Friday, May 9, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
To surrender, or not to surrender...
January 28 – February 1
“I promise I’m not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were.
…But I will go down with this ship.
I won’t put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door”
- Dido, “White Flag”
Last week ended with high hopes. I was finally teaching! I researched lesson plans and activities, brainstormed, consulted with other teachers… and spent hours beautifying my showcase lesson plans. On Monday I prepped the marker board at the front of the room with a beautiful Freytag’s pyramid and the agenda for the day: Watch a video about Mark Twain, read his short story “The Celebrated Frog of Calavaras County,” and end the day with a “yarn spinning” contest. I handed out the weekly syllabus to the class, having highlighted the days when I would be teaching, and when my cooperating teacher would be. The kids were sharp. “Miss, Mr. S is only teaching on Tuesday? So… you’re teaching the rest of the time? Will he be here?” The sense of inadequacy and a fear of not meeting expectations had begun.
Mr. S came in and out of the class, but, since he is the headmaster and has constant demands, ended up disappearing before the end of 9th period. I was cool – hadn’t I planned to teach on my own two feet?
There were complications with the video equipment, and the kids didn’t understand the strong southern accent used by the man impersonating Mark Twain. I should have taken the hint, but assumed that because the story on the day’s agenda was funny that the kids would love it. Was I ever wrong. Students read extremely slowly, and not only did we not finish half of the story, but they also understood little if anything.
On Tuesday Mr. S conducted an essay workshop with peer reviews, and I helped. On Wednesday I pushed through the rest of the frog story and went over Freytag’s pyramid, only to realize that the students had apparently studied it already and were bored by my presentation. Mr. S was not there, and although I tried my best, I had a very difficult time maintaining control of the classroom. Both the Principal and Assistant Principal dropped in throughout the periods I was teaching, and tried to enforce my authority. We stayed until after 5 for teacher in-service, and Mr. G, Ashley’s teacher, gave us a ride home.
On Thursday I decided to see how much the kids had learned and gave them a 3-question pop quiz. I was unable to keep them quiet, and had a strong suspicion that they were cheating because they know I don’t understand Spanish. I also realized that I’d left some of the answers on the board under “words to know.” I pretended I had known they were there all along, but felt like an idiot. We started reading a brief paragraph about Chief Joseph and one of my girls was struggling to pronounce the Indian names. The class ignored my pleas and mercilessly laughed at her (even though most of them aren’t good readers either), until she ended up in tears. I felt horrible and pulled her aside when class ended, telling her that the Native American Indian names are difficult for everyone, let alone ESL. She
tearfully asked if I would help her with her reading skills, and I promised to read with her during lunch one day. During 9th period my students constantly questioned why they had to do what I asked, when Mr. S was coming back (I had thought he was going to be there, but had been kept back by meetings). I handed out graded essay drafts and found a rebellion on my hands as an “all As” student revolted at the 6/10 points he’d received for missing class, not participating in the peer reviews, and trying to write an essay like a conversational speech. I was shaking by the time the last bell rang, but managed to pull myself together and go downstairs to give some messages to administrators. I met Mr. S as he was leaving and told him how bad it had gone, and he promised to be there the following day. On my way back up to the 4th floor I had to slip into the bathroom to wipe away the tears. At least I didn’t break down in front of my kids.
On Friday we found out that all but one of the 1102 students (my 9th period, and 1/3 of the 11th graders at Westhill) had skipped school. The idea was officially instigated by my “all A” student of the day before, and was apparently to spite me. Mr. G told me that it was good that I was getting to the students, but my sense of inadequacy kept increasing. A number of my 8th period students were gone as well, but Mr. S was there and ended up leading the entire class discussion. It was a relief to have made it through the week, but all of my hopeful confidence from Monday was destroyed. It appeared that all the beautiful plans in the world were not enough, and I was frustrated with the extreme emotions I was dealing with.
That night I sat down at Ashley’s computer and typed up my concerns. Most were personal, but I realized that the school-related ones were connected. I went through again and listed positive facts, such as “I like the school, I like the kids (even if they hate me), and I really do want to stick with this and learn how to teach.” I went back through my concerns and sorted through them – what can I change, and what can I not change? It took a while, but it was very therapeutic to face my fears and see how groundless they were.
Monday was a holiday, but Mr. S met me at a coffee shop and we went over plans and concerns for a couple hours. I hadn’t realized it, but not only is he my cooperating teacher and the headmaster of Westhill, but since he is moving to Ecuador next year, he also is running a school there. I was grateful to have uninterrupted time to ask questions and listen to his experience, and I left with concrete suggestions and a stack of supplemental materials.
I realize that I’m jumping into this week, but I wanted to end on a positive note. Mr. S was in my classes yesterday, in which I managed to cover all of the items on my agenda and have both classes caught up. The management went much smoother, mostly because Mr. S was there I’m sure, but I’m hoping that I’m gaining more confidence and the students are starting to see me as an authority as well. It all takes time, learning to be flexible and see outside the traditional box, and learning to meet the students where they are. As Dido sings in “White Flag”, “I won’t put my hands up in surrender – there will be no white flag above my door.” I’m (learning to be) a teacher. This IS what I want to do. It won’t be easy, but I’m in it for the long haul.
“I promise I’m not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were.
…But I will go down with this ship.
I won’t put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door”
- Dido, “White Flag”
Last week ended with high hopes. I was finally teaching! I researched lesson plans and activities, brainstormed, consulted with other teachers… and spent hours beautifying my showcase lesson plans. On Monday I prepped the marker board at the front of the room with a beautiful Freytag’s pyramid and the agenda for the day: Watch a video about Mark Twain, read his short story “The Celebrated Frog of Calavaras County,” and end the day with a “yarn spinning” contest. I handed out the weekly syllabus to the class, having highlighted the days when I would be teaching, and when my cooperating teacher would be. The kids were sharp. “Miss, Mr. S is only teaching on Tuesday? So… you’re teaching the rest of the time? Will he be here?” The sense of inadequacy and a fear of not meeting expectations had begun.
Mr. S came in and out of the class, but, since he is the headmaster and has constant demands, ended up disappearing before the end of 9th period. I was cool – hadn’t I planned to teach on my own two feet?
There were complications with the video equipment, and the kids didn’t understand the strong southern accent used by the man impersonating Mark Twain. I should have taken the hint, but assumed that because the story on the day’s agenda was funny that the kids would love it. Was I ever wrong. Students read extremely slowly, and not only did we not finish half of the story, but they also understood little if anything.
On Tuesday Mr. S conducted an essay workshop with peer reviews, and I helped. On Wednesday I pushed through the rest of the frog story and went over Freytag’s pyramid, only to realize that the students had apparently studied it already and were bored by my presentation. Mr. S was not there, and although I tried my best, I had a very difficult time maintaining control of the classroom. Both the Principal and Assistant Principal dropped in throughout the periods I was teaching, and tried to enforce my authority. We stayed until after 5 for teacher in-service, and Mr. G, Ashley’s teacher, gave us a ride home.
On Thursday I decided to see how much the kids had learned and gave them a 3-question pop quiz. I was unable to keep them quiet, and had a strong suspicion that they were cheating because they know I don’t understand Spanish. I also realized that I’d left some of the answers on the board under “words to know.” I pretended I had known they were there all along, but felt like an idiot. We started reading a brief paragraph about Chief Joseph and one of my girls was struggling to pronounce the Indian names. The class ignored my pleas and mercilessly laughed at her (even though most of them aren’t good readers either), until she ended up in tears. I felt horrible and pulled her aside when class ended, telling her that the Native American Indian names are difficult for everyone, let alone ESL. She
tearfully asked if I would help her with her reading skills, and I promised to read with her during lunch one day. During 9th period my students constantly questioned why they had to do what I asked, when Mr. S was coming back (I had thought he was going to be there, but had been kept back by meetings). I handed out graded essay drafts and found a rebellion on my hands as an “all As” student revolted at the 6/10 points he’d received for missing class, not participating in the peer reviews, and trying to write an essay like a conversational speech. I was shaking by the time the last bell rang, but managed to pull myself together and go downstairs to give some messages to administrators. I met Mr. S as he was leaving and told him how bad it had gone, and he promised to be there the following day. On my way back up to the 4th floor I had to slip into the bathroom to wipe away the tears. At least I didn’t break down in front of my kids.On Friday we found out that all but one of the 1102 students (my 9th period, and 1/3 of the 11th graders at Westhill) had skipped school. The idea was officially instigated by my “all A” student of the day before, and was apparently to spite me. Mr. G told me that it was good that I was getting to the students, but my sense of inadequacy kept increasing. A number of my 8th period students were gone as well, but Mr. S was there and ended up leading the entire class discussion. It was a relief to have made it through the week, but all of my hopeful confidence from Monday was destroyed. It appeared that all the beautiful plans in the world were not enough, and I was frustrated with the extreme emotions I was dealing with.
That night I sat down at Ashley’s computer and typed up my concerns. Most were personal, but I realized that the school-related ones were connected. I went through again and listed positive facts, such as “I like the school, I like the kids (even if they hate me), and I really do want to stick with this and learn how to teach.” I went back through my concerns and sorted through them – what can I change, and what can I not change? It took a while, but it was very therapeutic to face my fears and see how groundless they were.
Monday was a holiday, but Mr. S met me at a coffee shop and we went over plans and concerns for a couple hours. I hadn’t realized it, but not only is he my cooperating teacher and the headmaster of Westhill, but since he is moving to Ecuador next year, he also is running a school there. I was grateful to have uninterrupted time to ask questions and listen to his experience, and I left with concrete suggestions and a stack of supplemental materials.
I realize that I’m jumping into this week, but I wanted to end on a positive note. Mr. S was in my classes yesterday, in which I managed to cover all of the items on my agenda and have both classes caught up. The management went much smoother, mostly because Mr. S was there I’m sure, but I’m hoping that I’m gaining more confidence and the students are starting to see me as an authority as well. It all takes time, learning to be flexible and see outside the traditional box, and learning to meet the students where they are. As Dido sings in “White Flag”, “I won’t put my hands up in surrender – there will be no white flag above my door.” I’m (learning to be) a teacher. This IS what I want to do. It won’t be easy, but I’m in it for the long haul.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Buenos Dias
I love the morning ritual:
Chasing Ashley and running up and down the street crossing
Walking to school under a full moon
Slamming through the turnstyles
Hopping on the train
Laughing at the sleepy men with us on the morning commute
Laughing when the train driver slows down for a look at Ashley
Music on the Metro.
The Churro* salesman.
Watching people setup their food stands before the sun is up
The smell of fresh vegetables, frying pancakes, and cinnamon coffee
The juicer's stall - never with a light on, always with club music
Jose our bus driver
Nora, Sandra, Scott, Mark, Enrique, and the random other few
Balancing bags and lunches on our knees
Shoulders jamming against headphoned sleeping teachers
Tuning out negative conversations
Trying to learn from positive discussions
Watching the sun rise over Mexico City as we climb up out of the smog
Yawning ¨Beunos Dias!¨ everyone as we stumble inside and up 4 flights of stairs
Email.
The day has begun :-)
*Churros are a kind of fried breadstick with cinnamon sugar... really good!
Chasing Ashley and running up and down the street crossing
Walking to school under a full moon
Slamming through the turnstyles
Hopping on the train
Laughing at the sleepy men with us on the morning commute
Laughing when the train driver slows down for a look at Ashley
Music on the Metro.
The Churro* salesman.
Watching people setup their food stands before the sun is up
The smell of fresh vegetables, frying pancakes, and cinnamon coffee
The juicer's stall - never with a light on, always with club music
Jose our bus driver
Nora, Sandra, Scott, Mark, Enrique, and the random other few
Balancing bags and lunches on our knees
Shoulders jamming against headphoned sleeping teachers
Tuning out negative conversations
Trying to learn from positive discussions
Watching the sun rise over Mexico City as we climb up out of the smog
Yawning ¨Beunos Dias!¨ everyone as we stumble inside and up 4 flights of stairs
Email.
The day has begun :-)
*Churros are a kind of fried breadstick with cinnamon sugar... really good!
Monday, January 21, 2008
This is the stuff of (future) legends
We watched “Soy Leyanda” (I Am Legend) Sunday night. All the Bob Marley themes have me missing Tanya really bad. I wanna make coffee and tease the customers. I also watched some of “Friends” for the first time – my roomie brought the first season with her. Hah. I finally know 
what everyone was talking about, and figured out some connections a certain acquaintance made with coffee shops. Weird when you start figuring out what makes people tick.
what everyone was talking about, and figured out some connections a certain acquaintance made with coffee shops. Weird when you start figuring out what makes people tick.The metro isn’t really that bad, and I’ve been in love with public transportation since Moscow. At night, during “rush hour,” when the trains are crowded, the front 3-4 cars are reserved for women and children, so we don’t have to worry as much about being felt down while 
smashed like sardines. The veteran Americans here have given us a lot of good advice, and we never go anywhere alone. We
live in a safe part of town, and watch each other’s backs. Mexico City really is the secret of Mexico – I had no idea how classy it could be. Sure, the kidnappings really do take place, but safety can become a habit. We try to switch up our routes home every once in a while. We’re saving a lot of money cooking at home, so we don’t have to go to the ATM all the time, and we can leave valuables and home and carry the minimal change and passport copies.
My language acquisition is horribly slow. I listen and usually catch the drift through guessing and context, but Ashley’s my security blanket – I freak out if I’m asked a question and don’t know what it was or how to answer. The barista at Starbucks (yeah, we found one nearby! J) was irritated with me when I couldn’t tell him if I wanted anything else, but he didn’t sabotage my drink, so we’re cool.
smashed like sardines. The veteran Americans here have given us a lot of good advice, and we never go anywhere alone. We
live in a safe part of town, and watch each other’s backs. Mexico City really is the secret of Mexico – I had no idea how classy it could be. Sure, the kidnappings really do take place, but safety can become a habit. We try to switch up our routes home every once in a while. We’re saving a lot of money cooking at home, so we don’t have to go to the ATM all the time, and we can leave valuables and home and carry the minimal change and passport copies.
My language acquisition is horribly slow. I listen and usually catch the drift through guessing and context, but Ashley’s my security blanket – I freak out if I’m asked a question and don’t know what it was or how to answer. The barista at Starbucks (yeah, we found one nearby! J) was irritated with me when I couldn’t tell him if I wanted anything else, but he didn’t sabotage my drink, so we’re cool.
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