LESSON THIRTEEN: THEY GREW UP PLAYING VIDEO GAMES

23 January 2014: Day 13

LESSON THIRTEEN: THEY GREW UP PLAYING VIDEO GAMES

The sixth grade students continued working on their essays today. Many completed them—and were justifiably proud of themselves and their accomplishment. They had written a well-organized, six-paragraph essay with plenty of facts that was between one and two pages long.

To be honest, I felt a bit proud myself—the method I had taught them worked, and they had seen the benefits. My first multi-day lesson had taught them about the four primary forms of government in ancient Greece, but also a method for organizing their thoughts quickly and efficiently into an essay. The first lesson (in my opinion) is fascinating and of some value in understanding the political processes around the world. The second will help them for years to come with a wide variety of scholastic and non-scholastic tasks.

The Eighth Graders

Allison and I wanted to build on our successes of the day before, such as they were. We also wanted to get back into curriculum materials more directly. Allison pointed out that if we tried to begin the lesson with a group activity, it would likely disintegrate into their unique form of chaos and we would never get them back. So we opted instead for me to go through a PowerPoint™ I had prepared of some of the next points in the textbook chapter.

Allison managed to get all of them seated and the volume down enough to hear ourselves. I put up the PowerPoint™ and began by telling them a little about Davy Crockett: getting his first rifle at age 8, fighting Seminole Indians in the swamps of Florida, his ability to stick an axe in a tree from 40 yards away, and then split a bullet on the axe’s blade with his trusty long rifle, Betsy. I discussed the “comic books” of the time that portrayed him as a sort of superhero. I told them how he hunted bears with a knife and was famous all over the country as a hunter, trapper, Indian fighter, marksman, and colorful character.

In 1826 he was elected to the House of Representatives. Legend has it he made a speech to Congress that included the following:

"I'm that same David Crockett, fresh from the backwoods, half-horse, half-alligator, a little touched with the snapping turtle; can wade the Mississippi, leap the Ohio, ride upon a streak of lightning, and slip without a scratch down a honey locust…

"Mr. Speaker: Who-Who-Whoop — Bow-Wow-Wow-Yough. I say, Mr. Speaker; I've had a speech in soak this six months, and it has swelled me like a drowned horse; if I don’t deliver it I shall burst and smash the windows…In one word I’m a screamer, and have got the roughest racking horse, the prettiest sister, the surest rifle and the ugliest dog in the district…My father can whip any man in Kentucky, and I can lick my father. I can out-speak any man on this floor, and give him two hours start. I can run faster, dive deeper, stay longer under, and come out drier, than any chap this side the big Swamp. I can outlook a panther and out-stare a flash of lightning, tote a steamboat on my back and play at rough and tumble with a lion, and an occasional kick from a zebra.

"To sum up all in one word I’m a horse. Goliah was a pretty hard colt but I could choke him. I can take the rag off-frighten the old folks-astonish the natives-and beat the Dutch all to smash-make nothing of sleeping under a blanket of snow and don’t mind being frozen more than a rotten apple.

"For bitters I can suck away at a noggin of aquafortis, sweetened with brimstone, stirred with a lightning rod, and skimmed with a hurricane. I’ve soaked my head and shoulders in Salt River, so much that I’m always corned. I can walk like an ox, run like a fox, swim like an eel, yell like an Indian, fight like a devil, spout like an earthquake, make love like a mad bull, and swallow a Mexican whole without choking if you butter his head and pin his ears back."

Not exactly how we picture our congressmen. But the students liked it. Among all the other reasons the story is fun, perhaps it resonates with how young people view most politicians today: patently offensive, self-serving liars.

I then introduced Washington Irving and we showed them the trailer for the 1999 movie The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I had them make some notes about what details they could glean from the trailer about life in the early 1800s. They liked the trailer—Johnny Depp, Christina Ricci, a headless horseman, and scary music—what’s not to like?

We then showed them a series of videos to illustrate the popular music of the time—as well as the rampant racism: Jump Jim Crow, Old Folks at Home, Camptown Races, and Oh! Susanna performed in blackface, most of them by Al Jolson. I was a bit nervous about this since both Allison and I expected that after (or during) each video the class would disintegrate into their typical mayhem as they “discussed” what they had seen and try hard to impress the rest of the class with how clever they were.

But while there was conversation after the videos, the reactions were more sober than I could have hoped for. They were offended by the blackface performances (and a little creeped out), and recognized them as an example of popular culture and racism. Some of them even liked some of the songs a little—feet were tapping, heads bobbing, and shoulders rocking.

I then began taking them through a PowerPoint™ I had prepared about the Transcendentalists and the Hudson River School artists. I asked them to write their interpretation/application of the following quotes:

“Forever is composed of nows.” (Emily Dickinson)

“Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path, and leave a trail.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.” (Henry David Thoreau)

They did. When I asked for a student to share their interpretation of the Dickinson quote, he said, “YOLO.” Nice. He not only understood, but could connect it with a modern philosophy with which he was familiar. After getting their thoughts on the final quote, I reminded them of our discussion from some days before.

“I told you earlier how impressed I was with the goals and hopes and dreams you have shared with me during my interviews. You have noble goals; you want to do things with your lives. You have castles you are building in the air. It is up to you to begin putting foundations under them and, as we discussed, that happens NOW. Your decisions right now matter. Your ability to focus, to use your time wisely, to delay gratification—these are what are required to build those foundations.”

The next slides showed them some of my favorite paintings from the Hudson River School, as well as some portraits by Gilbert Stuart. I have yet to have a group of students fail to be impressed and at least a little moved by Hudson River School art. As we went through the paintings I pointed out the common symbolisms: the broken tree, reflective water, approaching storms, miniscule people, graves…Very quickly the students cued into these symbols, so that when I put up the next slide, they would point: “I see the broken branch!” or something similar. We discussed the effects of the Industrial Revolution on the natural world, and new definitions of spirituality by the Transcendentalists.

When we had viewed several of the paintings, I asked them to record their overall impressions of the art: what feelings did it convey, what they noticed the most, what they liked. And they did. They got it.

Obviously, it didn’t go as smoothly as this summary might suggest—there were plenty of times when we had to shush them into some form of quiet. One of the worst offenders, though was missing today, and the difference in the class was palpable. Also, at one point I yelled—really yelled!—at another student who simply will not stop talking. It doesn’t matter if you are standing right in front of his desk and have just asked him to be quiet a dozen times—he will continue to talk right over you and ignore anything you do or say. So I yelled. I told him his behavior was ridiculous and that he was incredibly rude. He—and the rest of the class—quieted. His facial expression even changed from his permanent sneer—into something resembling sheepishness.

But, to me, the day was an unqualified success. Students learned, and they enjoyed it. More than that, they will remember some of what they learned, and will even connect it to their own lives.

LESSON THIRTEEN: THEY GREW UP PLAYING VIDEO GAMES

I could be completely wrong about this, but one of the reasons I think today worked better was our use of multimedia: slides, video, music AND our requirement that they regularly write responses to what they were learning. For some of you reading this, you might be thinking (eloquently): “Duh!” But when it is all you can do to get kids to sit in their seats, to stop yelling, to face forward, to stop throwing things, then some of the finer points of teaching tend to go out the window. And Allison had warned me that previous attempts to play historical songs to this class had not worked at all.

But today, perhaps, the classroom was a slightly more familiar place, providing the comfort of the glowing screen of moving images that connects them to the world outside their bedrooms. Perhaps I needed reminded about a basic rule of teaching: everyone learns differently, and the BEST way to address this is to teach as many ways as you can all at once. Provide auditory input, visual input, and opportunities to move (even if it’s just their fingers).

Maybe I’m wrong, and it was other factors that focused them today. But one thing I am sure about: tomorrow’s lesson will include pictures, sound, and video.

LESSON TWELVE: IT'S ALL ABOUT MAKING CONNECTIONS

22 January 2014: Day 12

LESSON TWELVE: IT’S ALL ABOUT MAKING CONNECTIONS

I repeated yesterday’s lesson plan today with the next two groups of sixth graders. The first group was considerably slower than yesterday’s students; the second group was in-between.

What was different was today I had my first observation by WGU Clinical Supervisor Hester Hill. Hester is a lovely lady with decades of experience as a teacher who is genuinely interested in helping me benefit as much as I can from my student teaching. Be that as it may, the fact that I was being observed and graded added a new level to my anxiety.

For the most part, things went smoothly—except that the students were quite hyper and unusually loud. I counted on the fact that Hester understands sixth grade behavior, and I plowed ahead.

The lesson was successful, with most students already seeing the benefits of using the graphic organizer for prewriting. They accomplished a good deal, and were justifiably proud of themselves in many cases.

Afterward, Hester and I discussed various classroom management techniques and ideas. She shared some great ideas with me and I look forward to implementing them.

Allison and I took some time at the beginning of the day and during lunch to plan for the eighth grade lesson. In light of yesterday’s “un-success,” we were both a little unsure how to go forward. Together, we came up with a plan: we would invite the students to pick up where we had left off the day before. We would remind them about U.S. symbols and invite them, individually, to come up with a symbol/logo/medallion to represent themselves. Depending on how it went, we would invite them to share their symbols, then move forward with the other information in the chapter. I had prepared a PowerPoint on famous artists of the time—a presentation of paintings, especially those of the Hudson River School artists. I also had videos of “Blackface” performances of some of the most popular songs of the day. I was going to show them the trailers for two films made based on popular literature of the time: Last of the Mohicans, and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

But when the lesson began, and the students started to work on coming up with words they would use to describe themselves, and symbols to capture those words, something happened. In a short while, they were really working on the project. They seemed to be sincerely interested in capturing something about themselves on paper. As they struggled to come up with descriptors and characteristics they hoped described themselves, they tentatively began reaching out to other students. They started to share what they had written, and ask for other students’ input. They wanted me to look over what they had written, and to tell them what characteristics or qualities I associated with them.

We had planned to stop the drawing portion of the activity relatively early, but for the first time in a while, the students were engaged. They were talking about symbolisms (including those on the American flag, Uncle Sam, and the Great Seal), about what they liked and didn’t like about themselves, about how they identified themselves (and how that related to Americans’ national identity). In the process, they began to see the things they had in common. They started to realize, as they opened up (just a little) to one another, that they were more alike than not.

LESSON TWELVE: IT’S ALL ABOUT MAKING CONNECTIONS

By the end of the lesson, connections had been made. Students realized that subcultures existed in the mid-nineteenth century, and they exist today. They connected the importance of symbols for countries, sports teams, groups, and individuals. They saw the connections created among the members of a group who saw or established a group identity.

More importantly, they connected with me as they opened up and shared things that are important to them, things they feel identify them. They connected with each other.

John Amos Comenius once wrote, “To teach means scarcely anything more than to show how things differ from one another in their different purposes, forms, and origins… Therefore, he who differentiates well teaches well.” When we confront the ways we are different, we see how we are the same. When we look at the things that divide us, we learn about the bridges that might connect us.

Comenius’ words apply to every discipline. Its application to history is obvious. But learning to write well is to differentiate between good and bad writing. Learning to play an instrument, sing, or master a sport are the same. It’s about connections—connecting students to facts, to one another, to their heroes and enemies, to their teachers and families. And most of all, connecting them to the world around them, and helping them to see the role they might play in it.

I love that about my job. 

21 January 2014: Lesson Eleven: Teach Benefits

21 January 2014: Day 11

LESSON ELEVEN: TEACH BENEFITS

Today I continued with my lessons from last week, reviewing with the sixth grade classes the four basic forms of government in ancient Greece, and then teaching them a process for writing an essay on the subject.

The students were quite intimidated by the essay assignment I gave them:

Please discuss the four forms of government used by the ancient Greeks, as discussed in your textbook: Monarchy, Oligarchy, Tyranny, and Democracy. Explain how they are different from one another, and what the advantages and disadvantages of each form of government are. Choose which of these forms of government you believe to be the best. Defend your choice with reasons from your research.

The essay has to be six paragraphs long, with a minimum of five sentences per paragraph, and include at least one parenthetical citation and an MLA formatted Works Cited page.

When the students received the assignment handout (which included the description, requirements, and a scoring rubric), they were very overwhelmed by the size and scope. The other teachers I work with also felt that I was being ambitious in what I was asking of them. Students asked why I was making them do an essay in History, when they already did so much writing in Language Arts. They said they could never write six whole paragraphs.

We worked on outlining four of the paragraphs using the graphic organizer. Then we walked down to the computer lab to begin the process of turning their notes into paragraphs. As I had hoped, it went quickly. Some students had four paragraphs typed in half an hour.

I had assured students repeatedly that the method I was teaching them would make essay writing easy (or easier). So I was a little nervous about whether or not they thought it did. After we returned to the classroom I asked them to share their thoughts about the process. To my great pleasure, students at all levels responded enthusiastically that “it is easy!” They were thrilled with their progress, and with the quality of their first drafts.

(Of course, it goes without saying that there were a handful of students who had failed to do the steps outlined as we went through them in class. They struggled with the next steps).

As for the eighth graders…

Today was another bad day. Whether it was the three day weekend, the Seahawks game, the position of the moon, or the school lunch, the students arrived in class already out of control. They sat in their new seat assignments and promptly turned up the volume.

I had planned a great lesson: students defining unity and explaining how it is achieved, talking about why the post-War of 1812 America was disunited and divided into subcultures. Then we went through a PowerPoint™ that discussed modern subcultures with vivid photos: Cosplayers, Goth, Bikers, Bodybuilders, Emo, Gamers, Hipsters, Metalheads, Skaters, Straight-Edge, Trekkies, and Cowboys.

Next, we talked about the subcultures of early America (on a PowerPoint™ with interesting pictures): Yankees, Southerners, Frontiersmen, Slaves, Sailors, and Cherokee.

We discussed other ways Americans tried to encourage feelings of national pride: the rebuilding of the White House and the Capital, the establishing of national symbols including the flag, Uncle Sam, and the Great Seal.

My plan was to tie this information to what we had discussed at the end of last week. I wanted to use this history lesson as a way to guide the students into creating a “class identity” for themselves: to identify the characteristics of themselves as a group, to formulate what they wanted to be as a group, and then create symbols and/or slogans to represent themselves. It used pop culture, visual aids, and student interaction; it allowed students to express themselves and their values, to discuss this with others; it let artists draw and writers write and talkers talk; AND it made the history lesson relevant and understandable in a fun way.

And they couldn’t have cared any less.

Their participation was, for the most part, limited to snide comments and silly answers designed only to be disruptive; they would not stop talking (no matter what Allison or I did), they got out of their seats, were physical with other students, argued with anything I said…When my best efforts managed to get the quiet enough for me to hear myself—it lasted for, at most, 30 seconds. Allison tried to lecture them; I tried getting angry, tried appealing to their better natures, tried reminding them of the character lessons from Friday…all useless.

LESSON ELEVEN: TEACH BENEFITS

While students (usually) appreciate a well-planned lesson, especially one that is relevant to their lives, nothing makes a lesson stick like showing students how the material will benefit them.

The students learned how to use a graphic organizer to prepare for writing an essay, but what will make them remember what they learned is that they now know that it will make their lives easier every time they are assigned an essay. They know this because I told them (over and over and over), and because they have now experienced it for themselves.

The next time they are assigned an essay (which, unbeknownst to them, will be in about a week and a half), what are the odds they will use the graphic organizer?

Well, actually, it’s 100% since I’m teaching that lesson, too, and I will make them.

But you get my point.

16-17 January 2014: DAYS 9 AND 10: BELIEVE

16-17 January 2014: Days 9 and 10

LESSON NINE: BELIEVE

I taught my first full lessons Thursday and Friday. Allison and a teacher who teaches the same curriculum to another set of sixth graders, Mr. Paul Pinza, allowed me to design the unit around one they have been teaching for the last few years. I adapted the first half slightly from the text, but designed the assignment—an essay—myself.

At the beginning of each class, I outlined what we were going to be doing for the next week and a half. I then discussed three reasons why we were learning the material: (1) Because we must understand government in order to participate in it, and to know our rights. (2) Because they will be writing essays and papers for the next 7-14 years, and I want to show them an easier, faster way to do those assignments and still get good grades. (3) Because doing things we don’t want to do and learning self-discipline is fundamental to our success as human beings—the latter is, in fact, the single biggest predictor of success in children.

I then had the students experience “living” under each form of government. For monarchy, I selected two boys to be king and prince, and crowned them in front of the class. I then placed a pile of candy on the table in front of them and told the class that, since the king had all the power, he would decide how the candy would be distributed. After hearing suggestions from a number of students, the king decided (per my secret instructions) to keep all the candy for himself and his prince. (And the “citizens” complained loudly). The king then died (dramatically falling to the floor) and the prince took his crown. The prince then had to choose what to do with the candy…and he also took it all for himself. (More grumbling from the citizenry).

Next, I instituted an oligarchy by selecting three girls to come to the front of the room. They were each given a stack of $100 bills to represent the fact that oligarchs gained their authority because they were wealthy. They, too, were provided with a pile of candy and had to decide how to distribute it. After hearing ideas from the class, the three of them divided it among themselves and returned to their seats.

At this point every student was vociferously asking if he or she could be the next leader. But the next leader would not be chosen by me. I asked the students to think carefully about the following question: Which of you believes that many other students would like to have you as their leader, and to have you make decisions for them? The students who raised their hands were asked to stand. The rest of the students then had to choose one of these standing volunteers as their leader, and go sit at their feet. After a bit of shuffling (as well as some campaign promises and bribes), we looked to see which “tyrant” had the most support. He or she became the tyrant, and was given a golden scepter (well, a brass-plated curtain rod) symbolizing his or her power. He or she then rewarded his or her followers by giving each of them candy in exchange for their support.

Finally, we established a democracy. All the students got to suggest ways to divide the candy, which I wrote on the board. After there were no more suggestions, we voted on each idea. The idea that got the most votes became the basis for me distributing some candy to every student in the room.

After each reenactment, I asked students to come up with advantages and disadvantages of each form of government. They provided insightful and creative answers. They understood the strengths of central rule, and the efficiency of monarchies vs. the ponderous slowness of democracy. They understood that ‘the many may err as greatly as the few.’

Afterward, students filled out workbook pages that required them to demonstrate their understanding of each concept.

Next, I began introducing them to a process I teach about how to write essays using a type of graphic organizer. We were not able to get very far, but I am confident that they will come to see the method as useful, and will be impressed with the results they achieve.

More importantly, I gave them an assignment that will be difficult for them, and I told them that it would be difficult, and that this was a good thing. It is when we do the difficult assignments that we learn the most. Personally, I feel that many of these students are not being sufficiently challenged by the curriculum. Expectations are low, and students are living up to them.

Now for the eighth graders…

On January 17 the students took a test. Mrs. Hastings had told them the previous day that they could use notes on this test. She had given them a study guide with questions that covered the test material, and told them they could fill it with notes and answers and use it on the test. When the students showed up to class on test day, eight out of 31 had brought study guides. In an act of shocking patience and generosity, Mrs. Hastings gave the entire class 20 minutes to finish preparing these study guides and studying for the test. The far majority of students wasted this opportunity. They were their typical selves—loud, disrespectful, not listening, wasting time talking and laughing instead of doing anything useful or listening to what their teacher said. Allison was very frustrated; she was being (overly) accommodating to them, and they just didn’t care.

One student, though, LN, behaved differently. She is a very attractive, popular girl who dresses like she is on her way to play sports every day. She came into class, sat down, and began working on her study guide (which she had started working on at some point before class). I asked her if I could help her; she agreed, and the two of us spent the entire 20 minutes writing down notes to help her pass the test. When we finished, she thanked me repeatedly and sincerely.

The students took the test. Afterwards, there was not a lot of class time left. I asked Allison if I could talk briefly to the kids and show them a video. She agreed. I introduced and then showed them one of the many versions of the so-called “Stanford Marshmallow Test.” If you want to see it yourself, the version I shared can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sc4EF3ijVJ8 .

For those of you who are unfamiliar, the test was designed to measure willpower and children’s ability to delay gratification. It was done at Stanford University in 1970, and has been repeated many times since in many different countries. Children, some as young as three, were put in a room and given a marshmallow. They were told that they could eat the marshmallow anytime they wanted, but if they waited until the experimenter returned, they would receive two marshmallows. After the test concluded, these children were “followed” by the experimenters for many years to see if there was any correlation between their ability to delay gratification and their success in later life.

The results are extraordinary (although, as with any well-known study, they have been challenged many times and in many ways). Children with high levels of self-control ended up more healthy, happy, and financially successful as adults. They made more money, had better jobs, had better family lives, more and closer friendships, fewer major health problems, and a far lower likelihood of having a criminal record than their less-self-controlled peers. In fact, self-discipline is a greater predictor of success than even intelligence and social class origin.

The kids watched the video with more interest and attention than I had expected. The girls oohed and aahed over the cute little kids and their reactions; students laughed at the kids’ faces, and even the toughest students seemed to enjoy it. (It is pretty darn funny).

By the time the video was over, though, so was class. The students left and Allison and I talked. I asked if the next day, when the eighth graders returned, we could spend at least a part of the class just talking about their behavior. She kindly agreed, and we discussed what we might share with them.

On January 18 they came into class as they always do—a maelstrom of noise, hidden fear, and social posturing. Allison told them that I wanted to talk to them a bit, and I went to the front of the room with only a vague idea of what I wanted to say.

I explained the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment to them, and the results. I told them as clearly and simply as I could that they could set themselves up for success—and it wasn’t by getting good grades or taking all the right classes. It wasn’t by making anyone happy or getting into the best college or by learning to enjoy school.

“You just need to develop one quality—ONE QUALITY that will increase your chances of success in life dramatically. You just need to develop self-discipline, and learn to delay gratification. You just need to do what’s hard now, to make yourself do what you don’t want to do, for benefits that will come later.”

They were getting quiet now. Some were paying attention. Some were looking worried.

I told them that when I had come to SMS, I had already heard about them. “You have something of a reputation as a class,” I said. “Do you know what it is?”

They chuckled and nodded. “We’re a lot better in here than in Mrs. –‘s class,” someone offered defensively.

“For the first several days,” I continued, “I was able to just sit in the back and watch you. And what I saw seemed to confirm what I had heard about you. But then I started interviewing you one-on-one. And I have to admit something—I had misjudged you. In your interviews, I suddenly saw students who were interesting and interested, who have dreams and goals—and noble ones! You want to do things with your lives. Many of you want to serve others, and to do jobs that will make the world a better place. You were polite and respectful and honest, even about your flaws. You care! I was impressed. In fact, I find you to be one of the most extraordinary, impressive group of young people I’ve ever worked with.”

At last. Silence. For the first time since my student teaching began—silence and attentiveness. Finally—I had them, if just for the moment. Allison told me later that they began sitting up in their chairs, holding their heads a little higher.

“I don’t care what your test scores are,” I said, talking quietly. “I don’t care what your grades are. Most of you won’t go on to become writers, or mathematicians. Once you graduate, you might never use algebra again. But there will never be a day in your life during which it won’t benefit you to have self-discipline. Each of you can become successful in your own way. But the route to that success is, in some ways, the same: learning self-discipline. Learning to make yourself do things you don’t want to do, to control your behavior.”

One or two students tried to make quiet comments to their neighbors; the other students shushed them. It stayed quiet. I had their eyes. I looked over at a student who had never showed the least interest in what happened in class, a somewhat gangly boy who always slouched in his chair and looked at anything but his textbook, the teacher, or the board. He was sitting up, facing me. His eyes were wet.

“I want you to be successful,” I said. “That’s what Mrs. Hastings wants, too. And I see so much potential in you.”

At this point two students who sit near the front of the room, within an arm’s length of where I was standing, began talking to each other, joking about something. They continued talking over me a moment before I turned to face them and said, “And here’s a perfect example of two people who choose not to exercise self-discipline.”

They quieted; the closest one was angry. “Don’t you see?” I asked him. “What you are doing right now determines your success in the future.”

“I don’t care!” he said, sneering.

“I think you do,” I answered.

When I finished talking to them, Mrs. Hastings showed them a video called “Perspectacles,” which addresses the issue of judging other people, of failing to take into consideration that you do not know what they are facing in their lives. It was good, emotional and powerful.

After class, the students left with a perceptible change in their attitudes. One boy came over to me. “Good speech,” he said, shaking my hand. I got a fist-bump from another student, and a moment when our eyes met—a bit of a rarity between middle school students and their teachers.

When they were all gone, Allison and I talked about how things had gone. I felt positive; I felt we had made an impact of some sort. I remembered her telling the class a few days before that she was making a new seating chart. I asked her if she had every considered asking the students to make the seating chart.

We chose four students who represented various segments of the student population, three boys and one girl. Allison went to the class they were attending and brought them back to her classroom. I had a large piece of paper on a table waiting for them, along with pencils and pens, post-it notes, croissants, and candy. I asked them to design a seating chart that would facilitate student learning—to arrange students so that they were most likely to pay attention.

At first they were confused, not understanding that we genuinely wanted them to do this, and that we would be using the seating chart they made. Once they did understand, they got immediately to work, dividing tasks, debating and discussing—but cooperating! They couldn’t have taken their assignment more seriously.

Twenty minutes later, we had a new seating chart. I asked them to explain the choices they had made—and to explain specifically why they had placed themselves where they had.

They did a good job. I was proud. They were proud.

Next week will be a new start. It will be a rough start, and we have a long way to go. But today a foundation was laid, and I think it is strong enough to start building on.

LESSON NINE: BELIEVE.

Believe in your students. Believe they can be good, noble people. Believe that they want to be happy, and successful. Believe that each of them has real potential for greatness. Believe that they will respond to caring, compassion, and personal concern. Believe that you can make a difference.

Believe in the power of teachers. It is the best, and the second hardest job in the world (next to parenting). But if we believe in teaching—real teaching—we can make a difference.

15 January 2014: LESSON EIGHT: SOMETIMES YOU FAIL

15 January 2014: Day 8

LESSON EIGHT: SOMETIMES YOU FAIL

Yesterday was my most difficult day thus far.

Once again, I was called upon to teach the 8^th grade class. This time, right before lunch, Allison asked me if I would teach the next lesson, this one covering the Monroe Doctrine. I told her I would look it over and see if I thought I could do it—although I felt foolish even saying that, since I couldn’t imagine turning her down.

After I looked over the material, I realized that covering just the Monroe Doctrine was not only boring, but would take me all of five minutes. I also felt that, since this lesson was the conclusion of the unit, I needed to provide some kind of review for the class before they had their test on Wednesday.

So I quickly put together a review of the chapter, most of which I had not taught initially, of course. Unfortunately, that meant going through a lot of information with very little time to prepare. Since I was repeating what they had already heard, that almost certainly made the material less interesting—and, to them, less important to pay attention to.

I tried to make the material relevant, and used illustrations, allegories, and humor to help the students understand.

The long and the short of it was that it did not go well. The students could not seem to focus. They talked, turned around in their chairs, got up and walked around the room, interrupted, and were generally disruptive. I walked around the room as I talked, using questions liberally to get as many students involved as possible. The students within five feet of me were attentive, looking at me and answering my questions (with the exception of one boy who I have yet to see show an instant of respect, kindness, or appreciation to anyone in the two weeks I’ve been there—he is arrogant, self-obsessed, rude, and cruel). But the rest of the class was doing whatever they wanted. They were so loud it was difficult for even the students closest to me to hear.

I tried every technique I knew to wrestle the students back into quiet—and, after 14 years in the classroom, I do know a few. Some of them worked—for 60 seconds. But as soon as I moved into covering the material again, I lost them again. Three students were sleeping—I woke one of them, but the other two were sitting right next to Allison; since she did not take any action, I did not feel comfortable doing so.

There were positive moments—almost every student that I called on to answer a question from the chapter was able to answer correctly. Even some students who were among the most inattentive knew the material when I challenged them on it. Overall, though, the hour was a disaster.

When I finished, I retired to the back of the room following a lame concluding comment (I don’t even remember what I said), and let Allison take over the class. There was not a lot of time left, and I don’t actually remember what happened.

So…I’m searching for the lesson in that one…

Today went much better. I did not teach, but spent most of the day interviewing students. I continued to uncover wonderful stories of triumph, overcoming adversity, talent, passion, appreciation, and diligence. Even the eighth graders were wonderful to interview—although I still have not talked to all of them. When I was not interviewing, I worked on the lesson plans for my upcoming teaching unit—four days’ worth of lessons on forms of government in ancient Greece, and guiding students through the process of writing an essay on them.

The lesson I will be teaching has been provided to me; it has been taught previously by other teachers at the school. Over the past several days, as I have worked to prepare the lesson, I have encountered a number of elements that I don’t particularly…like. I began revising it a couple of days ago, and yesterday began talking about these revisions with the other teachers involved. They have been very accommodating, willing to accept my ideas and input, discuss options and pedagogical approaches, provide their own ideas and feedback, and to change their own lessons to match what I am going to try to do. I am excited to start this unit tomorrow, although I do not quite have it ready yet—and, since it is currently six minutes past midnight, I will not be getting much sleep.

On that note, let me conclude with my…

LESSON EIGHT: SOMETIMES YOU FAIL—BUT THAT DOESN’T MAKE YOU A FAILURE

One of my heroes, super-teacher Rafe Esquith, talks about three outcomes a teacher can expect from putting forth extra effort to try to reach every student. He writes: “Number three is the downer: complete failure. This is just an awful feeling, and it happens a lot.”

Yep. Yesterday, I felt that feeling. In fact, I’ve felt that feeling every day of student teaching at some point during the day. It generally doesn’t bother me—no one is successful every time and at every thing he or she does. It’s when that sense of failure lasts, not just through a moment of interaction, but through an entire class—or longer, heaven forbid. There are many positives I can find in my hour with eighth grade yesterday; I’m confident I accomplished something and did some good. However, overall, I failed to accomplish my goals for the lesson I taught. I failed to connect with students as I hoped to. And that is difficult to swallow.

However, I cannot take that personally. There is only one useful way to feel about that experience: to see it as an opportunity to learn. The students may have learned little, but that should not prevent me from learning.

And what did I learn?

Yeah, well…It’s now 12:30, and I have a lot to do before morning. So I’ll get back to you on that.

3 January 2014 LESSON SIX: EVERY VICTORY IS A VICTORY, NO MATTER WHAT YOU WIN.

13 January 2014: Day Six

 

LESSON SIX: EVERY VICTORY IS A VICTORY, NO MATTER WHAT YOU WIN.

 

Each class began with reminders of important upcoming dates, including the end of the semester and when assignments were due. The students then worked on their maps of Europe, studying in small groups in preparation for a test tomorrow. After studying for about 20 minutes, they reviewed a worksheet they had previously completed to learn:

·         What are the mountains of Greece like?

·         Why was the sea important to ancient Greeks?

·         Why were ancient Greek communities isolated from one another

·         What were some of the dangers of travel?

 

I began by talking about Britain’s policy of selling firearms to Native Americans so they could use them to cause trouble for “the Colonies,” the influence of the invention of the cotton mill and cotton gin on the southern economy, the massive expansion in the cotton industry between 1793 and 1802. This led to the insatiable demand for land, and the only land was west. Unfortunately, hundreds of thousands of Native Americans, thousands organized into warbands under the leadership of Tecumseh and his brother, the Prophet, were already living there—armed with “modern” firearms by the British. To make matters worse, slaves on plantations near the borderlands were fleeing to join Native American tribes, where they were welcomed as free people.

 

When British guns were discovered on the bodies of Native American warriors after the Battle of Tippecanoe, Southerners demanded war with Britain, and the “War Hawk” senators promised to give it to them if elected. They were, and they did.

 

This was followed by Sir Isaac Brock frightening the largest garrison in the northern U.S. into surrendering without firing a shot (by having Tecumseh’s Native warriors dress in war paint and whoop outside its walls). The British then swept into Washington D.C. like a storm; President Madison fled the city, leaving behind his wife who would not go until she saved the presidential portrait of George Washington by having it cut from its frame. The British soldiers enter the White House, eat the hastily abandoned feast from the beautifully set table, and then thrash the interior and light the building on fire.

 

We also talked about the British sending 14,000 soldiers in war ships to New Orleans and Madison sending the always-insane Andrew Jackson down to stop them. (Uber-violent, short-tempered Jackson fought 102 pistol duels in his life; his body “rattled like a bag of marbles” from all the bullets still in him. When I told the students about a particularly bloody duel, I got an approving “Siiiick!” from several of the boys in the back). Jackson was given a only a couple thousand men, so once in New Orleans he recruited sailors, farmers, Choctaw Indians, free blacks—and convinced bands of pirates to join him by promising them any booty they captured from the British! They pulled the cannons of their ships and mounted them on shore. The British were shocked at the violence of the defense—at the end of the day, they had lost 2037 men, including all of their senior officers.

 

Jackson had lost 13.

 

Unfortunately for Jackson, the war of 1812 had ended 15 days before the battle—the message just hadn’t reached him in time. He became a hero anyway—which paved the way for his election as President (without campaigning) a few years later.

 

The students liked the story, were mostly attentive, and readily answered the review questions I put to them afterward. When I sat down, student SP leaned back and nodded approvingly: “That was cool.” High praise, indeed, from an 8^th grader who doesn’t want to be in school at all.

 

LESSON SIX: EVERY VICTORY IS A VICTORY, NO MATTER WHAT YOU WIN.

 

Sometimes, teachers have huge victories—Battle of Hastings-sized, Battle of Cannae-sized—like receiving letters about how you’ve changed their lives, or seeing transformations from an indifferent, under-performing student to a passionate, excelling one, or watching students go on to live up to their potential.

 

But some victories are simpler: a student who simply pays attention a little longer during a lesson, a relaxed conversation about a student’s weekend that draws you a little closer together, a rand raised for the first time, a laugh at a joke.

 

Every victory counts, and should be counted—not on the teacher’s scoreboard, but on the scoreboard that belongs to the team of Teachers and Students. It doesn’t matter how small the victory seems, or what results from it. Jackson became a war hero and president for winning the Battle of New Orleans, a battle that didn’t even need to be fought. But perhaps it was worth fighting. I know students are worth fighting for—every one of them. There are no meaningless battles, as long as they are fought with students’ welfare in mind.

 

Oh, and the student who told me Friday that he doesn’t share with the class? He had his hand up twice today. I called on him both times: “So…what would you like to share?”

 

10 January 2014: LESSON FIVE: HISTORY IS A STORY. DON'T TEACH IT LIKE IT'S AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL FOR A TOOL THAT NO LONGER EXISTS

10 January 2014: DAY FIVE

LESSON FIVE: HISTORY IS A STORY. DON’T TEACH IT LIKE IT’S AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL FOR A TOOL THAT NO LONGER EXISTS.

Today was a repeat of yesterday with a different set of kids. I spent the day with students working in the computer lab, helping them find European countries. Some had already been studying at home and had the countries down; others had no clue at all and did only the easiest activities on the websites.

At lunch, before the 8^th graders, came, Allison asked me if I thought we should do two more mini-skits that were called for in the curriculum. I said no, because I believed that the ratio of information learned to time invested was pretty poor. She agreed. She then told me that she was going to have students working in groups for the second half of class, and that I could use that time to begin interviewing students.

Class began, and Allison told the 8^th graders (slightly less rowdy today from the time they arrived) that she and I had decided not to do the two skits. There were a few groans of disappointment, so she said that they had not behaved well while preparing for the previous skits, and therefore we didn't feel that it would be a good use of our classroom time. (It is nice that she includes me, not just in these decisions, but when she shares them with the students, so that they can see I am playing an active role).

She covered some points with them while I was busy updating my records and preparing for my interviews. But once again, she unexpectedly asked me (in front of the class) if I would come up and cover the information on another page in the history book. I quickly began to look over the information, which dealt with the war between the US (under Adams and Jefferson) and the Barbary pirates, and in particular with the actions of Stephen Decatur and the burning of the USS Philadelphia in 1804. It was boring and uninteresting, written in typical history-textbook style: no details, no drama, no narrative. I was not familiar with the story, so I quickly read the Wikipedia article on it, making notes on my laptop as I went. It turned out to be a pretty good story: a very young naval captain, a daring night raid, disguises, explosions, narrow escapes, etc. I had just finished making my notes when Allison asked me to come up and cover the page.

I decided I would not—acting like a student teacher --read the page with the class, as I had done before. Instead, I went up as myself, and taught the information I would have in my own classroom. The class was typically rowdy: perhaps 12 of the 31 kids present were facing me and paying attention; about 10 were standing, walking, actively disrupting other students, etc. I asked loudly for their attention and that they be nice to me. I quickly (30 seconds) reviewed the events that had led up to what I was about to cover. I then began telling the story of Stephen Decatur, mentioning his age when he went into the Navy, how he had disappointed his wealthy parents by dropping out of college, the reputation he quickly got for himself. I then told the story of the USS Philadelphia running aground, drawing on my own experiences running aground in a sailboat for details to make the story come alive.

Students began to quiet down and face me. The rowdiest group in the back even quieted, although at this point they were still talking to one another. I talked about what a victory it was for the pirates to have captured an American warship, even a damaged one. I then began to engage the students with questions: “What would you have done if you were Decatur? Could he steal the ship and sail it back, and why or why not? (No—because he didn’t have enough men). What did he need to do if he couldn’t take the ship back? (Destroy it.) I continued:

“Decatur hires Italians (because of their dark skin) who speak Arabic, and dresses them like pirates. He puts them on the deck of his warship, the Intrepid, and has his entire crew hide below decks, armed with axes, knives, swords, and boarding pikes—no guns, because they would have been too loud. He strips his boat of anything that might identify it as an American warship and decorates it to look like a pirate ship. He waits until a nearly-moonless night and sails into Tripoli harbor under the cover of descending darkness.”

At this point, the room is finally quiet. The rowdiest students are facing me and, although they are still moving and looking around in the way that ADD and ADHD students and children who have never learned discipline will do, the class is with me! Some of them are looking at the pictures in their textbook, trying to imagine the scene I am describing.

Another teacher with whom I will work, Paul Pinza, enters the room at that point. Allison is sitting in the back of the room, and for the first time I realize that she, too, is watching me intently, enjoying the story. She gestures Paul over and has him sit down, gesturing toward me and saying something. I continue:

He manages to pull alongside the anchored USS Philadelphia without the pirate crew stationed on her realizing what he was up to. His men leap from their hiding places and capture the ship in 10 minutes, killing over 20 pirates with only one, minor injury to an American sailor. Decatur orders his men back onto the Intrepid and they begin sailing away while he torches the ship on which he is standing. The fire quickly spreads to the cannons and battery, and the boat begins exploding under his feet. He races across the deck and dives into the Mediterranean waters. By now, the Tripoli pirates know what is happening and they are descending on the USS Philadelphia and the Intrepid as quickly as they can. But the burning USS Philadelphia’s cannons are shooting, and when the cannonballs fly past the pirates’ ships, they think they are under attack and slow their approach. This gives Decatur the chance to get back aboard the Intrepid. The black smoke from the burning Philadelphia fills the night air, and the Intrepid escapes under its cover.

I half expected the class to erupt in conversation afterward, talking about the story. They didn’t. They were almost silent. I finished the points in the chapter on the page in front of them, explaining that this led to the end of the Barbary wars; Decatur’s victory took the wind out of their sails. (Pun intended). I went immediately into a review, asking questions about every key point on the page, calling on any given student only once, and refusing to call on any student who always had their hand up. Every answer was correct; every question brought plenty of hands; no one shouted out.

Except me. In my head, I was shouting like a warrior at the end of a battle. They had learned, and they had enjoyed it.

I turned the class back over to Allison, who told the students that she had gotten so caught up in the story I was telling that she had forgotten what she was supposed to do next.

I then moved two chairs into the hallway and began to interview students. The interviews with this rowdy, undisciplined, rude group of 8^th graders were the best I had done so far. They were polite, respectful, open, and expressive. They wanted to tell me about themselves. They dreamed of being marine biologists, physical therapists, veterinarians, nurses, and lawyers. They like school, and had favorite classes besides PE. One very pretty young woman who seems to be the queen of her social circle turned out to work at a local dairy farm, loved animals, hated “drama” among her peers, and wanted to run a daycare when she grew up. The girl who seemed to rank closest to her on the social scale played five sports; her favorite class was history, and she wanted to be a vet because of how deeply she was affected by the suffering of animals, especially those who did not have human families to take care of them.

At the end of the day, Allison and I talked over the upcoming schedule. My first two weeks of Demonstration Teaching are supposed to be just observation—but I have already been in front of the class twice, and am scheduled to teach lessons three days of next week. The rest of my schedule is rapidly filling with other classes.

I told Allison how well the interviews were going, and shared some of the things I had learned about the students. She was surprised at some, pleasantly. Allison commented that when I took over the classes completely at the end of February, maybe she would begin interviewing her students.

For some reason, that comment made me happier than anything that had happened in the classroom.

LESSON FIVE: HISTORY IS A STORY. DON’T TEACH IT LIKE IT’S AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL FOR A TOOL THAT NO LONGER EXISTS.

It’s no wonder students hate history. Textbooks present it as a static set of facts, clearly established and universally accepted, with little or no relevance to their lives. They share information that is easily available from any smartphone—if a student ever actually needed to know it. It’s like asking students to get excited when you inform them that the current population of Sheboygan is 50,000.

But history is a story, and like any story it has heroes and villains, victories and defeats, comedy and tragedy. And it’s a story that it constantly changing! I was taught Columbus was a brave hero who challenged beliefs about a flat Earth, the first people arrived in North America via an ice bridge, the Founding Fathers were stiff-shirted intellectuals, Ponce de Leon searched for the Fountain of Youth, Pilgrims wore funny hats and celebrated Thanksgiving with the Indians, Paul Revere rode into Boston with a warning for colonial rebels, and Betsy Ross made the first American flag. Those are just a tiny handful of the American “stories” that we now know aren’t true. When students understand that they can examine history as an unfinished story, one that calls on them to draw their own conclusions, to examine evidence, and even to defy their parents’ beliefs—suddenly, it’s interesting. And when you show them that the only way to find out the truth is to read, and learn to read critically, and to study, and to research and figure out whom they can believe and whom they can’t, and to talk to smart people and be courageous enough to come up with new ideas—suddenly, it’s a challenge.

And when they realize that their rights, their job prospects, the cost of their clothes and food, their basic freedoms are all in a constant state of flux because of history—then it’s relevant. And that doesn’t even touch on the moral and character lessons available to them, or the entertainment factor.

Today, in history class, I told students a story. It was a story I liked, and I tried to show that to them. And they liked it to. More importantly, we liked it together, and we shared several moments of connection.

I am a teacher. I stand or fall, not on how my students do on some test, but on whether or not we genuinely care for each other. Because if I can convince them I care about them, they will listen to me. And if I truly care about them, I will do everything in my power to give them the knowledge, the assistance, the skills, and the character they need to succeed as themselves. To be whom they were meant to be.

If I can’t do that, or if I stop doing it, I need to get out of this job and make way for someone who can.