Tell Ol' Teacher, Let My Children Talk

I spent the last weekend at the Asilomar Reading Conference. I learned some handy new reading/vocabulary tactics (No Prep Foldable Bingo, yes! TMAO’s “Answer Book,” ooo!) and was reminded of some good old ones that I learned and then shelved in some dark recess of my professional mind.

My Big Learning, however, came from the English Learner focus of this year’s conference. No one spoke to my epiphany directly, but everyone talked around it until it finally sunk in. I realized a fundamental issue with my teaching. Basically: I talk too much. Or perhaps, more precisely: They talk too little.

I’ve been pushing myself to offer students more independent time, enabled partially by my having a smaller class (23! Is this Heaven, or just Vermont?) and mainly by my having access to materials that make such a time worthwhile. But at the conference I came to understand that even during Direct Instruction on reading or math, there’s no reason for me to any longer engage in the rote teacher-question/student-answer when my ELLs have such a need for opportunities to speak and listen. I’m a fourth-year teacher, now, I need to let go a little.

I’ve known this all year, since I made my return from a year of almost pure Direct Instruction as a math/writing teacher last year. But I was hesitant to allow frequent pair-shares or group-discussions because I deluded myself into thinking that a) the pace of my lessons didn’t permit such constant interruptions and b) that students would never focus on the subject I asked them to discuss.

For the pacing, I’ve discovered that pair-shares and group-discussions actually speed up the discussions. Usually, when asking a discussion question whole-class I’ll give a painful amount of wait time and then call on a kid at a smattering of my six groups. Turning the discussion over to the groups however, even if only for a minute or just a half, means that at least one, and usually two kids at each group can talk.

For the focus, I’ve accepted that not every group will spend every syllable on the subject I’ve given, but most will. Positive reinforcement, good questions, and good material will raise the percentage, and those are factors I feel confident I can control. Besides, two-thirds of twelve kids talking at a time still represents greater learning than a hundred percent of one teacher.

Try it, let me know how it goes.

Room For All in The Trenches?

Is there room, here in The Trenches, for the seven-hour teacher?

This question has plagued me since the middle of my second year, when I first realized that some of the veteran teachers at my school had very good reasons for arriving at eight and leaving at three. They have family members with special needs, long commutes to the only affordable parts of the region, or their own children deserving of attention. These are hardly burdens to be begrudged.

At the same time, however, these teachers pass on students, year after year, with tremendous deficiencies in basic skills. Others must then step up to tutor these students before and after school. Many teachers’ unwillingness to work beyond the seven-hour day pushes more additional duties onto the few who are willing to remain. Further, many powerful reforms remain inconsistently implemented because of a widespread unwillingness to attend staff-trainings after-school or on the weekends. All this, it should be noted, despite additional pay for each additional hour.

And these demands are just the minimum for moving a failing school to competency. What about excellence? There’s a heap of opinions on how best to serve our needy students, but I don’t think anyone imagines that the sort of transformative school that takes ELLs from the East Side to college gets its job done between 8 and 3. Or even 8 and 5. I sometimes think that were I working alongside a like-minded staff, my hours would be more reasonable, but the lives of KIPP teachers would prove otherwise.

I think the equation might be painfully simple: We are looking to make a tremendous amount of change in our students’ learning and lives; that is always going to require a tremendous amount of effort and time.

So, again, do the demands of schools that serve our high-challenge students mean that as teachers start a family, buy an affordable house, or deal with a long-term crisis they must leave The Trenches and head for the suburbs? Is this part of our profession somehow the equivalent of lawyers' lives before "making partner" or doctors' during residency, ---the expected province of only youthful, unattached workaholics?

There must be a better way and I'd love to hear it.

My Mood Makes the Weather

In the middle of this morning's vocabulary introduction, during which I was feeling particularly funny and engaging, one of my students commented in that even-toned, utterly honest voice that strikes straight to the heart of any teacher:

"Wow, Mr. AB is happy today."

At first I just agreed...I was happy, ---I was rested, glad to see my kids again, pleased that the morning was going well, and feeling comfortable that I could have some fun without them losing focus. Then I got concerned... Am I not usually happy? Do I get so cranky and stressed as to make a bit of fun and play with a routine activity seem so unusual? Are my students feeling burdened with an unhappy teacher? It reminded me of my 2nd year realization of the absolute necessity of creating and maintaining positive affect in the classroom. I also think, between a little bit of over-confidence and under-excitement in teaching the same grade-level for the fourth time, that perhaps I have dropped a little of the ebullience from my instruction.

This reflection also recalled for me a quote that my mother (a retired educator) shared with me in the first weeks of my career.

I have come to a frightening conclusion.
I am the decisive element in the classroom.
It is my personal approach that creates the climate.
It is my daily mood that makes the weather.

It is from Ginott's Between Teacher and Child. I have not had a chance to read the book or even the context, but I find just these four sentences to be a powerful articulation of the importance of my role. While I have painfully come to see that it is possible for me to lose my role as the "decisive element," when I am eclipsed by life events or disruptive students, with the majority of the classes I have worked with the words ring true: "My mood makes the weather."

I will do more to make sure I bring bright, sunny days to our classroom!

Locked Out!

It’s the last day of vacation and, like any crazy new teacher, I’d like to spend it in my classroom getting ready for the restart of school. My principal is there, sending email and taking care of his business. The janitor is there, finishing up classroom cleanings. I’d love to be there, working for free to improve student achievement.

Not according to my district.

My district appears to believe that I would be there, on my vacation, in order to steal school supplies, vandalize school property, or maybe use the copiers for non-school related activities. As though I couldn’t do that during regular work day. So they decreed that, under no circumstances, were teachers to be allowed back on campus during the break. After investigation it was found that this edict was coming out of a small series of nefarious acts by a substitute janitor. Janitors, mind you, are still allowed on campus.

I challenge you to find another profession or industry where salaried employees are forbidden to work more on their own time. No self-respecting company would even consider telling employees they couldn’t come in to the office a little more. Imagine with me: “No! Gifted programmer-researcher-lawyer-artist, no! You may not come in on your vacation and produce more shareholder value. We forbid it. You might use the company’s computers to look up porn.”

The rest of the world gives bonuses, promotions, or recognition to employees who put in the extra effort, but in education, we lock on the door on them.