Tuesday, July 31, 2007
When all else fails... it's time to throw a water balloon...
Today, I sat in a room for eight hours straight (okay, so I got up to use the restroom and we went to an adjoining room for lunch, but you get the picture). The teachers in our district were given a full day of meetings at their school site. Although I love the people I work with, colleagues as well as adminstration, these meetings can be dry and boring even if you're sitting next to the most interesting people in the world. Just when I thought I was about to fall asleep in my pile of papers, our principal calls out, "Okay, get a partner, grab a water balloon and meet me outside." Well, being the mature and sophisticated adults that we are, we immediately do so, laughingly pushing each other aside as we scramble to get into the steamy outdoors. Forming two lines, we do that picnic classic of the water balloon toss (with the distance between your partner growing with every successful throw). You haven't lived until you see a 60-some year-old five-foot tall secretary dripping wet from a well-aimed throw of a water balloon or an army-veteran-turned-kindergarden-teacher heaving a water balloon to a laughing intructional assistant. Dripping and laughing, we went back inside to face more paperwork and AYP qualifications. However, those few tosses of a water balloon greatly increased the value of the day.
Friday, July 27, 2007
The Greatest Sacrifice
According to Harry Potter, it's your soul. According to movies, it's your life. According to a teacher, however, the greatest sacrifice one can give is . . . I can barely confess I've done it! . . . giving away books.
Yesterday, I sat in the middle of my reading area surrounded by books. I had a problem. I had too many books. "Too many books!" you exclaim in authentic horror. "That's just not possible." Actually, it IS possible, and I was able to reach such a point. It happened because a) I am a children's book hoarder, b) I am a Scholastic whore, c) I cannot say no to a book. My classroom library has books from my own childhood, from warehouse sales, from used bookstores and Friends of the Library monthly sales, leftover from the teacher who had resided in my classroom before me, and from many helpful teachers in California who saw me as a beneficiary of all the books they no longer had want or need for.
Our school librarian (and the husband of another third grade teacher) came in and saw me panicking as I sat like a human island in a sea of books. "Help me!" I cried pathetically, and he allowed me to wail out my problem: basically that I had too many books and my classroom library was starting to swallow my classroom whole; a colleague joked that I could keep all my books, but a couple of students would have to sit outside. I picked up a book at random to demonstrate the problem. The book happened to be from an ancient series featuring a character named Calico Cat. "Calico Cat goes to the Zoo": a boring, story with bland pictures about a cat who sees animals at a zoo (what a creative idea!). "What about this?" I said, manically. "I would never recommend this book to someone; I hate this book! But it might have some significance to an ELL or someone just beginning to read."
"Have you ever seen a student reading one of these?" he asked, patiently.
"Ummm... I think I saw Bianca reading one once."
"Is it worth keeping a book you hate, that you wouldn't recommend, just because one student picked it up and read it ONCE?"
"I don't know! Am I hired to be a teacher or a book critic?" I asked, anger rising in my voice.
He told me quietly, slowly, and calmly (appropriate for a librarian, but it may have been fear that I would attack him for making such a suggestion), "Erica, why would you keep a book that lacks quality, when you have plenty of good books waiting to be picked up? Taking out some of the books that are disinteresting and boring will only increase the chance that a student will pick up a book that he actually will enjoy."
Of course he was right. I started going through my books and pulling out books that had no place in my classroom. I took out copies of "Leo and the Butterfly" (BOR-ING), a 70s book asking the question, "What Are Drugs?" (my kids can already tell you that), a couple of books f
rom the series my grandmother bought us when we were growing up with titles like "The Truth About Tattling", "picture" books with no pictures and miniscule print, etc. Although it was possibly one of the hardest things I ever had to do, I ended up with a large box full of rejected books.
I can now look through my library and not find one book that I wouldn't be glad to recommend. There's a great feeling in that! Also, my classroom library now only takes up four bookshelves (still a lot, but about twelve cubic feet less of space than my books were taking up before). It looks good and I feel good about it. I am still struggling with the book critic within, but I get most of those needs out from my child_lit e-mail ring to which I belong. It comes down to this:
I hold my students to an expectation when they come into my class; my books should meet high standards as well.
Yesterday, I sat in the middle of my reading area surrounded by books. I had a problem. I had too many books. "Too many books!" you exclaim in authentic horror. "That's just not possible." Actually, it IS possible, and I was able to reach such a point. It happened because a) I am a children's book hoarder, b) I am a Scholastic whore, c) I cannot say no to a book. My classroom library has books from my own childhood, from warehouse sales, from used bookstores and Friends of the Library monthly sales, leftover from the teacher who had resided in my classroom before me, and from many helpful teachers in California who saw me as a beneficiary of all the books they no longer had want or need for.
Our school librarian (and the husband of another third grade teacher) came in and saw me panicking as I sat like a human island in a sea of books. "Help me!" I cried pathetically, and he allowed me to wail out my problem: basically that I had too many books and my classroom library was starting to swallow my classroom whole; a colleague joked that I could keep all my books, but a couple of students would have to sit outside. I picked up a book at random to demonstrate the problem. The book happened to be from an ancient series featuring a character named Calico Cat. "Calico Cat goes to the Zoo": a boring, story with bland pictures about a cat who sees animals at a zoo (what a creative idea!). "What about this?" I said, manically. "I would never recommend this book to someone; I hate this book! But it might have some significance to an ELL or someone just beginning to read."
"Have you ever seen a student reading one of these?" he asked, patiently.
"Ummm... I think I saw Bianca reading one once."
"Is it worth keeping a book you hate, that you wouldn't recommend, just because one student picked it up and read it ONCE?"
"I don't know! Am I hired to be a teacher or a book critic?" I asked, anger rising in my voice.
He told me quietly, slowly, and calmly (appropriate for a librarian, but it may have been fear that I would attack him for making such a suggestion), "Erica, why would you keep a book that lacks quality, when you have plenty of good books waiting to be picked up? Taking out some of the books that are disinteresting and boring will only increase the chance that a student will pick up a book that he actually will enjoy."
Of course he was right. I started going through my books and pulling out books that had no place in my classroom. I took out copies of "Leo and the Butterfly" (BOR-ING), a 70s book asking the question, "What Are Drugs?" (my kids can already tell you that), a couple of books f
rom the series my grandmother bought us when we were growing up with titles like "The Truth About Tattling", "picture" books with no pictures and miniscule print, etc. Although it was possibly one of the hardest things I ever had to do, I ended up with a large box full of rejected books.I can now look through my library and not find one book that I wouldn't be glad to recommend. There's a great feeling in that! Also, my classroom library now only takes up four bookshelves (still a lot, but about twelve cubic feet less of space than my books were taking up before). It looks good and I feel good about it. I am still struggling with the book critic within, but I get most of those needs out from my child_lit e-mail ring to which I belong. It comes down to this:
I hold my students to an expectation when they come into my class; my books should meet high standards as well.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
The Plank
A few weeks before school starts again, we all are forced to walk the plank. This plank will tell us if our school year will be successful or not. We must set up new systems (academic and disciplinary), pray over our class lists (whether you're religious or not), and make our classroom the safe and creative environment we have been told time and time again by professors, colleagues, and superiors that our rooms must be. Each step will tell us what will meet us once we take that flying leap off the edge. The board we walk is sturdy, almost teasingly unrelenting, giving no hint of the conclusion that awaits. Our breath is tighter in our chest with each step. What kind of year will I have? What kind of students will I have? How will my colleagues treat me and how will my lack of sleep and strong teacher-esque will force me to treat them in return? I am only a few steps down the plank now, but it's too far to turn back. I only hope the waters are friendly.
Class lists will be given tomorrow, and I find out at least one of the projects my year will settle upon. Most of the names will be unfamiliar: a sibling here, a cousin there; but there will also be inevitably a name with a reputation. You pray there's only one . . . You have to decide how you will take this blow. Automatically sit him in the front? Girl-lock him? Read up on every discipline book in your professional library? Come up with a precursory behavior plan? Listen to the rumors or start fresh with a "new year, new teacher" attitude? Last year, it was the year of Nathaniel; I was lucky to have a child whose only real problem was intense ADHD. Who knows what kind of challenge the future holds for Room 19.
Class lists will be given tomorrow, and I find out at least one of the projects my year will settle upon. Most of the names will be unfamiliar: a sibling here, a cousin there; but there will also be inevitably a name with a reputation. You pray there's only one . . . You have to decide how you will take this blow. Automatically sit him in the front? Girl-lock him? Read up on every discipline book in your professional library? Come up with a precursory behavior plan? Listen to the rumors or start fresh with a "new year, new teacher" attitude? Last year, it was the year of Nathaniel; I was lucky to have a child whose only real problem was intense ADHD. Who knows what kind of challenge the future holds for Room 19.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Actress/Teacher
Who knew that taking a couple of drama classes in high school and developing a severe case of stage fright in front of my peers would lead me to being a teacher... or really, just an actress with a perpetual audience of eight- and nine-year-olds? So often that's what being a teacher seems to signify. Sure, I attend conferences, staff meetings, and other meetings with vague purposes; I spend too much time grading and entering grades, creating rubrics; I read more children's literature than a children's book editor; I plan lessons during every waking (and sometimes slumbering) moment; but when it comes to opening the door in the morning to a class of expectant third graders, the actress kicks in and takes over. I am replaced by a character called "Miss Sells" who has all the answers, a bottomless pit of energy and enthusiasm about everything from fire drills to fractions, and a great skill of improvisation. Through it all she has a smile on her face, except when the teacher-look is necessary.
I was inspired to create this blog because of my wonderfully eloquent elder sister's influence. Plus, I would like to have a place dedicated to thought and experiences dealing with my professional life (which, let's face it, is my life).
Of course, now it's the summer: that supposed "vacation time" that makes the occupation of teacher enviable to everyone with normal 9-to-5 jobs. Right now, however, I am in my classroom, trying to sort out all of the files, articles, magazines, both inconsequential and overbearing tasks that I decided to put off so I could check out early. I just sigh and look around thinking about everything that needs to be done: schedules to be made, lesson plans to be created, desks to be arranged, re-organizing and pre-organizing, phone calls and e-mails and letters to write- all of a sudden I seem very tired. Aren't I still on vacation?
I was inspired to create this blog because of my wonderfully eloquent elder sister's influence. Plus, I would like to have a place dedicated to thought and experiences dealing with my professional life (which, let's face it, is my life).
Of course, now it's the summer: that supposed "vacation time" that makes the occupation of teacher enviable to everyone with normal 9-to-5 jobs. Right now, however, I am in my classroom, trying to sort out all of the files, articles, magazines, both inconsequential and overbearing tasks that I decided to put off so I could check out early. I just sigh and look around thinking about everything that needs to be done: schedules to be made, lesson plans to be created, desks to be arranged, re-organizing and pre-organizing, phone calls and e-mails and letters to write- all of a sudden I seem very tired. Aren't I still on vacation?
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