An Ode to Post-It Notes

Blank page with a flashing cursor. Wavering thoughts. Incomplete ideas. Unfinished sentences. Plummeting motivation.

A good old case of writer’s block.

Luckily, I was in good company and my friend whipped a book out of her bag: Reviving the Essay: How to Teach Structure without Formula by Gretchen Bernabei (it’s pretty awesome, I have the urge to “forget” to give it back to her). Though my friend was just sharing her excitement that the book finally arrived despite Nemo’s interruptions, I eagerly flipped through the pages for some inspiration. I had lots of ideas floating around about my week of student teaching, but was struggling to put it together in a fun, coherent way. I wanted to talk about how I’ve been using Post-It notes in my class, but that seemed like a terribly boring idea. As I scanned the pages of the book, though, I found a lesson called, “Evolution of a Term” where you write about how a particular word’s meaning has changed to you when you were 4, 10, what it means to you now, and what it might mean in the future. Well, I honestly can’t remember what I did with Post-It notes when I was 4 or 10, so I slept on it and awoke with the solution:

 

An Ode to Post-It Notes

O Post-It note,

sticky and yellow and square;
I’ve proclaimed to my students
just how much for you I care.
In the old days,
before Miss Richer became my name,
your purpose always was for me
eternally the same:
lists to myself of homework
that soon was to be due.
But now, with my teacher hat,
your function? Unlimited and new!
You mark evidence of power struggles
found in children’s books.
Students write on you what they just learned,
so I can see how their worlds have shook.
They provide explanations
of their thinking on a topic,
specifically Obama’s inaugural address
in which he appealed to credibility, emotion, and logic.
On you I write notes
of jokes I want to share.
“Miss, you’re so corny!”
they roll their eyes and declare.

I really wouldn’t have it

any other way.
Post-It note, O Post-It note,
you really make my day.
You help me through my lessons
“Thanks a lot,” I sincerely say.

***

My experience in writing this post is making me wonder how my own students handle their writer’s block. They’ll be composing their own essays and short stories soon, so I think this is important to consider. In high school, before I knew about Bernabei, Gallagher, and “I Do, We Do, You Do,” I would find models for myself to get my writing started. I might find a quote that related to the topic or follow the structure of a poem I had recently read. Those were my strategies. What do they do? Is their strategy to give up? To seek help? If they seek help, is it from Ask Jeeves or a trusted friend? How can my instruction prepare my students to be independent writers and thinkers? How can I help them transfer their non-academic problem solving techniques to their academic work and vice-versa? Maybe a Post-It note response is in order…

Expectations

This week my 10th graders were preparing to give their presentations of their critical readings of children’s books. They have been using critical lenses to analyze other texts like Toy Story and an episode of Glee where Ms. M did a lot of modeling and thinking aloud, but with the gradual release of responsibility, it was time for the students to work in groups of their own choosing (according to the books they wanted to analyze) and consult one another (rather than me) to make meaning of the text. As I took a few minutes to sit down with each group, I quickly noticed their engagement and depth of thinking in the process. They were crafting strong thesis statements and finding evidence to support their reading. My role was to push them further and make sure they were ready to present.

Since Ms. M and I had done this same lesson with the 11th graders the week before, I knew that I wanted to set clearer expectations for the presentations. Though we had discussed the rubric and talked about presenting something the audience would want to pay attention to, the groups struggled to create an engaging hook. When they got to the front of the room, they said their names, the title of their book, mentioned the author, and began their summaries. Despite our best efforts to tell them what an engaging hook might be, they weren’t able to internalize it. They had no models. With the 10th graders, however, my very first lesson was all about different introduction strategies (using a question, quotation, statement, description, etc.). Though this lesson was to help them write essays, I was able to remind them of the strategies and they more easily transferred the skill.

One group joked that they should ask a question and have their classmates raise their hands to agree or disagree, thinking it was an outlandish idea.

I told them to go for it.

And they did.

              The class was hooked.

This second time around I also wanted to push the students to show, not just tell, their evidence to the class. To my dismay, only one of the 11th grade groups pointed to specific pages in the book that supported their thesis (again, probably because I didn’t make this expectation clear enough). I realized this was something I wanted all the groups to do, so Ms. M suggested that I give the 10th graders sticky notes to mark the pages that they will show during their presentations. This suggestion has worked like magic.

Yellow sticky notes protrude from the edges of the books.

                Groups whiz gracefully through their presentations.

                                Far less fumbling with papers and fewer looks of befuddlement.

It’s one thing to know what you expect of your students. It’s one thing to tell them what you expect. And it’s another thing to have clear, high expectations and provide models and scaffolding to help students exceed those expectations.  Here’s to models, scaffolding, and good old “I do, we do, you do.”

Choosing the Road to Awesome

A blog post about Student Teaching Week 2, inspired by quotes from #kidpresident. I’m obsessed. Watch the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-gQLqv9f4o&list=SPzvRx_johoA-YabI6FWcU-jL6nKA1Um-t&index=1

 “The world needs you to stop being boring.”

Over the last two weeks, I have noticed how Ms. M begins her classes by being the most enthusiastic, energetic person in the room. She dances at the doorway and sings her greetings. The stubborn students roll their eyes and call her corny as they settle in at their seats, but by the end of the period they are all usually bubbling over with their renewed excitement (or at least a smile on their faces). Her lessons typically involve some time for quiet reflection, some time to talk with friends close by, and some time to share aloud with the whole class. This has helped to build community and has made transitioning much easier because we have similar ideas about what a high school English class should look/sound like.

“I took the road less traveled. And it really hurt man! Rocks! Thorns! Glass!”

Every day I learn more and more about each student. I am piecing together their personalities, learning styles, and outside factors that affect learning. Since Ms. M and I can’t collect all the rocks, thorns, and glass that the students stumble upon in the winding woods of adolescence, I do hope to continue to foster the “clearing in the woods” that Ms. M’s classroom seems to be. One student who frequently comes into class very upset (on the verge of getting in a fist fight or just plain uninterested in participating), is especially on my radar. Yesterday, he came in with his usual tough guy swagger, but after talking him through some brainstorming, providing gentle encouragement, and throwing in a pirate joke or two, he was the first one with his hand up to share. Can we #hack SLOs and include data that shows improvement on the frown-to-smile ratio?

“This is your time. This is my time. This is OUR time. We can make every day better for each other.”

I really love this line because I think it represents the experience of student teaching so well. Each one of us must bring our best selves to the classroom each day. Unlike Practicum where we shared responsibilities with our teaching partners, this semester we get the opportunity to fly solo, to be the only “Ms.” or “Mr.” in the room.  However, we also have the benefit of working in our cohort of 15 student teachers. I have been so energized by classmates’ successes (shout out to Emmanuel for his “Chain of Kindness” and his revision of our 10th grade common task!). I love hearing stories about students who opened up or activities that blew students’ minds. We can make each day better for each other by sharing new ideas, pooling resources, and providing encouragement. Let’s continue make the world awesome, #actofhope.

"Feedback is a conversation. Grading is a hierarchy."

Four times a year I became giddy. I marked the date on my calendar and jabbered to my parents about my excitement. I envisioned gently opening the flap of the envelope, careful not to ruin the precious paper inside.

My report card.

I always did “well” in school. Report Card Day confirmed to me that I was a “good” person because I could pass any test, write any essay, and make any poster I needed to. I could figure out what a teacher wanted and go one step further. Write a newspaper article? Well, how about creating an entire newspaper, complete with several articles, pictures with captions, and even a spot for the weather? Recite a monologue from Hamlet? How about reciting a monologue in the deepest voice I can muster, taping a construction paper beard to my face, and wearing an outfit to imitate Polonius’s entire character? I enjoyed learning new things, but was even more satisfied when I had the grade to “prove” it. I knew that I worked hard and I felt that my grades accurately reflected my performance as a student. Because I was good at “doing” school and the system worked to my advantage, I didn’t question the grading process.

In preparing to become a teacher, however, I have been surrounded by people, conversations, and texts that push my thinking. Early in SED 406, I remember a light bulb turning on when I learned about formative and summative assessment. I began questioning what these types of assessments might look like in a middle or high school English class.  As I moved through more classes, my questions multiplied. Reading Alfie Kohn made me wonder about the relationship between grades and students’ motivation. Learning about backward design made me wonder about the relationship between grades and students’ understanding. Listening to Rick Wormeli and reading Kelly Gallagher made me wonder about why grades seem to supersede feedback and opportunities for revision. Throughout this process I have been building my identity as a teacher, thinking about who I am and who I want to be with my students and colleagues. Rubrics? Letter grades? Point systems? What will I do to make sure my actions fit with my beliefs? How can I maintain my beliefs in an education system that seems to be obsessed with crunching numbers?

 As an English/Ed major, I think I have been trained to see the gray, both in my students’ worlds and my own . A text isn’t just words written on a page. Nearly anything can be read as a text and analyzed through critical lenses. As I “read” and “re-read” my first experience of grading this week, I realize it’s been a battle between head and heart. If I use my Marxist lens (as we have been working on at NPHS all week), then this experience represents my resistance to the power inherent in role of teacher. On October 8th I even re-tweeted: “Feedback is a conversation. Grading is a hierarchy.” This power makes me uncomfortable. Who am I to decide whether a student receives a 2 or a 3? Will this grade ruin a student’s confidence? Will the student even care? Were my directions clear enough? Should I have given them more time? How can I frame my feedback so that students feel motivated to move forward rather than embarrassed or incompetent? Right now, these questions are all part of the conversation I have with myself (and Ms. M) as I shuffle through papers, put grades in the corners, and comments alongside…

 

So, one week into my semester of student teaching, I am thankful to be able to write through this experience and get feedback from my classmates, my professors, and especially my cooperating teacher. I appreciate  her patience and guidance as I work my way through this messy process of becoming a teacher. High school Me might have asked what grade I got for the week, but I am learning so much so fast, and talking together about my progress makes a lot more sense.

Teach Week Round 2? Check!

Teach Week Round 2 is already over. I have 3 classes left in Senior Seminar. Next up, a semester of student teaching. Woah.

Now for some thoughts from this whirlwind week, in no particular order…

Kids are blown away when you know their name even if you haven’t necessarily interacted with them before.

When the times get tough, your relationships with your students will help get you through.

Students need a voice in the classroom. However, some students genuinely like to hear themselves talk. It’s difficult to balance these things and make sure that a few voices don’t dominate or intimidate others. Also, when thinking about the students who merely repeat what their classmates said before them, how do we make sure that students are actively listening to one another?

Though I think non-fiction is important in every content area, I don’t want to let David Coleman and his Common Core State Standards suck the creativity out of me or my students:

·         “As they stared into my eyes, I could feel my heart thump and thump, it felt as though my heart was sticking out of my skin.”

·         “With the small strip of moonlight coming through the blinds, I can make out one meaty hand clutching a stake knife.”

·         “Suddenly, the dragon looked up from where it landed, and slowly, slowly raised it’s head to stare at me.”

I literally gasped aloud while listening to the students read their work. Though when I sat down to read them, I noticed some common spelling and grammar mistakes, I could tell who understood the concepts of suspense, suspicion, and unreliable narrator that we had been learning all week.

I’ll feel flattered if students choose to eat lunch with me in the classroom rather than take part in cafeteria shenanigans.

Finding the just right movie clip, poem, theme song, etc. to supplement a lesson is not easy. It’s a challenge I’ve had during the two Teach Weeks and the TCMWS. Often I can imagine what I want to use, but can’t find it. Or, certain movie clips aren’t exactly how I remember them or a TV show would be appropriate for high school but not middle school, and I need to start my search over again.  Frustrating.

Although I had been feeling disappointed and skeptical about middle school during our observations, being Ms. Richer this week felt good. This is not to say that everything during student teaching will be hunky dory. Things will be even more complicated and messy and political. But I think I’m ready. January 23, I’m coming for you!

Storyboards, Goals, and Inspiration

Part 1: Storyboards

This week was a short week of observations for Courtney and me. We saw the continuation of the media literacy lesson where students practiced drafting their teaser trailers by drawing a 3 frame storyboard of their morning routine. Though some rolled their eyes and sketched stick figures as quickly as they could, other students’ eyes lit up and went to work crafting their mini-masterpieces. Since the students had been doing so much informational writing with their compare/contrast essay and quote sandwiches, I think this project breathed some life into the classroom. This gives me hope that the students will respond well to our idea for a creative application of the literary techniques we will be studying in “The Tell Tale Heart.”

 

Part 2: Goals

Since compare/contrast essays and quote sandwiches aren’t necessarily the most inspiring pieces of writing, one of me and Courtney’s collaborative goals is to provide space for more creative expression. At the end of this mini-unit on suspense, suspicion, and unreliable narrators via “The Tell Tale Heart,” we plan to have students show their understanding by creating mini skits of a suspenseful moment. We think we will provide them with a setting, a conflict, or some other pieces to work with, and they will have to put them together and share with the class.
 
Our second collaborative goal is to balance our voices with the voices of the students. This becomes an individual goal, however, because Courtney and I had opposite struggles with voice in our high school experiences. While she has mentioned that she needs to give more wait time, I know that I need to do a better job responding to students’ answers. I need to practice validating, challenging, and adding onto student contributions.   

Coincidentally, I do feel a bit of suspense heading into this week of teaching. The anticipation has been building over these last weeks, and without a chance to go back to the school before we teach (and get observed!) on Monday, I’m left just reeling in my own imaginings of what might happen. I am confident though, that our fate will be better than Chrissie and her last swim - the famous clip from Jaws that we will be showing as part of our first lesson…

 

Part 3: Inspiration

Kids say the darndest things, right? Well, in case that Thanksgiving tryptophan still has you a little drowsy or planning a week’s worth of lessons has you bogged down, here’s some love from YouTube’s biggest little stars:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaIvk1cSyG8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR3rK0kZFkg

The Shifted Pedestal

I’ve been anticipating this middle school practicum since we received our placements for high school. I had so much fun and learned so much at NPHS working with Katie and Mr. Ryan, but I had visions of 8th graders dancing in my head. Last week, Courtney and I observed twice, on Monday and Wednesday. As I mentioned in my previous blog, Monday was a lot of talk about a graphic organizer for a compare/contrast essay and Wednesday was quiz day. This week, we saw in class writing of the compare/contrast essay, the roll out of the new root word vocabulary program, and the introduction to a lesson about the persuasive techniques used by movie companies.

Though Ms. Ballard has strong relationships with her students, her lessons and assessments align to objectives and Common Core standards, the students write and are willing to revise, and they genuinely make me laugh while I’m there, I have spent this last week trying to understand the twang of disappointment I feel when I leave the school.

A trusty professor helped me put it into perspective: the pedestal has shifted.

We’ve discussed it time and time again in education classes. I’ve read about it in articles and blogs. I’ve heard about it from current teachers. And now, I’m witnessing it myself.

Teaching to a test – or, at least with a test hanging heavy in your thoughts - STINKS.

To this point, I have had overwhelmingly positive experiences in the schools. The teachers I worked with weren’t subjected to a scripted curriculum, didn’t seem to be overly concerned about preparing for NECAP, and seemed to be able to balance their personal teaching philosophy with the mandates of the school or Department of Education. My ideas of overcoming the challenges facing the education system have been resting high on a pedestal. This time around, though, I feel like something is different. My visions and the pedestal aren't matching up as neatly. Maybe it’s because October’s NECAP is still a fresh memory. Or maybe it’s the added pressure of the new evaluation system and the writing (and re-writing) of SLOs. Or, the exhaustive hype of the transition to the Common Core.

Ms. Ballard keeps mentioning that her classroom wasn’t like this 10 years ago. She collaborated more with her team to create interdisciplinary units, and even taught side-by-side with the social studies teacher. She explains that she ran her class like a writing workshop, but sighs as she says that that style just wouldn’t fly anymore.

I sigh as she says it too.

This blog entry has been difficult to write because I want to frame my disappointment in a productive way, rather than just complain. I don’t want to make assumptions and I don’t want to be a victim.

I want to take this feeling and be a better teacher because of it.