Last week I got my big feelings a tiny bit hurt. While responding to English 2 journals, I came across an entry that stopped me in my tracks. With the brutal honesty of a teenager, a boy (we’ll call him “David”) revealed that last year English was his favorite class, but this year he isn’t really feeling a connection.
I instantly became defensive. What does Mr. Greiner do that I don’t do? I’m trying so hard to connect with all of my students this year. That boy just has a chip on his shoulder. He obviously hates me for no good reason. Ugh. Why do I even try? Overreact much? But this Tuesday I spent some time observing in my colleagues’ classrooms as a trained IPI (Instructional Practices Inventory) data collector for my district. While I was predominantly collecting data about student engagement, I couldn’t help but notice the different teaching styles of my fellow teachers. One of my major take-aways came after visiting Mr. Greiner’s classroom: he was incredibly charismatic and engaging with his students. He cracked jokes, drew them in, and connected from the front of his classroom. He had their rapt attention. Well, no wonder David loved English last year! I’m boring compared to that! My reflections didn’t end there, though. That same afternoon, colleagues came into my classroom for IPI data collection, and I barely knew they were there. My English 2 students were all busy with their independent reading books while I held a quiet reading conference with another student. I sat next to him in the back of the room and asked a few questions about his newest book. We had recently upped his page goal for the week, and so we talked about his different reading rates and why sometimes we readers choose to read books twice. I wasn’t charismatic, and I wasn’t cracking jokes. But I was connecting in a different way. In 1 Corinthians 12 Paul writes of the Church that we are “one body” with “many parts.” In a way, I think the same can be said of a healthy school environment. While it goes without saying that all of the teachers in our district are gifted in teaching, we are gifted in different ways. Some of us command attention and teach through charisma and humor; others come alongside quietly and teach through conversation. Some teach best with well-documented lesson plans; others come up with new ideas at the spur-of-the-moment and teach through trying different techniques each year. Maybe we rely on the textbook or student-led discussions or hands-on labs. Walking through the halls of our school, you will see it all. As Paul writes, “If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.” There are many teachers, but one school. Our students have different learning styles, so our different teaching techniques are desirable, even necessary. Maybe David will connect better with Mr. Greiner’s style, and maybe Monica will connect more in my room. That doesn’t mean I quit trying to engage with David. It just means I can show myself a little more grace if I’m not every student’s favorite teacher. Finally, more proof of our diversity working together can be seen in our school’s annual Homecoming video. Different members of our staff agree to be humiliated in front of the camera (and YouTube!) for the enjoyment of the student body. Some teachers shuffle feet in the background, some don outrageous costumes and flail their limbs unabashedly, and others just laugh at the rest of us from the auditorium. Many teachers, one school.
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Sometimes we write to scratch an itch, even though we know it will never be satisfied. On this particular Sunday I know I have more questions than answers. I’m reaching the part of the school year where I struggle with balance. When a teacher ed student at the University of Northern Iowa with Mr. J.D. Cryer, I remember clearly a lesson he taught about time management. He talked about prioritizing our commitments of work and family and faith. I sat at my table in his 2nd floor classroom at the Price Lab School nodding in agreement. Yes, it will be all about balance, I thought. And really, I want it to be. I want to be a great wife and mother and teacher. I want to have time for baking fresh blueberry muffins and helping my sons with their homework and going on dates with my husband and responding fully to student writing. That can happen only if I never sleep. Because in the midst of those duties I also need to wash the dishes, put in a load of laundry, enter grades to the online gradebook, and make copies of student reading goals. If I stop too often and think about my to-do list, I might not be able to breathe. (And yes, I sometimes make that mistake.) When I focus on teaching blogs and books, I want to be Teacher of the Year. When I think about my own children and their emotional/social needs, I know I need to put in the time to be Mother of the Year. In the meantime I want to focus on social justice issues and advocate for issues of racial equality and be more involved in my church. And is it too much to ask to have a few minutes with my husband at the end of the day in a clean house? On more than one occasion this past week, I’ve wanted to have Hermione Granger’s Time-Turner. Because there’s just never. enough. time. Each morning I wake before the rest of the house to start the coffee and spend a few minutes with Jesus. I read a some verses, spend a few moments in silence, and read from my devotional. I remember who I am, who I serve, why I do what I do. In those moments I feel like I can conquer the day with dignity and style. I have glimpses of those early-moment moments throughout the day, reminders of my Why: an insightful conversation with a writing student about his personal narrative, a quiet “have a nice day” from an often reticent student, a sweet unprompted hug from my youngest son, the sun playing hide-and-seek through the trees during an afternoon family bike ride. I pause and reflect and say, “Thank you, God.” For a supportive husband and sons who make me laugh, for the reliable changing of seasons and the promise of falling leaves, for the Truth that comes in song and story. That’s where I am tonight as I sit at the kitchen table while my sons watch a movie. The house is still a mess, and the papers still glare at my from my canvas teaching bag. The early-evening sun kisses my toes from the sliding glass door. In awhile I’ll read another chapter of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix to my precious sons and then I’ll laugh at some meaningless TV show with my husband. Tomorrow I’ll wake and start another week of feeling perpetually behind and breathing deeply and expressing gratitude. I will never find perfect balance; perhaps I should give up my search now. Maybe instead I’ll begin my quest for the best peanut butter pancake recipe or the meaning of life. Or maybe I’ll just remember to pause, to pray and be grateful. To the retired folks at the post office who told my friend Annie that we teachers just put our students in front of the computer and tell them to “get to work”:
I would like to share with you a glimpse into my classroom. Today is a typical Wednesday. Our students have Academic Assistance time at the end of the day which means that our class periods are a bit shorter than on other days. That means I feel extra pressure to get through my plans. In College Comp we started by reading a poem together, “This Is Just To Say” by William Carlos Williams. We also read an imitation poem by Erica-Lynn Gambino and then together broke the poems down, stanza by stanza. Next I gave my students a few minutes to write their own imitation poems in their writer’s notebooks. Because I believe in the power of writing with them, I crafted my own example as well. After a few students shared their poems, I led a mini-lesson on “Shrinking a Century,” a writing concept introduced by Barry Lane in his book After the End. (I read this book outside of the school day during my own precious “free time.”) This writing technique will be important for some of my students to use as we continue in our unit on crafting narratives. It’s just day 11 of the year, and my writing students are getting ready to start their third piece of writing. No rest for the weary, as they say. After our mini-lesson, I modeled some brainstorming with my students. We will be starting a place-based narrative, so I shared with them potential topics and scenes I might explore in my writing. (I created this brainstorm last night at my kitchen table as my own children got ready for bed.) Finally, I set my young writers free to work. Yes, for the last eight minutes of class, my students were in front of their computers. They were composing and revising and rearranging their personal narratives which are due tomorrow. At the end of class I assigned an essay they are to read and annotate for tomorrow so we can discuss how place influenced Zora Neale Hurston’s “How To Be Colored Me.” Oh, and by the way, today’s class period was 41 minutes long. College Comp is one of three classes that I have the privilege to teach each day. My time in English 2 and Speech mirrors my previous description. We read, we write, we discuss, we engage, we think. You might be discovering a theme: my students and I are busy. Every minute. Of every class period. We work hard. We rarely take bathroom breaks. And here’s the thing, retired folks at the post office, we’re not alone. Across our district my colleagues are working tirelessly to craft meaningful learning experiences for your grandchildren. Yes, technology is involved in many of these learning experiences because it’s 2015. If you think technology is going away, I’m afraid you’re disillusioned. We are working to build up the world’s future leaders, and that means our students need to understand the nuances of online communication and the complexities of the digital world. Technology is a tool we use to reach that goal. Second grade teachers, history teachers, guidance counselors, ELL instructors, administrators. We are all working hard because we care. We care about learning, about our students, about the future. And the fact that you stand around at the local post office or coffee shop or church basement gossiping about our laziness and poor work standards, well, it fills me with indignation. Step in my classroom. Watch me work. Observe any of my colleagues meeting the standards of excellence our district has set for us. I think you’ll be surprised by what you see. Sincerely, Mrs. Witt Sometimes reflection is painful. My reflections here will contain some ugly confessions. For the past three years as a working mom, I have never had enough time. I am rushed at home, in my teaching, with my husband. Life feels like a constant race. This first week back to school, however, I am slowly relearning the necessity of slowing down. I am reclaiming time to teach, to read, to write. In College Comp we are taking the time daily to quickwrite about a reading assignment or in-class prompt. We share our writing and take the time to examine writer’s craft. I’m also giving more time for the early stages of the writing process. We are slowing down in this class, experiencing the honey-dripping gold that comes in the early stages of the writing process. This is a task in my teaching I rarely took time for. I felt the pressure that comes with a dual enrollment class. Hurry up, write the essay, get the grade, move forward at an “academic pace” (whatever that is). That type of teaching resulted only in frustration, though, and mostly mine. My students’ early drafts were surface writing; their revisions often forced. Students willing to put in the time outside of class made some progress, but I didn’t see the growth in critical thinking and style I wanted to see. So I crossed some assignments off my list and decided to spend more time in each of my major units. We’re on our second stage of narrative, and we’ve even slowed down in topic selection. Yesterday I announced that we would be moving to a longer narrative. Looking to Penny Kittle (Write Beside Them) for inspiration, I instructed, “Select one moment from your life so far. Tell that story.” We’ve read mentors like George Orwell’s “Shooting an Elephant” and Sherman Alexie’s “Indian Education.” Together we’ve talked about stylistic choices and what makes a story worth telling. I’ve modeled my own prewriting and rehearsing for a memoir of my first year of teaching. Using the document camera I showed them my messy planning pages full of arrows and crossed out words and moments when the ideas came so quickly I could barely get them down. I want them to see that a real process is sloppy and non-linear, frustrating and then fulfilling. Last year I would have assigned the narrative, shown the text example, and set them free. Topic selection would have been an overnight assignment that involved no conversation from me. (See, this is the terrible confession time. I knew what was best for my students, but I wasn’t taking the time to do it.) This year, though, I walk around the room today, asking one or two questions of my students in the early stages of their narratives. “How’s it going?” I ask one student who is staring at a blank screen. “I don’t know what to write about,” he answers truthfully. “Look through your quickwrites and see if that helps,” I encourage him. He discovers a pattern: many of his quickwrites involve his friends. “Hmmm,” I question. “How old were you when you moved here? Did you have a moment when you finally realized that you were going to be okay with new friends here?” “Yeah, actually I did. I’ll write about football camp.” And he gets to work. Maybe he’ll stick with this topic or maybe he’ll switch, but the important thing is that I allowed that thinking process to take place. I gave the time for the conversation that led him there. As an English teacher I often feel like my life embodies the cliché, “Time is running out.” But really this week I’ve discovered that another cliché just might fit better. "There’s no time life the present." My writing class will look different this year, substantially so. We might not produce so many final drafts. Maybe we won’t get to the opposing sides essays we’ve written the past two years, but I think that’s okay. There is a beauty here in this process, and I don’t want to move so fast that I miss it. |
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September 2020
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