and the boy! We've always done essays, and you want us to make our own ideas!"
"Well . . .yeah. I do. I want to see what you can do if I just leave it open. Not that essays are bad . . .you definitely need to know how to do those. But they're not the most fun kind of writing you can do."
In that brief moment of connection between ideas, I felt that internal soaring that comes with feeling that something I attempted hit home with at least a few students . . . that for a miniscule second, they could see the overarching plan that unites my classroom activities. Well, maybe not the whole plan. Maybe more a piece of the mortar that holds it all together . . .but still, it was gratifying. Uplifting even.
I'm feeling pretty excited to see what they bring on Friday.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Celebrity Status
You know, I love going to high school football games. Not so much to watch the football because honestly, if I have to watch the game very closely, I get bored. But the atmosphere is great, the energy and the school colors waving around and just the activity are fabulous for a Friday night.
And, to be honest, for the past three seasons, I leave the games feeling pretty damn good about myself. It's pretty much the only place I know to go to see former students, and sometimes I get swarmed by them. I'll be the only person who can legally drive within a 100 foot radius.
Since school's been in for two and a half weeks now, I've been wanting to go, and tonight I figured there might be an hour left in the game for me to "observe."
So I headed out in my Sonata with its low tire pressure and drove the 20 minutes it takes to get to Fenwick Field, or whatever it's called. It was pitch black outside; only the lights from the field lent any light. I somewhat apprehensively headed toward the gate, flipping open my phone and texting rapidly so I wouldn't look like I was awkwardly alone or anything. It's the part I dread the most: the walk from my car through the gates and to a seat by people I know, hoping like I don't stand out like the cliched sore thumb. As I walk about 50 feet inside the gate, I hear my name screamed and glance up from my phone to watch as about 10 8th graders gallop towards me and fling their arms around in a massive group hug. I know I hit one girl in the face. There might have been more casualities, but the cluster of people only grew tighter as former students caught wind that I was there. Suddenly I was embraced by freshmen, my 8th graders of only 4 swift months ago. Their chatter bursts forth, and they seem to edge out the present 8th graders to form a circle around me. They want to complain about their massive loads of homework, the relative meanness of their teachers, and their general dissatisfaction in their status change. And I cannot tell a lie; I felt enormously gratified when they praised me and said they'd kept my notes and remembered direct objects (what I call the "d.o." or "do"). In fact, it is possible that I threw my fists in the air and shouted triumphantly when they said they remembered things I had taught them. As a teacher, you always wonder if anything you say or do affects their lives at all, and it is SO reassuring to hear that some of your efforts found fertile ground.
So as it turns out, I never made it any further than those 50 feet inside because quite a few came to me. I saw some juniors I had taught, a few straggling sophomores (not as many as I had hoped but maybe next time), quite a few freshmen swung by, and a surprising number of my present students (who apparently were taking pictures of me chatting with the freshmen??--a little creepy and stalkeresque), and even some 7th graders came and said hi. One of my favorite former students said he and his friend (another one with a special place in my heart) had looked for me around half time . . .I wondered how they would even know I was coming. Or maybe it just occurred to them that I would. And apparently one of my 8th graders told his friends that he "knew I was coming," and I wonder how the hell he figured that. Strolling in at 4th quarter doesn't seem like promising odds.
Anyway, it was brief, almost dream-like, like did I really just get to see those people I've been wondering about for the past few weeks? But it's given me the energy to come home and write and then go back and teach next week, feeling like something I've done has made an impression on those kids I can't help but love year after year after year.
And, to be honest, for the past three seasons, I leave the games feeling pretty damn good about myself. It's pretty much the only place I know to go to see former students, and sometimes I get swarmed by them. I'll be the only person who can legally drive within a 100 foot radius.
Since school's been in for two and a half weeks now, I've been wanting to go, and tonight I figured there might be an hour left in the game for me to "observe."
So I headed out in my Sonata with its low tire pressure and drove the 20 minutes it takes to get to Fenwick Field, or whatever it's called. It was pitch black outside; only the lights from the field lent any light. I somewhat apprehensively headed toward the gate, flipping open my phone and texting rapidly so I wouldn't look like I was awkwardly alone or anything. It's the part I dread the most: the walk from my car through the gates and to a seat by people I know, hoping like I don't stand out like the cliched sore thumb. As I walk about 50 feet inside the gate, I hear my name screamed and glance up from my phone to watch as about 10 8th graders gallop towards me and fling their arms around in a massive group hug. I know I hit one girl in the face. There might have been more casualities, but the cluster of people only grew tighter as former students caught wind that I was there. Suddenly I was embraced by freshmen, my 8th graders of only 4 swift months ago. Their chatter bursts forth, and they seem to edge out the present 8th graders to form a circle around me. They want to complain about their massive loads of homework, the relative meanness of their teachers, and their general dissatisfaction in their status change. And I cannot tell a lie; I felt enormously gratified when they praised me and said they'd kept my notes and remembered direct objects (what I call the "d.o." or "do"). In fact, it is possible that I threw my fists in the air and shouted triumphantly when they said they remembered things I had taught them. As a teacher, you always wonder if anything you say or do affects their lives at all, and it is SO reassuring to hear that some of your efforts found fertile ground.
So as it turns out, I never made it any further than those 50 feet inside because quite a few came to me. I saw some juniors I had taught, a few straggling sophomores (not as many as I had hoped but maybe next time), quite a few freshmen swung by, and a surprising number of my present students (who apparently were taking pictures of me chatting with the freshmen??--a little creepy and stalkeresque), and even some 7th graders came and said hi. One of my favorite former students said he and his friend (another one with a special place in my heart) had looked for me around half time . . .I wondered how they would even know I was coming. Or maybe it just occurred to them that I would. And apparently one of my 8th graders told his friends that he "knew I was coming," and I wonder how the hell he figured that. Strolling in at 4th quarter doesn't seem like promising odds.
Anyway, it was brief, almost dream-like, like did I really just get to see those people I've been wondering about for the past few weeks? But it's given me the energy to come home and write and then go back and teach next week, feeling like something I've done has made an impression on those kids I can't help but love year after year after year.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Rebirth of "Big Toe"
In my school, we work hard to incorporate the 6 Traits of Writing into our yearly writing procedures. This is my third year to use this system, and in reality, I'm still revising and refitting and making things work the way I think they should. Now I'm trying out the writing advice of Nancie Atwell, who really seems to be a kick-butt English teacher. She's not just a theorizer; she's a practicing middle school teacher. That gives her increased credibility in my book.
So, this year, I've been striving to incorporate those 6 Traits with her teaching of writing. The first activity she suggests to improve writing? Something called "Writing Territories." This activity is simply a listing of topics--events, people, memories, emotions, etc--that each kid creates to refer back to when coming up with new topics for writing. Fits perfectly with the "ideas" trait of writing.
To help my darlings create their own list, I made a list of things I could write about. The most fun part of this list is telling stories. Kids, especially this class, LOVE to hear stories about their teachers' lives. In fact today, as I went over this list, they decided they'd rather create their own list for homework and have me tell them stories about my life during class. You want me to talk about myself? Well, ok.
They learned quite a bit about me today: my most embarrassing moment, memories of my grandfather, the death of my student Celeste, a funny college story. I even had one kid stay after class to ask me about one other thing on my list that I hadn't gotten to yet. As he asked me, I gave him one of those incredulous looks (you know what I mean, I'm sure), "Are you sure you really want to hear this?"
His response, "Yes, because it's a toss up between who's my new favorite teacher, you or Mrs. Birchwell because you're both crazy!"
Well, kiddo, when you put it that way . . .geez, I'm crazy? Energetic, bizarre at times, but crazy? Couldn't you have picked a less offensive word? lol.
Anyway, I obliged him. He seemed pretty satisfied that I was still "crazy" by his reaction.
So, the same group of kids returns to me after lunch. We were discussing a short story and going over how to find theme in a story (an eerie number of them didn't seem to remember what that was). The theme of this particular story had to do with everyone, even the homeless guy the story focused on, having his own "treasure." Naturally, I ask my kids if they have a non-monetary treasure. One witty fellow raises his hand--"My left big toe."
I gaze at him in surprise. "Your big toe, huh? I have a story about a big toe, which I will tell you if we have time at the end of class."
Instantly they perk up (seriously, they have an intense interest in my life). Several times during the remainder of the 45 minute class, they ask me if I can tell the big toe story. I downplay it as much as possible.
"Guys, this story really probably won't be that funny to you. It was probably only funny to me, but if you really want to hear it . . ."
Yes, they say. Even if they have more work to do at home tonight.
So in the last 6 or 8 minutes, I oblige them again. I go into the details of the anatomy and physiology class that I really didn't want to take as a senior in high school. I explain how my teacher was a coach and how he sat at his desk each day, and one day my classmates and I weren't really listening as he spoke until he yelled at us. In the stillness that followed, he said, "Big toe."
That's it. Just "big toe" and he stopped. Nothing before and nothing after. And I just lost it. Internally, though. I didn't want to laugh hysterically in front of my classmates--too weird. But I'm sure I was twitching in my seat with my eyes burning and my fingers clenched into my palms to keep the laughter in.
And then I had to tell my friends (Erin and Carrie, do you remember this?), and it became this thing where no one really thought it was as funny as I did, but people would say it randomly just to make me laugh until I couldn't breathe. (Carrie, I have a distinct memory of you doing this to me in Mrs. Moutos' class!)
Just as I suspected, the kids didn't think it laugh-out-loud funny, but God bless 'em, they did try to understand.
"Well, I could see why that would be funny. I mean, it's so random. Big toe," said one girl. I smiled and reminded them to use the last few minutes to start reading their next story. Some kids tried, but the others decided to test this "big toe" thing.
"Hey, Ms. Sullivan!" And I would turn to hear "big toe" shouted at me.
"Oh, haha, guys." I think the funnyness has long since passed for me.
But I had several more kids try to make me laugh spontaneously. One kid shouted, "Little toe" at me, and I did genuinely laugh at that. And another kid brought in his friend from a different class just to say "big toe," and when I walked out into the hall during change of classes, two kids came up and told me "big toe" separately.
But probably the best moment came when I went back to my desk and found a folded-up piece of paper sitting there. And when I opened it, it said--you guessed it,
"Big Toe!" complete with a little drawing and a "haha."
And this, ladies and gents, is why I teach.
So, this year, I've been striving to incorporate those 6 Traits with her teaching of writing. The first activity she suggests to improve writing? Something called "Writing Territories." This activity is simply a listing of topics--events, people, memories, emotions, etc--that each kid creates to refer back to when coming up with new topics for writing. Fits perfectly with the "ideas" trait of writing.
To help my darlings create their own list, I made a list of things I could write about. The most fun part of this list is telling stories. Kids, especially this class, LOVE to hear stories about their teachers' lives. In fact today, as I went over this list, they decided they'd rather create their own list for homework and have me tell them stories about my life during class. You want me to talk about myself? Well, ok.
They learned quite a bit about me today: my most embarrassing moment, memories of my grandfather, the death of my student Celeste, a funny college story. I even had one kid stay after class to ask me about one other thing on my list that I hadn't gotten to yet. As he asked me, I gave him one of those incredulous looks (you know what I mean, I'm sure), "Are you sure you really want to hear this?"
His response, "Yes, because it's a toss up between who's my new favorite teacher, you or Mrs. Birchwell because you're both crazy!"
Well, kiddo, when you put it that way . . .geez, I'm crazy? Energetic, bizarre at times, but crazy? Couldn't you have picked a less offensive word? lol.
Anyway, I obliged him. He seemed pretty satisfied that I was still "crazy" by his reaction.
So, the same group of kids returns to me after lunch. We were discussing a short story and going over how to find theme in a story (an eerie number of them didn't seem to remember what that was). The theme of this particular story had to do with everyone, even the homeless guy the story focused on, having his own "treasure." Naturally, I ask my kids if they have a non-monetary treasure. One witty fellow raises his hand--"My left big toe."
I gaze at him in surprise. "Your big toe, huh? I have a story about a big toe, which I will tell you if we have time at the end of class."
Instantly they perk up (seriously, they have an intense interest in my life). Several times during the remainder of the 45 minute class, they ask me if I can tell the big toe story. I downplay it as much as possible.
"Guys, this story really probably won't be that funny to you. It was probably only funny to me, but if you really want to hear it . . ."
Yes, they say. Even if they have more work to do at home tonight.
So in the last 6 or 8 minutes, I oblige them again. I go into the details of the anatomy and physiology class that I really didn't want to take as a senior in high school. I explain how my teacher was a coach and how he sat at his desk each day, and one day my classmates and I weren't really listening as he spoke until he yelled at us. In the stillness that followed, he said, "Big toe."
That's it. Just "big toe" and he stopped. Nothing before and nothing after. And I just lost it. Internally, though. I didn't want to laugh hysterically in front of my classmates--too weird. But I'm sure I was twitching in my seat with my eyes burning and my fingers clenched into my palms to keep the laughter in.
And then I had to tell my friends (Erin and Carrie, do you remember this?), and it became this thing where no one really thought it was as funny as I did, but people would say it randomly just to make me laugh until I couldn't breathe. (Carrie, I have a distinct memory of you doing this to me in Mrs. Moutos' class!)
Just as I suspected, the kids didn't think it laugh-out-loud funny, but God bless 'em, they did try to understand.
"Well, I could see why that would be funny. I mean, it's so random. Big toe," said one girl. I smiled and reminded them to use the last few minutes to start reading their next story. Some kids tried, but the others decided to test this "big toe" thing.
"Hey, Ms. Sullivan!" And I would turn to hear "big toe" shouted at me.
"Oh, haha, guys." I think the funnyness has long since passed for me.
But I had several more kids try to make me laugh spontaneously. One kid shouted, "Little toe" at me, and I did genuinely laugh at that. And another kid brought in his friend from a different class just to say "big toe," and when I walked out into the hall during change of classes, two kids came up and told me "big toe" separately.
But probably the best moment came when I went back to my desk and found a folded-up piece of paper sitting there. And when I opened it, it said--you guessed it,
"Big Toe!" complete with a little drawing and a "haha."
And this, ladies and gents, is why I teach.
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