Graduate School

I am now one semester away from finishing my Master of Arts in Teaching.

So this morning, while enduring another harrowing teacher meeting, I had a moment of lucidity. I've come to realize that every class I have taken thus far has gone exactly the same way, right down to the class discussion. The one and only difference is the order in which the words are used. Graduate school, in other words, is really just a glorified mad lib. It goes something like this.

We pretty much recycle 10 words/phrases. Use them, at your discretion, to fill in the blanks. They are completely interchangeable. Here they are: high interest books, there's no silver bullet, scaffolding, differentiated instruction, documentation, unpacking our personal histories, cultural sensitivity, student mastery, how we need to teach not test, and putting kids first.

The class discussions, invariably, go like this:

Professor: "Well class, today we're going to discuss ___________"
Student 1: "In my school, _______________ is a huge problem."
Student 2: "I agree, but it's always important to remember ____________"
Student 1: "Definitely."
Student 3: "Very important."
Student 4: "You're absolutely right."
Student 5: "But really, aren't we forgetting about _____________?"
Student 1: "You need to be careful though because if you just focus on that, you'll end up discounting ____________"
Student 2: "But then you run the risk of overlooking _____________"
Student 3: "What if it's not just _________ and it's not just __________, but really a combination of the two? We need both so that our students can succeed. __________ isn't the only problem with American education."

At this point, there's usually a profound pause caused solely by the fact that at one serendipitous moment in every class, the odds work out to everyone simultaneously entering a particularly engaging gchat conversation and/or is making a key purchase on Amazon. It's the law of large numbers at work. Then, after the awkward silence:

Professor: "Well, I think today's class discussion has been incredibly rich and informative. I'm glad we all learned from each other today."

LSAT for Teachers

We'd all get into law school if we got questions like these:

In a classroom there are exactly seven students. Three are boys--Antwan, Bobby, and Carlos. Four are girls--Daisy, Edwina, Fiona, and Gertrude. These students all either want to go to the bathroom or want to see the nurse, but not both. The following conditions apply:

- If a student has "girl problems" or is "about to pee on himself," then the student wants to go to the bathroom
- If a student has a papercut, then the student wants to see the nurse
- If Daisy has "girl problems," then Edwina and Fiona have "girl problems"
- If Gertrude does not have a papercut, then Fiona, but not Bobby, has a papercut
- Exactly one boy is "about to pee on himself"

Now, which of the following must be true?
a.) Fiona wants to see the nurse
b.) Daisy and Edwina want to go to the bathroom
c.) At least three students want to go to the bathroom
d.) No more than four students want to go to the bathroom
e.) No more than five students want to see the nurse

Summer

Today, I woke up, and I realized that I had changed.

One year has passed in the classroom. I have met and grown acquainted to chaos. I would like to think that we are friends. I have realized that reward is not necessarily rewarding though sometimes, it truly is. I have been euphoric with expectation, which is a deceptive feeling, and I have relished cynicism, which is merely a terrible feeling. I have, however and now, come to understand that naivete has a unique and powerful value, though at the same time, I am not certain that it is what I want.

I think, in sum, I have learned to be cautious because it seems that the nearer I draw to an extreme, the closer I am to being wrong.

I think, in change, I have gained, which occupies the space of what I have lost.

Does your mind also, when it returns to sleep, mistake this for something that can be found and fitfully search for what is missing?

5 Minutes

"I need help."
"Okay, well let's see what you have here."
"Okay."
"Alright, well let's look at this sentence."
"Which sentence?"
"This one."
"Have?"
"No, where I'm pointing."
"Oh."
"Start reading."
"Okay. It can get as cold as the North Pole waiting for trans."
"Transportation."
"Transtorpation."
"Try it again. Transportation."
"Trans."
"One more time. Transportation."
"Transportation."
"Great. Now, what have we been learning this week?"
"Rhetorical questions."
"Yes, that's one of them. But we've been learning others too. What are they called again? Persuasive..."
"Oh, persuasive tech."
"Persuasive techniques. Say it with me."
"Persuasive techniques."
"Now just you."
"Persuasive techniques."
"No, no, look at the word, then say it."
"Persuasive tech."
"Persuasive techniques."
"Persuasive techniques."
"Awesome. Now, look at that sentence again and tell me which technique it is."
"Rhetorical question."
"Is it a question?"
"No."
"So is it a rhetorical question?"
"No."
"Really?"
"I mean, yes."
"Don't ask me, tell me."
"Okay. Yes."
"Do you see a question mark at the end?"
"No."
"Okay, so is it a rhetorical question?"
"...No."
"Are you telling me or asking me?"
"Telling you."
"Is it a rhetorical question if there's no question mark at the end?"
"No."
"So is it a rhetorical question?"
"No."
"Great. Remember, a rhetorical question needs to be a...what?"
"What?"
"Nevermind. Okay, so when the author says waiting outside is like the 'North Pole,' what is he saying?"
"He's at the North Pole."
"Well, not really. He's in Maryland."
"Oh."
"But what is he saying about the weather?"
"That it's cold?"
"Great. You're doing great. Okay, so is it really as cold as the North Pole?"
"Yes."
"Really? Being in Maryland is as cold as the North Pole?"
"I mean, no."
"Okay. So what's he saying?"
"That it's cold."
"Is he just saying, 'It's cold?'"
"No, he's saying it's as cold as the North Pole."
"Great! So what is he doing when he's saying, 'It's as cold as the North Pole.'"
"He's exaggerating?"
"Exactly. Okay, so what persuasive technique is it called when someone exaggerates a lot?"
"Rhetorical question?"
"Is there a question mark?"
"No."
"Is it a rhetorical question then?"
"...No."
"Now look at your definitions. See them? Right there. Now, what is it called when someone exaggerates a lot?"
"Oh...hyperbole."
"Great, you got it. Do you get it?"
"Oh..."
"A hyperbole is when someone exaggerates a lot."
"Oh."
"It's like when you say, 'It's hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk.' That's a hyperbole."
"Okay."
"Now, look back at this sentence, you see it?"
"Okay."
"What's the hyperbole here?"
"Hyperbole?"
"We just said it. What's a hyperbole? No, don't look at me, look at your definitions."
"Oh..."
"What's a hyperbole?"
"An exaggeration?"
"Right, an exaggeration."
"Oh."
"So, where is the hyperbole in this sentence? No, not there, right here, where I'm pointing."
"It's cold?"
"Cold as what?"
"Cold as...the North Pole."
"Right."
"Oh."
"Is that an exaggeration?"
"Oh."
"I'm asking you a question, is that an exaggeration?"
"What?"
"'It's as cold as the North Pole,' is it really as cold as the North Pole in Maryland?"
"...No."
"So is that an exaggeration?"
"Yes..."
"Look back at your definitions now, so 'It's as cold as the North Pole' is an exaggeration, that means we can call it a what?"
"Oh."
"Not there, your definitions are right here. Look at them. What is it called when we exaggerate?"
"...A hyperbole?"
"Wonderful. You got it."
"Oh."
"It's a hyperbole, right?"
"Right."
"Because a hyperbole is when we exaggerate, okay?"
"Okay."
"So what is it called when we exaggerate?"
"A hyperbole."
"Great."
"Okay."
"So 'It's as cold as the North Pole' is a..."
"Exaggeration?"
"Right, which is called what? Here, right here, your definitions are right here."
"Hyperbole?"
"Great, you got it."
"Okay."
"Hyperbole. It means an exaggeration."
"Oh."
"Make sure you write that down."
"Okay."
"Not there, right here, where I'm pointing. In the blank."
"Oh."
"Good. Great."
"Okay."
"Just like that. Great job."
"Okay."
"Alright, so you got it? You get it now? You understand?"
"Yes."

The Average Classroom

It's cold and Friday. In 7th grade, this means education is at least a double digit underdog.

Today I handed out copies of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Today, we're learning about author's purpose and viewpoint. All my students have, by either some form of learning or prolonged osmosis of their histories, learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and all of them are familiar with his famous dream.

This is what happens when you give a class copies of those resonant, powerful words.

First, the student in the front will collect his four sheets and pass them back. This is not always consistent though. Every other row or so, one student will decide to dangle the sheet in front of the student behind him, only to yank it away at the last second. The chances of this happening doubles if the students are of a different gender.

Actually, it triples.

Secondly, some students will purposely drop their papers, letting them scatter to the floor. They will look embarrassed, but in reality they are quite happy for the hard-earned collection of seconds to get out of their seats and not have to be in them.

Once all students are appropriately situated with their speeches, some will have them upside down.

Once all students are appropriately situated with their speeches and properly aligned, the lesson can start. The teacher can say something remarkably insightful and even eloquent (depending on who is listening), for instance: "I know that living in Prince George's County, which is the largest predominantly African American county in the entire country, it's easy to hear about figures in black history like Martin Luther King, Jr. I wanted, though, to not just tell you about how great black men like him ended segregation, but I wanted to be sure that you not only understood who he was, but I want you to leave this classroom being able to understand what he said--how he thought, what he wrote, and why it was that when words came out of this man's mouth, people listened as if it was thunder. I want you to know what it looks like when words become power."

At this point, these things are going on, all simultaneously, and very few of them involve listening:

Some students will be slightly entranced because when a teacher speaks for more than 2 minutes, they are familiar with feigning attention and letting their mind wander.

Some students will be looking out of the corner of their eyes, trying to catch the corner of another student's eye, hoping that they can give a quick middle finger before the teacher turns towards that side of the room.

Several will be doing something utterly ridiculous. For example, one will be using his keys to maniacally lash at his forearm with a contorted expression on his face, hoping that someone will witness this and think it absurdly hilarious.

About two will be ready to read the first paragraph once the teacher begins.

Some will be looking at the clock and realize to their dismay that it is not yet lunch.

Some will be holding pencils in their hand ready to underline whatever the teacher tells them to underline because they have read handouts before and that is what they have done before so they have their pencils sharpened and ready and they are ready to do as they are told.

Many will be asking for pencils.

The remaining will be asking to have them sharpened.

Some will have already begun their 72 minute long quest to fill the handout with doodles and their esoteric conceptions of geometry--and some, if they are truly good at this, have already filled in all the enclosed white space created by the letters within the first paragraph. To illustrate--this means all letters that somehow create a bubble of white space will have these said bubbles darkened in with pencil lead or blue or black or red ink. Examples of these letters are a, b, and d and so on and so forth but not c, i, and k and so on and so forth.

Some will have their heads down.

Three will be rolling their eyes.

Two will be asleep.

Some will be whispering to their neighbor, thinking that they are being too quiet to be heard.

Some will be talking to their neighbor, completely unconcerned that they are being heard.

A couple will be grumbling at the prospect of work.

Some will be throwing paper balls, rubber bands, anything--today, in fact, a shard of a Pop Tart--across the room.

And today, one, her eyes glowing like curiosity, held the xeroxed paper in her hand and asked, earnest as the world and her eyes like stars or if not, then something else significantly bright and remarkable in their clarity, held the photocopy in her hand and asked, with the reverent tone of a supplicant who has been granted an answer that she cannot quite decipher but at a very conscious level, knows is imperatively and thrillingly relevant and crucially pivotal to her place and position in all of history and its consequence, she held that sheet of paper in her hand and asked, with what I think I detected was a blend of muted awe and realization that gratitude, in this moment, before these words, would be apropos.

"Can I keep this?"

The Bar

It's January 19th, which means that it's Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Which means schools are closed. Which means across the country, teachers are relieved. And I think at this point, I can safely say that if you want to quantify teacher happiness relative to student happiness on a day off, it would be the positive quadrant of a parabola.

But school resumes on Wednesday, so I figure after MLK day and the inauguration on the 20th, this is a uniquely appropriate time in history to teach about Martin Luther King Jr. My students know surprisingly little about him, but I guess they know about as much as I did when I was in 7th grade--that he was a really famous black guy who gave a speech about a dream and somehow, he magically brought white and black people together so that they could finally hold hands and smile.

So I looked up his "I Have a Dream" speech online, and after reading it, I know one thing for sure.

Martin uses some big words.

Lesson planning is weird. There are, however, 3 basic rules that pretty much happen every time:
1. No writing actually begins without the requisite 4 hours of dread staring at a blank page.
2. No writing takes place without wishing you did it yesterday.
3. In general, lesson plans become more economical with words as the week progresses. In other words, the word count of Friday's plan is inversely proportional to the word count of Monday's.

But Martin uses some fancy words. Which is a problem because reading through fancy words involves a lot of fancy reading. This is tough to do as a class because when you stop every third word to define it, this causes boredom and sometimes chaos and if chaos, then sometimes, an ulcer.

So I went through and thought of what I could do. I thought about changing some of the words and just as I was about to substitute "chain" for "manacle," I felt a little sacrilegious so I stopped. I thought about finding another article, but at this point, I'd been staring at that blank page for just about 4 hours, so it was too late to turn back.

They say kids will only meet whatever expectations you set for them. This is true, except for a few circumstances, such as organic chemistry, but that's only because science happens to be really really hard.

So on Wednesday, we are going to learn what a manacle is, we are going to understand segregation, we are going to need to define prosperity, we are going to dramatize the word dramatize to understand the word dramatize, we are going to learn the meaning of degenerate (and hopefully use it towards each other just a few times), all the while hopefully preserving our dignity--even if we yes, languish, doing it.

And we're going to try to figure out what Martin's purpose for all this rhetoric was in the first place.

Because if kids do indeed only rise as far as the standard that is set for them, then I suppose the common sense conclusion is to set it as audaciously high and terrifyingly daring as humanly possible.