sarah's blog

Semester Review

2005-12-07T15:36:00.000-08:00

Reflection on the past semester is daunting. We’re not just talking about a career change, but a change in job, city, state, friends, coffee shops, roads, running trails…As things in the classroom have taken their time falling into pace and place, so too has just about every other aspect of my life. I find that at any moment a reflection on my work is more broadly a reflection on the coherence of my days both in and away from school. How was second block? Did I hold the handstand at yoga class? How was the cafeteria? It was great not to eat PBJ again. I painted. Carlos smiled and said, "Hola" in the hall - he does use his brain! I am growing happier, more rooted in Jackson, which I think roots me in my classroom as well. My kids utter Spanish; they couldn't three or four months ago. I'm ready for Winter Break, but I don't regret my day job at all. And hell, when all is said and done, I haven't been eaten alive yet.

From June to December

2005-12-04T11:06:00.000-08:00

It’s sort of funny to read my summer blogs and realize how nervous/excited I was about teaching, how I dissected my video performance, the general fluttering of butterflies in my tummy. It appears that I had built the profession up in my mind as some great, frightening, highly complicated performance in front of an implacable audience that was surely going to devour me with their razor sharp teeth. This is all funny to me now because, four and a half months later, teaching Spanish One is my daily routine. Although the lessons and assignments change from day to day in content and design, and although someone is always dropping a surprise at my feet, there is a strange sense now of consistency, normalness, and comfort. Perhaps part of what I failed to recognize this summer was how much I would come to find my kids to be just that: kids - funny, unpredictable, sometimes mean, sometimes compassionate, and almost always pretty damned smart when you least expect it.

Success Story

2005-10-31T12:36:00.000-08:00

Success happened unexpectedly this month. Since day two of school – day one with B day – my seventh block has proven an unforgiving challenge. Mid October, nothing had changed. I left for two days on a trip to Amherst to speak on an education panel and to tailgate at the homecoming game that Saturday. For two days my classroom was in the hands of an unknown substitute. When I returned the following Monday I discovered that the only problem had by the sub was with seventh block. The whole class had been loud, disrespectful, and manipulative. I punished them that Monday with a loss of bathroom privileges and a two hundred point (test points) disciplinary essay. They were livid, complained endlessly, and claimed that they were the victims of an evil, student-blood sucking sub. I just shook my head at them. But after Monday, a small, quiet change took effect. Seventh block was playing it safe; they were monitoring each other, and attempting to win my approval. That Friday I gave them their first good behavior points of the year. They cheered for themselves and their accomplishment.

Things are still pretty decent. Although, last week I had to go home sick, leaving them in the unsuspecting hands of Mr. O-someone-or-other. While at home on the couch I received a text message from another teacher who informed me that during lunch Regina Bass had poured a Mountain Dew over Karrington William’s head. Karrington had retaliated by knocking Regina over, removing a high heeled shoe, and pummeling Regina in the head with the heel. Karrington is perhaps 98 pounds and talks in mouse squeaks. She is very paranoid about other people talking about her or injuring her reputation. Regina is another petite and very mouthy girl. They are suspended from school for 9 days. Seventh block just got even better.

Nine Weeks In

2005-10-07T14:44:00.000-07:00

My nine weeks test failed a number of my students at the term. Yet, for many, the extra credit portion provided a more fruitful creative avenue. The extra credit assignment on the back of the test was to a.) draw a flattering picture of Ms. DeGraaf, or b.) write a poem/song/rap about how awesome Spanish 1 is. Scores were based on the students’ ability to brown nose. Some highlights are posted below:

Spanish is like the sun
Coming out on a sunny day.
It is like those days you
Wake up happy for no reason.
It’s the feeling you have
Of learning and knowing
Something new. Its
Fun and exciting just like
My Spanish teacher.
- Cecilia

!Spanish is easy
Spanish is off the heezy
Spanish is the subject
I choose for sheezy!
- Jeronimo

Me and Spanish
By: Ignacio
Spanish is my life
I wish it could be my wife
I think about it all the time
I just wish it was mine
I would do anything to keep it
I should give it a kiss
No one loves Spanish more than me
Cuz Spanish is my baby.

Beautiful Eyes
Your eyes is like
Gowing diamond
In shinning skys
Eyes
Your eyes are wonderful
Seeing master
Pieces that are beautiful
To attract anyone.
Eyes

Your eyes being so
Beautiful make students
Realize what school is
Really for an
Education
Eyes.
- Fernando

Spanish Class Rap
Spanish class is great.
We learn at a fast rate.
Ms. DeGraaf so cool.
She’ll make you never skip school
Como te llamas
Me llamo Deonte
You see what she don
I can speak it all day
We listen then we say
The words that she may
Now my story’s getting short
So I have to abort
Just listen to what she say
You’ll make it that way.
- Rafael

Spanish Spanish learn bout Spanish
Talking in Spanish maybe I’m
Hispanic. Your gonna learn Spanish
Hola your gonna want ta
Be Spanish adios. Profesora
DeGraaf is a cool teacher
She makes me learn all this
Stuff from flash card
Game I’m learn this stuff
Even though I had three years
Before hey I’m just lucky
To remember this stuff
Ah ha say uno dos
Tres I know how to count and my
Ah be say in Spanish
Yeah!
- Teresa Sly

Spanish Harmony
Ay papi, do you hear that sound
Ay mamasita, looks what’s going around
It’s the word or have you not heard
Spanish class is so good it’s got that harmony
The harmony that can’t amount to no money
The rock of that double ele makes you move
While the jazz of enye makes you groove
Español has never felt so good now
Let’s move and groove to the Spanish Harmony.
- Conchita Marzo

I can’t draw and I’m not creative so I will just say that you look like the Terminator III chick. Her name is Kristina Loken or something like that.
- Pablo Savell

Eyes Wide Shut

2005-10-07T14:15:00.000-07:00

I wrote this last week, but it has taken until today to post. Lo siento mucho.

Teaching pace is picking up. It’s possible we will learn some Spanish in Spanish One. Encouragingly, it’s October.

The interesting events of the past week have had a more social than academic slant. Thursday I was invited to dine with a group of teachers from Wingfield, all older than me, most significantly older. We went to an old hotel on Capital Street, and started with some drinks (I routinely drink Bud Light now when I go out. As the water of the South, it is cheap and always where you want to be.). The conversation veered immediately toward bitching as it always does, and I laughed good naturedly; I don’t wish to contribute more than necessary to the negativity, but I also hope to establish as many allies at school as possible. Aside from being older, this group of teachers is also all white. That might not be strange if all of the teachers at Wingfield were white, but I would guess that roughly only a third identify as Caucasian. Despite my immediate suspicion of the racial breakdown, or lack thereof, I tried to remain optimistic, or perhaps just plain naïve, to the situation. Then a fellow teacher, a younger (early thirties?) white woman, originally from Mississippi, commented, “I feel so bad for the few white kids at school because they’re forced to associate with only black kids. There’s no one for them to be close to or to date…” Her voice trailed off with her saddened gaze, while I stared at her, shocked, mouth momentarily agape. Fortunately, there were no other such blatantly racist comments, and I did flirt with the old men enough to get my dinner paid for.

The second eye-opener also took place on Thursday, during fourth period when I confiscated a note, the highlight of which read, “I got that good dick yesterday morning and evening I me feeling real good.” That student has now transferred to a job program in Batesville. Her friend, who confesses to “be doing 69 downlow” on JD still tries to avoid looking me in the eye every other day in 4th period.

Inductive? Deductive? Just give me the answer.

2005-09-29T14:45:00.000-07:00

I am fortunate to be a Spanish teacher. I can honestly say that today I did my first official deductive Spanish lesson, a grammar lecture, first of the year. Throughout the day the room was silent except for the scribbling of notes. My students were quiet, and seemed comfortable, as if they were more accustomed to this rigid, structured inundation of meaningless grammatical terms. For today, it wasn’t a bad change of pace. In fact I am happy to show them how Spanish can be a completely different than the way we learn most days, when I talk and jump around and point and have them do the same in order to come to some sort of conclusion as to what means what.

Surprisingly I have discovered inductive lessons tend to frustrate my students, to loose their attention. They want the straight, neat and tidy answers: x=y, a+b=c. Filling in blanks, using individual logic skills, reaching an independent conclusion apparently requires too much energy and leaves too much room for error. I’m not certain why they still get worked up when I don’t give them the answer right away in deductive form since eventually I always do give them the correct information. Needless to say, their hesitancy only indicates to me that the box continuously be pushed.

en la aula

2005-09-07T15:04:00.000-07:00

Classroom management. (I scoff with good-natured(?) sarcasm.) My classroom management plan (Inward chuckle. Does that exist?)… After three weeks as a teacher I am not sure what it is that I do each day or that my students interpret as my exact actions/reactions. There are so many of them. So many individuals constituting the chaotic mobs of 25 to 30 affectionately termed “classes.” These are my kids. My kids for the year, the complexities of each individual, and the strange interconnectedness found between each of them within the individual class periods creates social and academic settings seemingly, at least at this point, beyond the observation and analysis of one person, especially not the one person who is gifted the responsibility of instruction.

What I think I may know /What I have experienced exhaustedly and concluded at this juncture: It seems absolutely true that the general success of managing a classroom lies in keeping them busy. The busier they are, the less I have to employ the consequence list, which equates to fewer circular arguments, fewer students sent out of the classroom demanding my attention and taking me away from the others, fewer write ups, fewer detentions, fewer spaces for disciplinary equivocation on my part.

I’ve got the clean, well-lit, orderly room. I think this serves to maintain my own sanity more than anything. Rules, expectations, consequences, and rewards are on the wall. There are posters and such to keep visual capacities stimulated. I dance around the room like a wing-flapping chicken, spouting Spanish. Seems like a recipe for success. Unfortunately there is the whole bit about employing that series of consequences, which requires me to discipline actions I don’t really find deserving of discipline so that said actions don’t escalate into unacceptable behavior. When I fail to do so, even when I don’t, the misbehavers and their efforts become a distracting, threatening vacuum that sucks in my energy and attention, and pulls me away from instruction.

Perhaps the biggest contributor to my poor management abilities is instruction. It is so much easier to ignore smaller infractions, to cast a menacing glare at the guilty and move on with the lesson. I hate losing my place, backtracking, punishing those who are paying attention. Soon, before I can comprehend what’s taken place, I realize I don’t have enough glares, that I am incapable of glowering at seven individuals strategically distributed (gracias a la profesora, to minimize chatter) around the room. Slowly growing irate at my own stupidity, I search out a lamb to sacrifice before the mass. Of course, I am immediately morally conflicted: Should I discipline them for my own shortcomings? Should these students pay yet again at the hands of arbitrary power? It’s not their fault they have an inexperienced, untrained teacher with no pacing guide, text book, or required curriculum who is not trained in the art of military discipline tactics. (It’s not their fault their school is an oversized, under-funded federal daycare system. Yeah kids, let’s learn! Let’s have a meaningful experience! Let’s all play into a system run by leaders who would rather let a hurricane wash you into the gulf than figure out how to deal with generational poverty! With an education the sky’s the limit!)

Rapid Transformations

2005-08-26T17:37:00.000-07:00

I’m giving detention now. Moments ago, a couple of minutes before “Marcos” Smith entered my classroom to serve his Friday afternoon half-hour punishment for breaking Rule #1, I witnessed my first fight. It took place just beyond my portable, on the other side of the chain link fence. I had returned to my room after the pep rally, which had demanded frightening maneuvers through the vocal battling of students screaming ’08 and ’07, fresh out of the first pep rally of the year. As I entered my darkened room I heard a louder than usual commotion outside my windows by the buses. There was a gang of wiry boys, shirts off, half strutting, half marching, focused that appeared to be heading purposefully toward some immediate objective. They made a show of their chests and what height they had - performers in front of my windows and before the loaded buses, packed full with a perfectly bored and captive audience. None of them was one of my students, to my relief, as the gang became a crowd around the eye of the fight.

The “pep” assembly beforehand had been frightening in and of itself. We – the teachers and administrators - were fortunate nothing broke out in the small dilapidated gymnasium that was forced to hold at least three times the number of bodies appropriate for the space. I had had a brief, throat-choking notion when momentarily gripped by claustrophobia that had anyone wanted, a violent riot of angry, or even just exuberant, youth could have erupted unstoppably within seconds. Not everyone would have wanted that - certainly not Marcos Smith, or my goofy but well-intentioned football boys – but as is the case with mobs, they all would have participated, joining in with the beating, smashing mallets of the drummers, the clashing fists of the cymbalists, the bleating cries of tubas, the grinding hips of the cheerleaders, and the indecipherable hollers of screaming students. There was a dangerous sense of excitement given the extreme adrenaline, noise, and prospective bodily conflict hovering in everyone’s pre-football game subconscious. Any notion of the prospective injury, destruction, pain, or damage absolutely inconsequential.

Now it’s quiet outside. No irreparable damage done, my room once again in its usual vibration to the air conditioner. There was a tenth grader beside me at the assembly who persistently and repeatedly stepped over the blue line – an illegal assembly action - right next to me. His movement was deliberate. He appeared to want conflict with authority. I had never seen him before. His eyes were narrow, chin cocked upward; he was angry and could have cared less about the assembly or the “fun” on the gym floor before him. His expression and proximity to me made my heart rate quicken, the whole gym grew smaller, and I felt afraid at Wingfield for the first time this year.

The students bolted before the assembly officially ended, before the football players were sent off with climactic fanfare. The tenth grader who attempted to intimidate me led them out with that shoulder-shifting, menacing, out-of-my-fucking-way strut with which the gang of boys outside my window headed into the fist-throwing crowd.

Jackson, MS 39202

2005-08-08T16:32:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting. I can count the number of times I’ve done so today on one hand. I’m sitting, and what’s more is that I’m happy to do so. For those of you who’ve been in class with me you’ve seen what a difficult time I have sitting still. This could be an indication that teaching is, in some sense, appropriate for me.

Today was the first day of school. I am alive. And despite a trying fourth period I left Wingfield with a smile on my face. I have been dreaming of blogs for a week now as I prepared for today, but until Friday I was not able to get internet service. To catch you all up: I’ve been placed in a portable at Wingfield High School in southwest Jackson. My room is the farthest back from the main building. It is the grimiest, crumbling trailer at Wingfield. No one would take it, and after moving to a new apartment last weekend, and also being brand new and inexperienced, I was too tired to argue with my principal. In my portable – P-9 - the paint is peeling off the ceiling. The doors are falling out of the door frames so that wasps enter. The first day in my classroom I scrubbed dirt and dust from Venetian blinds for six hours straight. The carpets are discolored and moisture-stained. The stains will not pick up. The janitors won’t touch the place so I have put a fair bit of elbow grease into the room. Thanks to Clorox bleach wipes, two walls of windows, and two new air conditioners, I’m almost fond of it now.

First period - homeroom – today was a dream. There are 15 kids and they appeared to be on their best behavior. Second period was double the size, but all together a good group. Third period – lunch period – is my planning period on A (Gold) days so I watched my mentor teacher teach and finally tracked down my infamous overhead projector. Fourth period looked to be a breeze until Bobby, Zach, and Chris walked in late. Chris wasn’t too much of a problem. He took a seat at a desk in the back and slept all period. No one could wake him. Bobby and Zach however immediately walked up to friends (seated and working) and started doing handshakes, small talking, etc. From this point on their tactic was to act as though I did not exist, that fourth period was their free social hour. Eventually, after an hour of constant disruption, I was able to pull them out of class and inform them that their behavior meant they had no participation points for the day and that if they did this each day they were destined to fail my class. One on one they cowed to my teacher stare. The only thing that really does make me angry about their behavior is the fact that there are about 10 motivated, smart young women in the class whose learning is completely impaired by idiotic boys.

Generally, school to appeared a complete racket. I think for some ther is great entertainment value in the entire experience. Physically, Wingfield was meant to hold 700 students, and there are nearly 1700 this year. Sometimes the school seems to function more like a prison at maximum capacity than a school. There is a complicated lunch rotation during 3rd period during, in which teachers have to escort their classes through designated lines, eat with their classes at designated tables, leave through the designated exit, take students in a group to the bathroom, then return to class and resume the lesson. Today third period ended an hour late due to lunch. Lunch aside, there are mandatory “duty posts” where teachers monitor various stations in shifts, watching out for vagrants and loiterers. The whole scenario would be eliminated if students just weren’t allowed to leave class during class time.

Despite the kinks - Bobby and Zach, lunch -the whole day went by so quickly, I almost didn’t feel it as it occured. I’m thoroughly drained and exhausted. I don’t know why really, but I’ll be going to bed as soon as the hour is not too embarrassingly early.

Ahh, Mississippi

2005-07-20T13:11:00.000-07:00

I got a call a week or so ago. It was a friend of mine from Amherst who checks my blog now and then. She had just read my long rant of an entry that expressed frustration I was feeling in my EDSE 501 course. Margaret informed me that I sounded “angry and sad.” A day later I talked to my grandpa. He too had read my blog, and when we were saying goodbye, he told me to try not to get too worked up about things. Both of these comments surprised me a little, because while I felt upset, I also felt charged, and surely not sad.

This is all to say that I don’t equate anger to sadness or depression. In fact, I kind of like having a fire lit under my butt. So I don’t want anyone getting the impression that Mississippi is treating me badly. If I had the proper adaptor for my camera at the moment I would put a bunch of photos up right here to show just how much I’m actually seeing, doing, and yes, liking in Mississippi.

It can’t be beat that Dave Molina (MTC colleague, Amherst grad, running buddy, and roommate) and I have a stellar “housewife” – our awesome friend Marcie, also an Amherst grad – who cooks for us and makes us smile. We have a cat named Mr. William Faulkner, affectionately nicknamed Crazy. The weather is warm, the blues festivals are awesome, Oxford is darling, beer is cheap, and perhaps most encouraging, I am still pumped about being a Spanish teacher.

So, here’s to catfish, mustangs, $1 PBR at Two Sticks, Oak Grove Apt. # 3070, one man bands, Duck Hill, cigars, housewives, and soon, my own car …

Another Fine Home Movie in Review

2005-07-18T13:57:00.000-07:00

EDSE 501 has provided yet another fine video viewing and self-reflection opportunity. Last Friday, under the evaluating eye of Ms. Cornelius and my five MTC compadres, my Spanish lesson on numbers 11 through 20 was video recorded. This magnificent cinematic feat yielded 40 stellar minutes of footage that includes a review of numbers 1 to 10, an introduction of the new content, and, as the grand finale, a catchy little tune I wrote and affectionately named Canción para Números.

It comes as a reassurance that I am much more satisfied with my performance as a Spanish teacher than I was less than a month ago when I viewed myself as a makeshift English teacher. I know, intrinsically, that I have a lot more fun in front of my class as a Spanish teacher, and it shows extrinsically as well. Getting up in front of a class to teach Spanish is my cue to be goofy, over the top, energetic, loud, absurd, crazy – you name it. I feel that way each day when I stand up to teach, and it comes across as such on video.

Watching myself on the video from EDSE 501, compared to the video from EDSE 502, proves what a difference subject matter and content knowledge can make in a teacher’s overall effectiveness. I’m also sure the influence of the many nutty Spanish instructors I’ve encountered in recent years has made a huge impact of my conception of a Spanish teacher. And of course, since I am teaching an introductory course, the content lends itself to be taught in a highly interactive, kinesthetic manner. We play games, toss balls, sing songs – my goal is to keep the energy level, and thus the engagement level, high the entire period.

My main criticism of my video taped lesson last semester was my lack of movement around and in front of the class. In this most recent video, and basically each day I’ve taught Spanish, I bounce around the room, which I find happens naturally. One reason is that I have to pantomime and act most things out with hand motions and pointing. Since I am trying to foster an emersion technique in the classroom explanation through movement is often essential and necessary.

My demeanor in general this time around was also much more appealing to me. I seemed to like what I was doing, to be enjoying myself, but I didn’t put up with any behavioral issues from the “students.”

Additionally, Spanish proves challenging for me each day not only as content matter that I must effectively communicate to students, but also as a second language that challenges my own realm of linguistic comfort. I’m catching myself, both in and out of the classroom, thinking and wanting to speak in Spanish more frequently, wanting to let Profesora DeGraaf break out now and then outside of the classroom too.

Basically, I’m extremely excited to be a Spanish teacher. I’m having a great time with it and I can see others – the students in my class right now – enjoying and learning too. I think I’m ready to jump into my role at Wingfield High School.

EDSE 501

2005-07-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

Today, after a month and a half of observing, sometimes dealing with, varying inconsistencies in the instruction and evaluation of the Teacher Corps ed classes, I am angry. Today, in my group of six soon-to-be-teachers, it became glaringly clear that there is a difference between being constructively criticized and evaluated based on a legitimate, objective standard (our evaluation rubric) and being criticized and evaluated based on someone’s personal opinions thinly disguised and justified by what is supposed to be an objective grading tool.

I think, even at the most basic level, it is nearly impossible to create a completely objective standard for assessing a teacher’s performance. If the past month and half has proved anything, it’s that everyone seems to have their own idea as to what constitutes a good teacher. Well aware of this, the MTC directors, from day one, have encouraged us to listen to everyone, to take the advice we find useful, the tools we think best suit us, and employ them if we so choose - to put them in our teacher tool belts. This is the motto to which we were first inducted, and the motto that has been perhaps most ingrained in my mind this summer. I have attempted to learn by it to the best of my ability, and for the most part it has worked. Observing and listening carefully, discerning, choosing what works for me – this allows me to take ownership of my learning, and to feel comfortable with the teacher I envision myself becoming. It gives me the sense that I am respected by the program and by my instructors, that I am seen as an intelligent and capable adult preparing to take on a difficult role. I thought long and hard about applying and joining the MTC, about the responsibilities of a teacher, what I was taking on. I think long and hard each night when preparing for the next day and subsequent days, about what it is I will do with my class, what I am saying, what I am not saying, whether or not this will have the desired effect. I am not in Mississippi just for the chance to be beat up by ninth graders or to employ corporal punishment. Thus, I do not appreciate being demeaned and treated as though I am careless and ignorant based solely on one person’s opinion, which suddenly, rather magically, became fact the moment this person was given grading authority over graduate students as their evaluator.

Because I care deeply and have strong opinions about education, about teaching Spanish, I have thought at length about the subject. I have reflected on my best teachers in general, and specifically on my best Spanish instructors in high school and college. I have spoken to various professionals, some might even call them experts, on the subject. I’ve talked to friends and other students to gain insight from the learner. I can say – unfortunately – that I didn’t just pull emersion techniques and inductive learning out of my ass last night when I was planning my lesson. These are two legitimate, recommended, and respected forms of teaching foreign language, the goal being expose and emerge students in Spanish. How do we learn our native language when we’re children? We listen to those speaking around us and gradually form verbal language capabilities of our own.

Today, my evaluator told me, essentially, that this is all bullshit, that ninth grade high school students will never respond, that they won’t understand, that they won’t learn this way. My evaluator is not a foreign language instructor. I disagreed with her and tried to explain where I was coming from. She told me that the other teachers I had spoken to, and that I myself, were all wrong. She asked me how native English speakers learn English. When I said emersion she told me I was wrong. She said that native English speakers learn first by learning adjectives, and adverbs, and nouns, and then they learn to put them all together, that all native English speakers learn through formal instruction. That, she said, is why so many Mississippians use incorrect grammar.

Are you confused by this logic? If so, that’s okay, so am I. But then again, according to my evaluator today, I’m ignorant, naïve, fairly optimistic, and not nearly enough like her to be a successful teacher.

To be honest, the list of inconsistencies and complaints could continue for another two pages, the above being the most egregious and personally frustrating of the day's - the summer's - events. As I stated at the beginning of this tirade: I am angry. I am angry that that my evaluator gave me a grade based largely on her personal opinion, a grade that will eventually contribute to my permanent, recorded transcript. This officially establishes said evaluators uneducated, unfounded opinions as legitimate curricula enforced and promoted by the Mississippi Teacher Corps. A self-proclaimed, progressive education program should not stand for such a lack of integrity.

I propose that, in the future, evaluators understand the more general outline of what MTC students are introduced to in EDSE 500 as proper technique and procedure for teachers. That this be used as the basis of the evaluation process, and that any evaluator’s personal opinions, ideas, advice, more detailed techniques, etc. which they know and/or practice as a means of fine tuning those general guidelines for themselves, be offered to us as tools to be accepted or left aside at the individual teacher’s discretion. This is not what is happening, however, when evaluators attempt to indoctrinate us with their personal beliefs concerning teaching and classroom management, and using our grades as enforcement. My evaluator doesn’t have to like the instructional technique I use, but I should not receive zero points on portions of the evaluation rubric if that technique is legitimate and I have taught it well.

Who doesn't love home videos?

2005-06-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

Or love classroom videos? Yuck. Yuck. Blah. (We reviewed interjections in class today) My taped grammar lesson actually wasn't as horrible as I had anticipated, but it wasn't inspiring either. For the most part I taught the lesson adequately. My voice was loud and clear, my words enunciated (I am constantly exagerating my own enunciation with the hope that, like southern accents have done to me, my pointed pronunciation will rub off on my students, chronic mumblers). I'd say I looked more or less professional; I was dressed in a black and white skirt and a black sweater. I didn't crouch, bend, or sit in any unbecoming or panty-revealing ways, thank God. There was no butt waggling when I erased the white board, again, thank God. Unfortunately, however, I bored myself. I think this was mostly because I wasn't moving around much, which was the same criticism I received from Dr. Sullivan. The climax of activity in front of class was some seaweed-in-a-gentle-tide-like swaying, shifting weight from one leg to the other. Perhaps this is the result of years of 4-H public presentations in which we were drilled to stand ramrod straight and deliver the speech.

Watching the video is a good exerciese in perspective. It's a very different experience to be the one in front of the classroom than the one in the back row, seated at a desk. When I was up in front of the class, I was aware of people taking notes, filling out the hand outs I had given them, volunteering answers, etc.. From the camera's perspective I could only see backs and the backs of heads, no interaction. None of the sitting students realize their own or others engagement. I found this highly dissengaging and uneventful compared to looking at individual fraces frontally. Also, the teacher towers above all the little people confined to their desks. They are small and immobile; it's no wonder they often appear dissengaged, or easily fall asleep. I've known since the first day of summer school, when I had to sit in Ms. Sneed's class for four hours straight, that sitting too long is a bad thing, and now I am even more convinced of the need for kinesthetic and group interaction when I begin in August.

So, the lesson I have learned from my lesson: the objective for my class will be movement, movement, movement - for teacher and students.

Reflections

2005-06-28T13:20:00.000-07:00

I'm happy to conclude that I like kids. I also am happy to reaffirm that I like thinking up ways to keep them and myself busy, maybe even while teaching them and myself something in the meantime.

I think the summer school experience has mostly offered me a good environment in which to become more confident and aware of myself as a person not of a class, but leading a class. The realization came as a shock at first, when I discovered that I'm not the student in the same sense, but now the teacher and student of my students and my experience with them. I was also a little surprised to discover my own intollerance for disrespectful behavior, and that it was not my natural inclination, as I had thought it might have been, to be a softy.

I've also observed myself throughout the past month reverting back to habits of organization and regimine that I believed to have left behind in high school. It's amazing to me how various circumstances and tasks bring out different aspects of my personality and behavior. I get up at five each morning - something I definitely never did in college - and take my morning "self" time, before diving into each day's classroom insanity. I am once again a compulsive list maker, note taker, and paper organizer. And I love the fact that I am using parts of my brain, of my intelligence, that I never got to excercise in college. There have been so many nights in this past month alone when I've collapsed, satisfied with exhaustion, into bed. I like that feeling.

I also love the students in my class. Some of them can frustrate the hell out of me, but other are hillarious, and others make my day when they tell me that was the first time they'd learned something like that or in that way, or that what we talked about was something they'd like to know more about.

All that said, I'm ready to be done with summer school. I don't like not having my own class. I don't like that there are days when I do nothing because it is not my turn to teach. Ideally there would be enough summer school classes that each of us could be one on one with an experienced teacher and a class.

In short: the teaching experience has been possitive, and I am completely motivated to keep moving forward.

Cold Call, Not Pull Call

2005-06-28T13:03:00.000-07:00

Somehow I came to know the technique of calling on students, in which the teacher randomly draws names from a stack of notecards, as "pull call". Actually, it is not called "pull call." It's called "Cold Call." I realized my mistake, much to my own chagrin, in front of the entire class today. And, while the name of this technique is not nearly as important as the technique itself - it has proven highly effective in Ms. Sneed's summer school class - I feel obliged to clarify out of respect for the pure act of cold calling. Mr. Cole (we teach together in the same summer school class) has made excellent use of the random selection process, and uses not only to choose kids to call on, but also as a means of learning last names. I enjoy his teaching sessions, which include a dallop of added respect and formality throught calling each student Mr. or Ms. plus his or her last name. I think the students also recognize the little bit of extra dignity this grants them. It's also a little like taking on a new, classroom persona or alias; suddenly we're all important people with titles. Cold calling will definitely appear in Ms. DeGraaf's class in August.

back to the blog

2005-06-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

I realize I have yet to talk about Gary Rubinstein's "Reluctant Disciplinarian." Truth be told, I like ite. I found it easy to identify with Rubenstein, a self-proclaimed "accidental teacher," and enjoyed the semi-mocking tone he emplyed when discussing the "martyrs" he encountered upon joining Teach For America. At the time when I was reading the book - earlier in June when the nobleness of our mission as teachers seemed constantly reiterated (I don't deal well idealized idealism) - I found Rubinstein's cynicism and sarcasm an enjoyable relief, even though at times his attempts at humor grew tiring. Mostly I appreciated the personal annectdotes that illustrated actual examples of discipline problems, and general issues that Rubinstein and other teachers have faced. I think however, the only piece of advice to be followed is that one shouldn't follow the advice, but consider it and use it, if possible, if it functions beneficially to the individual teacher. I have also come to the conclusion - I'm not sure if was Rubinstein or Angelina Jolie in "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" who actually drove the point home - that a new professional wardrobe will be absolutely necessary in August.

Basically, I thought "Reluctant Disciplinarian" was an enjoyable way to reinforce all the info and principals we've been given in Ms. Monroe's class about classroom management.

pull cards

2005-06-23T13:59:00.000-07:00

mr. cole debuted the pull cards yesterday in ms. sneed's class when he instructed clauses. they were successful as far as i could tell. telling was the difficult part however, since that day the combined wrath of unsatisfied student teachers and ms. sneed stormed with fury through the room. assignments were not being handed in. ms. sneed lectured the class, then mr. cole made everyone squirm under a dissaproving eye and reiterated reprimands. i don't think the students would have objected to anything during that lecture. thus the obvious success of the pull cards on wednesday.

august anxiety

2005-06-21T13:45:00.000-07:00

i am ready for the end of summer school. ready for july. ready to start focussing and planning my curriculum for august. ready to stop stumbling over four or five teachers in one classroom. (i love working with all of you, and have benefited greatly from observing, but honestly there are just too many of us for fourteen students. i think we are beginning to overwhelm/confuse, and the experience is not really translatable to what we will find in august in our own classes.) i am ready to establish my own classroom space and routine. ready to begin actualizing what we outline here, daily, in class. i'm ready to confront the situation for which they say we're being prepared, which i have yet to experience. i'm taking rapid fire notes each afternoon, but day after day i begin to suspect the tidbits are slipping away as i have no means of applying them directly.

i'm sure i should just stop worrying, and enjoy this time, the downhill coast. the uphill pedalling will begin soon enough. but i'm the kind of person who would rather be fighting, wiping the shit from the fan, than growing anxious about the unrealized battle ahead. to make it even better, we constantly receive words of wisdom and advice from the experienced among us to help minimize of our immenant danger. (only one second year had a stapler thrown at her last year.)

of course, i don't really worry that much. it's just that long days and obligatory blogging reaffirm neurosis.

from ms. to mrs.

2005-06-13T15:33:00.000-07:00

friday: upon receiving a paper left by one of my students for "MRS. de draft" i have realized the downside of titles signifying authority, or in many unfortunate circumstances, age. to clarify, i am not a mrs. and will not be for quite some time. the "mrs." was particularly relevant and frightening this as it came this past weekend as i witnessed the first of my college friends' marriage.

a week in

2005-06-06T15:17:00.000-07:00

i was referred to by a student, for the first time today, as "ms. degrat" which is closer than i've ever come to being called my official title, ms. degrAAF, by anyone. honestly, despite the mistaken pronunciation, my heart lept with an inflated sense of newfound respect and the accompanying authority when i heard the student utter that formal title. beyond the initial flattery, i was also reminded that i'm not a student anyone - at least to some, or in the same capacity in which i was just a month ago. sometimes when i sit in ms. sneed's class, observing as she mumbles off the grammar lesson for the day, i feel as much a bored, sleepy, fifteen year old as any student in the class. i swear to myself, when i note my nodding in and out of focused attention, growing distant in my daydreaming, that i will fight with all my ability to save my students in the fall from such needless sufferring. i'm optomistic at this point. it is an optomism that i recognize, smile at, and then curse for its - for my own - naivete each day as we are told of the difficulties to be confronted, of the misery we're going to experience in those first months, in that first year of teaching. how can i feel so at ease knowing i'm walking right into a spear-lined pit with many sharp-toothed carnivorous creatures waiting to macerate my freshly burned flesh - thanks to mississippi sun - if given the chance? i'm going to get a dog. just as soon as i get to jackson. a big black doberman.

first week

2005-06-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

no car, need a new bike.