Can Lightning Strike Twice?

You remember my telling you about Mike, right?  He’s the teacher I hired to work at CHS this year, who turned out to be perfect in every way except that he wants an advanced degree, so he went out and got himself a killer deal at a school that he’d be an idiot to pass up, which means he’s leaving CHS this summer to go all the way across the country?  Yeah, that guy.

Well, I’ve been stressing about finding someone to step in when Mike leaves.  I don’t want to be the only English teacher in the department because that would mean I’d only teach core classes and would have no time (or budget) to teach any electives.  Plus, you know, I’d go crazy here all by myself; English teachers, if you didn’t already suspect, are a particular breed of nerdy, and we need others of our kind to share that with.  Anyway, one candidate who came to visit the school vibrated an energy that I knew was just wrong (and who, it turned out, wanted WAY more money than we could even THINK about offering him, so at least that worked out), and there hadn’t been any movement on trying to find anyone else.  I was starting to get nervous.

A few weeks ago, my TA invited a couple of his poetry buddies to come and run a workshop in our class, and he mentioned that one of them was looking for a teaching gig.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time, to be honest with you; I arrogantly assumed that the guy would be an irresponsible, barely-twentysomething with an associates degree who lived out of his car and thought that being a slam poet qualifies one to teach English.

I’m delighted to say that I was oh-so-very wrong.

The man who came to our class that day (let’s call him Mac) was poised and confident and managed to convey the ever-difficult balance of being approachable and down-to-earth while at the same time expecting respect and engagement.  He led the class through a number of exercises that were really valuable, not just in terms of getting the product done (in this case, some creative writing as a lead-up to writing poetry, which led me to produce this piece), but also in terms of understanding concepts, as well; he wasn’t just interested in getting the kids to DO something, he wanted them to THINK, too.  In the hour we spent together, I had developed a very strongly positive first impression.

We talked for a little bit after the class and I learned that he not only had a degree in English teaching, but that he was state certified and had some pretty significant experience in the classroom, as well.  He went home and forwarded me his resume and credentials, and I planned to find out more.

Yesterday, we met at one of my favorite pizza places for a conversation about the possibility of Mac’s coming to work with me.  In that time – and entirely without my prompting – he said some things that made me realize that I may have struck the coworker jackpot again; he’s competent, his teaching philosophy is exactly in line with mine (and, not for nothing, the school’s, as well), he’s enthusiastic and creative, and he’s got strengths where I’ve got weaknesses (and vice-versa).  What’s more?  I LIKE him; he’s funny and smart and we get each other’s jokes and movie quotes.  I think that we could not only work well together, but that we could, quite possibly, kick ass.

I’ve asked my director to get funding for a part-time English teacher in this coming year’s budget, and then I’ve asked her to meet with Mac to make sure that she sees the same things in him that I see.  It may well be that I’ve scored two consecutive co-worker wins, and I’m looking forward to seeing how this all plays out.

I Got to at Least One!

I don’t give final exams.  I hate them, not only because I don’t think that the bulk of a student’s grade should be dependent on one (high-stress, overly pressured) example of his or her performance, but mostly because I just don’t teach like that.  Really, it doesn’t matter to me if a kid can regurgitate a plot line or identify the main clause in a sentence; what’s really important is that the kid understands how to think.  I want my students to leave my class as more agile and critical thinkers than they were when they came to me, and that’s not something one can determine with a multiple choice final exam.

I do like the idea of a culminating project, though, and mine is designed around the portfolio model.  Kids gather up examples of their work and reflect on what they did over the course of the year.  My goal for this is twofold; I want them to review the work we’ve done over the course so they can revisit both their successes and their shortcomings, and I want them to have an opportunity to see the growth they’ve made since September.  Most of the time, I understand their advancements far better than they do, and asking them to reflect on their work gives them a chance to see what I see.

Not every kid gets that, though; most of them aren’t quite mature enough for that kind of self-aware, thinking-about-how-they-think work that I ask them to do in their final projects.  Every once in a while, though, a student is able to articulate something remarkably close to what I would say about him if someone asked me what his greatest leap was during the year.  Today, as I was reviewing project drafts to offer feedback, I opened this, from a junior who’s planning on graduating early:

Second Semester Reflection
    For the most part, I really enjoyed this last semester. Although there were many assignments that I found to be difficult and did not like too much, I learned a great deal from them, and learning is something that I enjoy doing. Being a naturally creative person, I enjoy having the ability to write what I want to write about, and although the assignments usually require students to focus the writing on a general subject, the creative control and freedom that students have been given this semester is tremendous compared to the high school that I came from; a school that follows state requirements and guidelines exactly as they are written, and that incorporates little to no creativity and freedom into the curriculum.
    

Personally I was not a very big fan of the first semester, since it was very structured and guided, however I realize now that it more or less served as preparation for the level of independence allowed in during the second semester, which I have enjoyed greatly. As a student who is graduating a year early from high school, independence is an extremely important skill to learn, and I believe that after completing the various assignments given throughout the second semester, I have become a much more independent person in school and out. Having come from a school that gave me a rubric and guideline for everything, it was nice to finally have some independence, however it was also very difficult.
    

Throughout the course of the second semester, I learned that independence is much more difficult than it seems. Although it was not easy, I was able to manage it by essentially learning how to critique my own work as if I were a teacher grading the work. Overall, being able to handle independence is one of the most important skills that a student can learn, and based on my experiences throughout the second semester, I can safely say that I have successfully learned how to be independent.

I’m not convinced that early graduation is a good idea in general, but I’m reasonably comfortable letting this one go early.  He’s got a very clear idea of what he wants to do (he’s going into a music production and management program), and while I know a lot of teachers who question whether a 17-year-old can really know what he wants at 17 years old, I knew I wanted to be an English teacher since I was in about 3rd grade, so I’m willing to cut the kid a little slack.  He very clearly has some decent communication skills, he’s working on that self-aware, critical thinking piece, and I think he’s going to be just fine.

Professor Chili

I got an email from the head of the freshman writing program this morning.  He wants me to come back to Local U. to teach next fall!

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Frankly, I’m more than a little surprised.  I mean, I absolutely believed my boss when he assured me, after telling me he couldn’t hire me last year, that he’d keep me on his list; that’s not the surprising part.  What’s really got me stumped is that our state is in the process of eviscerating funding for the university system.  Really.  Every single department in the University is under both hiring and salary freezes.  Mr. Chili is concerned that the group for whom he works, which has been operating in cooperation with the University, may now consider breaking off and founding an independent institute.  My girlfriend, who works for the business school, is actually doing two jobs because the school hasn’t hired someone to replace her partner, who had to leave due to medical issues two months ago.  It’s bad out there, and I strongly suspected that this would mean both a reduction in the number of freshman writing sections being offered and a far lesser likelihood of my being invited back to teach.

Not so, it seems!  I’ll be heading up a Monday-Wednesday evening section of freshman composition, and I’m really looking forward to it.  I’ve missed being at LU’s English building, and I’m very much looking forward to being back.

Living History

I’m getting ready to start The Book Thief with my freshmen.  Today, a very dear friend of mine came to talk to my babies about his childhood in Nazi Germany.

Martin was born in 1935 to a family of well-to-do Germans.  His father was a chemical engineer and was well placed in the German industrial culture.  Dad’s job during the war was to see to the acquisition and absorption of foreign companies into the Nazi complex, and he was, by Martin’s assessment, very good at it.  He was also involved in the I. G. Farben operation at Auschwitz, though at the time, Martin was unaware of his father’s work there.

Martin grew up perfectly at ease with the kind of rabid antisemitism that the Nazis propagated.  He believed all of the lies that were told about “undesirable” people because everyone he knew, loved, and respected – his parents, his teachers, his clergy – never challenged those lies; in fact, they worked diligently to cement them in Martin’s mind.  It wasn’t until he moved to Canada in 1952 that Martin began to question the assumptions with which he’d grown up.  Once he started questioning, though, he never stopped.

The kindhearted, soft-spoken gentleman has made it his mission to go out into the world to talk about his experience of wrestling with the legacy that his father, his family, and his people have given him.  He speaks with a sometimes shocking mixture of quiet eloquence and bitter ferocity about the atrocities, the hatred, and the lingering effects of that period in our history continues to wreak.  Martin believes that talking about these things, especially to a generation who has never known the kind of pernicious malignancy that characterized his own childhood, is his duty; he could no sooner remain quiet than he could stop breathing.

I have a profound and complex affection and admiration for this man.  He represents for me an example of what a fully engaged, compassionate, and thinking human being should be.  Martin’s willingness to look the ugliness of his own past full in the face is something that takes a staggering amount of courage in private; that he does it in public – and often behind microphones and in front of audiences packed with survivors and the children and grandchildren of survivors – defies my ability to name it.

My usually boisterous and difficult to focus freshman class was held in absolute thrall for an hour and 15 minutes first thing this morning (those of you unfamiliar with freshman during first period should know that this is no small thing).  Martin has kindly agreed to come back on Wednesday so the kids have a chance to process some of the things that he said enough to formulate some questions; my goal is for them to have some idea of what it was like to be a young person in Nazi Germany before we begin reading Zuzak’s gorgeous novel about a family’s efforts to survive during that time.

I am quite certain that my students are only marginally aware of the incredible gift that Martin offers them, and that they are even less cognizant of the enormous fortitude and commitment that he demonstrates every time he stands up to tell his story.  I am aware, however, and I am moved beyond my ability to express every time he agrees to share his time, his compassion, and his friendship with me.

Thought for Thursday: Loving Them

I made a proclamation on my personal blog that I was going to try to focus on being more mindful and aware in my day-to-day life.  Part of the commitment to that includes setting a “theme” for myself, and this week has been about love.  I’m writing today’s post here, though, because so much of the love that I live is generated in the work that I do

It’s weird to think about it now because it’s become so much a part of my identity, but I was incredibly nervous about taking a job in a high school.  Beyond my internship, I never worked with young people.  What’s more, I didn’t really want to.  I was certain that I was going to work my entire career in colleges and universities because the kind of work I wanted to do in my discipline is usually only done in those places.  I wasn’t (and am still not) terribly interested in, or particularly good at, teaching fundamentals; I want to dig into the critical and the analytical and to make complex and difficult connections in a cooperative, dynamic, discussion-based classroom, not to spend my days lecturing or grading worksheets and bubble tests or teaching kids what a noun is.

I took the job at Charter High for a couple of reasons; I really loved what CHS was doing in terms of teaching and learning, I connected almost instantly with the woman who would be my director, the community college where I’d been working had closed, and I wasn’t getting much of a foothold at Local U; I only taught a freshman English course or two in the fall (and let’s not forget that I had no intention of getting a PhD, and one rarely gets a good job in the English department of a university without one).  I was intrigued, as well, by the idea of working every day with teenagers.

My only real concern in taking the job was the kids.  I had no idea if I COULD work every day with teenagers; please remember that I’ve got one in my house – and one coming up fast behind her – so I had an up-close-and-personal understanding of the… shall we call them frequencies?… of teenagers.  Needless to say, the thought of being soaked every working day in the drama and hormones and attitudes of dozens of young people who were not my own presented a formidable challenge to my courage.

Two years in, though?  I wouldn’t change a thing.

The truth of the matter is that I adore my job – I can’t wait to get up and go to work in the morning, and I think a huge part of that is the kids.  I was, frankly, shocked by the rapidity and intensity with which I fell literally in love with the students.  They are each wonderful and amazing and infuriating and endearing in their own ways, and I find myself caring about them far more than I ever imagined I would.

Because I care so much about them – as people and as students – I am inspired to continue my own growth and development – as a person and a teacher – so that I can provide them with the very best I can possibly offer.  I am mindful of my roles as mentor, teacher, and example of responsible adulthood.  I let my students see who I really am; I talk passionately and honestly about the things I care about, I argue with them when I think they’re wrong about something, and I listen to them when they’re willing to talk to me (which is a lot more often than I would have expected, given how demanding I can be with them).  I make sure they know that I love them; I call them by affectionate nicknames (they are collectively my “babies” and I have been known to refer to some as “Sweet” or “Honey”) and I make myself available to them as much as I can.  I look at them when they talk to me, I don’t bullshit them, and I treat them as if they’re important to me (because they are).  Sometimes, I come right out and tell them that I love them (though that’s often followed up by an admonishment of some sort, as in “You know I love you, right?  Good, now shut up and start writing“).

Of course, that kind of affection brings with it its own set of complications.  My husband worries that I give too much to my students – not that I reveal too much of my personal life to them (though they do know some of our family stories, those stories are always relevant to whatever point I’m trying to make at the time), but rather that I’m opening myself up to pain and disappointment by caring for them as much as I do.  Mr. Chili tends to be more emotionally cautious than I, and I understand what he’s saying, but I simply can’t be any other way.  I can’t think of my students as just a part of my job; that’s just not how I operate.

A few months ago, after a school assembly where the student body was essentially told to straighten up and start working, I brought my class together to talk about what was going on with them; I wanted to know what was holding them back and why they weren’t working at even a fraction of their glorious potential.  One boy, who is a particular favorite of mine (see?  I love them!) looked me in the eye and said “Mrs. Chili, you really have to learn to let us fail.”  That prompted me to go home that night and dream that this student and several others called a meeting to order in which they informed me that I needed to stop loving them because they simply couldn’t handle the pressure.  I went to school the next day and told each of my classes about that dream.  I also told them that I had no intention of ever not loving them, and that they were just going to have to learn to accept that.  They are my babies, and I love each and every one of them, even when they send me to the very brink.

More Long Distance Love

Carson Skyped into my classroom again this morning.  I invited him to come and give some background and context about Jim Crow and segregation to my freshmen as they read To Kill a Mockingbird.

A number of my babies seem to be having a really tough time with this book, which stymied me at first.  I understand that I sometimes let my own deep and abiding affection for certain novels cloud my recognition that not everyone can be expected to be as in love with them as I.  I’m working really hard to remember that I’m teaching NINTH GRADERS here; I think I’ve become so used to working with the older, more mature students that I forget, every once in a while, that these little ones probably don’t have the kind of experience, background, or education that they sometimes need to really understand and appreciate the novels we read.

I recognized that a big missing piece for my students and To Kill a Mockingbird was likely the aspect of culture; as mostly white, mostly affluent, mostly liberal Northerners, most of us have never really had to consider the legacy of segregation and racism in our everyday lives, and I think that understanding those things is crucial to really appreciating the gravity and importance of this novel.  Carson did a great job of laying the groundwork for the students’ understanding of the CULTURE of the country – not just the South, but the whole of the US – from Reconstruction on, and I think they left the class feeling like they understood a little better the way that culture informs the characters in Lee’s book.

For myself, I was quietly proud of how much I already know of what Carson covered.  I was taking notes on the board for the kids as he was talking, and at one point I had written the exact phrase that he spoke a moment later.  I joke with the history teacher at CHS that we should consider trading jobs once in a while; he’s a frustrated English teacher and I am most certainly a frustrated history teacher.  I could probably have done a decent job covering the material that Carson taught my kids this morning, but I was particularly grateful that he was willing to get up early (we’re a time zone ahead of him) and beam himself into my classroom.  I think that it’s important for my students to hear a lot of different voices.  I admire Carson’s knowledge and adore his style, and I’m grateful and honored that he agrees to share his time and talent so freely with me.

Interview With the Vampire

Actually, it’s “Interview with the Writer of Interview with the Vampire!”

You want to know how much I love technology?  Let me tell you how much I love technology, People!  A girlfriend clued me in a little while ago that Anne Rice had announced that she is willing to come to classrooms via Skype to talk about her books and the craft of writing.

She didn’t have to tell me twice!

I got right on the computer and emailed Ms. Rice to tell her that, yes, please, my seniors and I would like very much to have her “visit” our class and talk about writing.  Her assistant and I have been emailing for a while now, and we’re circling in on a date in March.

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I assigned Interview With the Vampire today – the kids have to have their books by this time next week and we’ll start reading then.  I’m up against a couple of students who have pre-conceived notions of Rice and the novel, so I’m having to get them to start thinking like scholars about this novel instead of looking at it as consumers of entertainment.  I’m probably not going to hook a few of them, but I know for sure that I’ve piqued a LOT of interest in this class; my boss is tickled that this could actually happen (she wants to call the local paper), and a number of my former students are begging to come back to school so they can partake in this class, too.

Technology rocks.

What is “Reasonable”?

I’m thinking I may cross-post this on the Blue Door; it echos a lot of the thinking I’ve been doing over there, so if you read both places, don’t be surprised if you get a feeling of déjà vu.

Each of my classes is currently engaged in a unit about public speaking. My freshmen are giving purely informational presentations – I’ve tasked them with learning about something interesting and then teaching the rest of the class about it.  Since I like to do my own homework every once in a while, I’m doing this presentation with them.  Mine will be about the first round of the Nuremberg Trials.

My juniors are taking on an opinion presentation – they’ve been told to format their presentation around “here’s this thing that exists, here’s what I think about it, and here’s why I think the way I do,” and my seniors are attempting an argumentative/persuasive piece – they’re crafting an presentation that asks the audience to consider – or to reconsider – a particular topic.

Each of these presentations has three requirements – they need to have visuals, they need a written component, and the kids have to speak for 3-5 minutes or (5-8 for the bigger kids).  Additionally, they need to have at least three reputable sources, and they need to be organized such that the audiences can follow along, even if they’ve never had any experience with the topic in question.

I ended up in a conversation with my seniors this afternoon that intrigued me.  It was a bit of an offshoot of the conversation we started on Tuesday when I brought up the concepts of ethical speech and what our responsibilities are to the words that we send out into the world.  While I had planned this part of the unit to fall on this week anyway, I’m often amazed by how timely the Universe is in dropping relevant, real-world stuff into my lap at the exact time I’m teaching them in a classroom.  The Arizona shooting and the conversation about rhetoric that has inspired were just such a thing, and we had a long and interesting discussion about whether or not we can (or should) link the speech of one to the action of another.

Anyway, several of the kids came to me with topics that really weren’t appropriate for argument, and I spent a while trying to get the kids to understand that I’m looking for them to tackle the kinds of issues about which reasonable people can disagree.  It’s highly unlikely, I explained to one kid, that reasonable people are going to agree with what the Westboro Baptist Church does, so arguing against their right to do those things is kind of a pointless exercise.  So, too, is arguing against animal rights abuses; most reasonable people would agree that it’s wrong to be cruel and abusive to animals.

Just about when I thought I was getting through to them, one of my (favorite) kids piped up.  “Mrs. Chili,” he asked, “what does it mean to be reasonable?”

Yeah!  Wow!  What DOES that mean?

We spent a good long time talking about the implications of making that kind of judgment about something.  How DO we determine what reasonable means?  What are the criteria by which we judge that kind of person?

The answers the kids came up with both surprised and delighted me.  Reasonable people, they decided, are people who, by their nature, are open-minded.  They’re willing to listen to others’ ideas, but aren’t necessarily swayed by them.  Reasonable people are critical thinkers and don’t just jump on the latest and greatest ideas.  They don’t give a whole lot of credence to the people who are making the most noise, but are more impressed by the people who make the clearest and most compelling argument.  Reasonable people take the big picture into account; a reasonable person may be willing to concede to something not-so-good in the short term to ensure a positive outcome long-term.  Reasonable people are compassionate and consider the needs of others when making decisions or taking actions.  Reasonable people may well be considered unreasonable by outside observers, they decided, but it’s not one’s reputation that determines one’s reasonableness; one’s behaviors, thought processes, and actions determine this (some of my kids are very sensitive to the fact that our school doesn’t yet have a very good reputation, and they take that personally).  Reasonable people do not generally abide extremes, they decided, nor do reasonable people generally rely upon “faith” to make their decisions; they are more influenced by their own experiences and observations and the facts that they encounter than they are by scripture or the words of their particular flavor of clergy.  Reasonable people are willing to change their minds about something when they’re presented with compelling evidence to do so.

We ended the conversation by talking about the idea put forth on a church’s message board:

Learning to think for themselves, and learning to do that reasonably, is perhaps the most important thing I can encourage my students to do.  To that end, I give them every opportunity I can find, and I ask them to think in whatever ways they can, whether those ways agree with my way of thinking or not (because learning to disagree with civility is absolutely vital, and learning to disagree with those in authority is a life skill).

So I ask you, Dear Readers, what would you add to my kids’ definition of what makes one reasonable?  Do you think you embody those qualities?  If not, where can you strive to bring more reasonableness into your life?

LOVE Her

Long story short: we read Something Wicked This Way Comes in my freshman class. One student (let’s call her Elise) had to borrow a book from the school.

Elise is a great student and took copious and careful notes on Post Its all through her book. When we finished the novel, she needed to give it back to me so I could return it to the school’s (pathetic) stock. Another student in Elise’s class wanted to donate the copy of the novel her parents bought for her, which isn’t the same edition as the copies the school owns. As I was collecting the books in class yesterday, Elise complained that she wanted to keep her book; she really enjoyed it and would read it again. As her classmate handed me the different edition, I immediately handed it to Elise and told her she could keep it (it’s often difficult to teach different editions of the same book in a single class, especially if the pages are numbered differently).

This morning, I came in to find Elise hard at work transferring the sticky notes from the school’s copy of the book into the new copy I gave her yesterday.

I adore that kid.

SCORE!

This seems to be the year for kids coming back to tell me that they get why I jump up and down on them about stuff they don’t want to do. It’s awesome.

A while ago, CHS instituted a community-wide, weekly vocabulary word contest. Someone (usually me) chooses a word (I often choose from the SAT website) that the entire community has to define and use in a CHS-related sentence. Elaina, the Goddess of the Front Desk, chooses a winner each week (which inspires the kids to write funny sentences, because we all know how much Elaina loves to laugh), and I announce that winner in morning announcements on Friday. It used to be a voluntary thing, but then a couple of us started issuing it as a for-credit assignment. As everyone has at least ONE of the teachers who requires it for a class, every kid in the school should be doing this.

Nearly every kid in the school blows it off. In fact, I just chased down a couple of students on Friday because they hadn’t done the damned CHS word in weeks, and those zeros were starting to stack up. I mean, really?! It’s ONE sentence, once a week! Gah!

Anyway, this was in my inbox this afternoon. It’s from Collette, who’s a junior in my English classes:

Hi Ms Chili!

I took my SATs this morning and I just wanted to say thank you SO MUCH for having us do the CHS word every week. It pretty much saved my butt in the reading/writing parts of the test. There were at least 10 from this year and last year in one section alone, and if I hadn’t known how to properly use them in a sentence I would have been completely screwed.
I always wondered what the point of it was other than to just be fun, and now I know.

Warn the Juniors!

Hope you’re having a pleasant weekend

Best wishes,
Collette

Isn’t that FANTASTIC?! I’ve sent her an email back asking if I can read this in morning announcements on Monday; SO many kids aren’t doing the weekly vocabulary word, and I wonder if this might inspire some of them to do it.