Oh man. I guess this blog has gotten a bit ignored in the last few weeks, that got very crazy. I guess when it comes down to those crazy times, blogging is not what I turn to. And that's ok, although it means I am going to shut it down after this post.
The kids went camping at the end of April, and something happened. I thought it was supposed to be good for them. I guess in certain ways it was. There are real friendships among the girls that didn't exist before. There are a few kids who are showing some kindness, and some confidence, that they didn't have before.
But as a group, they are even more unruly than before. I thought it was just me, but Mr. Lee said, in the last two weeks or so, that we just needed to keep them out of a large group situation as much as possible; that the paramount consideration needed to be the group dynamics.
What do I mean by that? Two minutes cannot not go by without a put-down. One student, K, all of a sudden has Tourrette's- violent tics that come fast and furious and that she can't control. The Gang of Four- K, R, N & C- cannot prevent themselves, apparently, from bringing the whole class down. Two of them honestly may not have the cognitive capacity to understand exactly what they are doing. The other two do; one doesn't believe she can control herself, and the other can but he just doesn't want to because he doesn't think he should be in this class.
Read-alouds, morning meeting, any kind of activity will, in literally two minutes, dissolve into:
"Stop LOOKING AT ME!"
"Why are you starting a conflict with me?"
"I can't SEE!"
"Don't PUSH me!"
"Come ON, this is BORING..."
"YOU stop!" "No, YOU stop!" "NO, YOU!" and on and on.
Honestly, their behavior is like a bunch of grouchy kindergartners, and it's all anyone can do to complete a thought in their presence. They are like this on field trips; they are like this for activities they love.
The only times they are not is when they are completely absorbed in a hands-on activity, like the drumming workshop, or modeling their animals out of clay, although both of these activities still took the complete attention of 5-7 adults to one or the other of them at all times in order to keep everyone on task. You've got maybe 30 minutes of relative peace.
Academically, they have all progressed, and some are beginning to really grown socially. As a group, they are a complete & utter disaster. It made me so sad to leave them in this state last week.
Mr. Lee assures me it's the time of year, as well as being a dynamic that cannot be diagnosed or averted, but just gotten through.
Still, my departure was sweet. Many of them wrote and spoke reflections of me that used more language than I thought they were capable of. I got hugs and accolades from unlikely suspects, who had aggressively kept their distance until, well, now, or so I thought.
I said I would visit, and I will. And I hope I can visit them next year too, since most of them will still be with Mr. Lee. I love them each for their own special ways that they have. But boy did they keep us running hard these last three weeks....
This semester, more than the fall, has been a real perception-changing experience. I would not trade it for anything, and I would not trade my chance to get to know these kids, in particular, for anything. I hope I never lose this edge- the ability to reach, if only with my mind and my awareness, these kids and see, maybe just a little, what they need.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Working hard, and more testing
Before last week's tests began, my students worked so hard and did me proud. My advisor observed me the day before the math testing began. They started that day with a math lesson on measurement, then we did storytelling, which they hadn't done in a while, and learned about the word "artifact." They did an activity around how to look at artifacts.
Then, after lunch, they did a very challenging artifact study, behaving as if they were in a museum studying artifacts. We had to go back and reorganize the items, and ask that students not touch them, as that caused problems during the lesson, but we were able to regroup so that everyone was able to study them closely without touching. Nice recovery.
They were incredibly focused during the study, and did some beautiful work. They didn't want to stop, even though that artifact study went over an hour, and including the morning introduction, they had been doing artifact work for two hours. Between that and measurement, their brains were full, but they still did some scientific observation as part of their animal studies at the end of the day! Amazing.
The next day, Shamiqua* was really discouraged by the first day of the math test. She dragged her feet, and her coat, getting to the cafeteria. I had her and another girl, Oksana*, who is not known for her patience (unless *she* is trying to get ready, in which case she becomes enraged if you rush her at all- but anyway!). Shamiqua is shuffling down the hall at a glacial pace, coat dragging behind her; Oksana and I are 20 feet ahead, waiting for her to catch up. I figured Oksana would have some impatient comment for poor Shamiqua.
But no. In what was, for her, a very rare show of empathy, this is what Oksana did. She walked back to Shamiqua and stood beside her. Then, she matched her pace, step for step, all the way to the cafeteria. It took about 10 minutes, and every other class in the school, it seems like, pushed past them on the stairs, but it didn't matter. They were in their own slow space, not talking, but sharing nonetheless. I told Oksana she was my superstar for the day, and she gave me one of her very rare, non-smirking, very beautiful smiles, and said, "Why?"
*names are not real
Then, after lunch, they did a very challenging artifact study, behaving as if they were in a museum studying artifacts. We had to go back and reorganize the items, and ask that students not touch them, as that caused problems during the lesson, but we were able to regroup so that everyone was able to study them closely without touching. Nice recovery.
They were incredibly focused during the study, and did some beautiful work. They didn't want to stop, even though that artifact study went over an hour, and including the morning introduction, they had been doing artifact work for two hours. Between that and measurement, their brains were full, but they still did some scientific observation as part of their animal studies at the end of the day! Amazing.
The next day, Shamiqua* was really discouraged by the first day of the math test. She dragged her feet, and her coat, getting to the cafeteria. I had her and another girl, Oksana*, who is not known for her patience (unless *she* is trying to get ready, in which case she becomes enraged if you rush her at all- but anyway!). Shamiqua is shuffling down the hall at a glacial pace, coat dragging behind her; Oksana and I are 20 feet ahead, waiting for her to catch up. I figured Oksana would have some impatient comment for poor Shamiqua.
But no. In what was, for her, a very rare show of empathy, this is what Oksana did. She walked back to Shamiqua and stood beside her. Then, she matched her pace, step for step, all the way to the cafeteria. It took about 10 minutes, and every other class in the school, it seems like, pushed past them on the stairs, but it didn't matter. They were in their own slow space, not talking, but sharing nonetheless. I told Oksana she was my superstar for the day, and she gave me one of her very rare, non-smirking, very beautiful smiles, and said, "Why?"
*names are not real
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
A Happier Time
We're fully in the throes of testing now, on Day 2, and it's starting to wear on everyone. The kids are grouchy and on edge, the teachers' tempers are frayed. I was thinking back to happier moments earlier, before they ever saw that darn test and felt real fear.
It was Movement, which is a time of the week that the kids really love. Pedro, who teaches it, has a great way with the kids, girls and boys alike, getting them to be in the moment in an authentic way that they can understand. He had them pair off and do an activity that goes like this: Student A says "one," Student B says "two," Student A says "three," and they start over, two people counting to three. They really have to pay close attention to each other.
One of my students, Jean-Pierre, did something really sweet. He was working with Carlos, who is an English Language Learner. So, completely unbidden, instead of saying, "One, two, three," he did his counting in Spanish. Really sweet. Carlos' English and Spanish abilities are about equal (he has a language delay), but it showed a lot of social intelligence on Jean-Pierre's part to come up with this on the fly.
All the adults in the room (six of them) wanted to high-five Jean-Pierre, and all of us gave him a ton of praise. He looked at us suspiciously, accepting the praise grudgingly. I asked him point-blank whether he knew what he had done to deserve all that. "No," he said, with a frown. I told him what a smart thing it was that he did. He gave me a rare, beautiful smile.
Seeing how these kids are struggling with the testing, I feel like I may never see that smile again.
It was Movement, which is a time of the week that the kids really love. Pedro, who teaches it, has a great way with the kids, girls and boys alike, getting them to be in the moment in an authentic way that they can understand. He had them pair off and do an activity that goes like this: Student A says "one," Student B says "two," Student A says "three," and they start over, two people counting to three. They really have to pay close attention to each other.
One of my students, Jean-Pierre, did something really sweet. He was working with Carlos, who is an English Language Learner. So, completely unbidden, instead of saying, "One, two, three," he did his counting in Spanish. Really sweet. Carlos' English and Spanish abilities are about equal (he has a language delay), but it showed a lot of social intelligence on Jean-Pierre's part to come up with this on the fly.
All the adults in the room (six of them) wanted to high-five Jean-Pierre, and all of us gave him a ton of praise. He looked at us suspiciously, accepting the praise grudgingly. I asked him point-blank whether he knew what he had done to deserve all that. "No," he said, with a frown. I told him what a smart thing it was that he did. He gave me a rare, beautiful smile.
Seeing how these kids are struggling with the testing, I feel like I may never see that smile again.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Shoes
My student Hannah came to school today looking cute, wearing a new pair of flats. Unfortunately, they were too small and it immediately became apparent that they were hurting her feet. She was miserable by third period, and one of the paras went to see if there were some flip-flops in the building, since it was so warm.
While she was crying, I remembered that I had a pair of very flimsy flats in my bag. These are the kind they sell at the drug store for women who wear high heels, so they can wear them home when they break a heel or just can't stand it for another second. I had them from my old job, and didn't want to throw them out, so I stuck them in my school bag. They'd been there for months.
I gave them to Hannah (they were a little big but not too much). She was so happy. The paras told me she was swinging her feet, admiring her comfy shoes and grinning from ear to ear all the way through third period and lunch.
It's the little things!
Monday, April 8, 2013
Holy moly
Wow, time flies. It feels close to the end already. Students begin their first year of testing next week (third graders), which is 3 days out of each of the next two weeks. Then they go on a 3-day grade-wide camping trip (which my fourth-graders are going on). They return the first of May. My placement ends on the 17th.
I feel like this has gone too fast. The fall felt fairly slow, even with the week we missed for Sandy. I have only barely gotten to know these kids. Help!
I will plan to visit them in June. But still: I am marveling at how fast it's gone. I could teach them all summer and still be fascinated, and want to come back every day to learn more. I can only hope for their sakes that they're sick of me already:)
I feel like this has gone too fast. The fall felt fairly slow, even with the week we missed for Sandy. I have only barely gotten to know these kids. Help!
I will plan to visit them in June. But still: I am marveling at how fast it's gone. I could teach them all summer and still be fascinated, and want to come back every day to learn more. I can only hope for their sakes that they're sick of me already:)
Friday, March 22, 2013
Extreme Teaching
It's Spring Break, finally, and I am looking forward to the break. Not that I don't love my students. My placement at ABPS is wonderful. All the adults in the room work really well together, which is huge, since there's 5 of us. It's a joy and a pleasure and I learn so much watching Mr. Lee. But it is a workout: my husband calls it Extreme Teaching. New sport on ESPN 2.
Seriously: just for starters, you have a few students who need a lot of language to stay engaged, and you have a few who get about two words out of every sentence or phrase you utter. Everyone else is in between, so you have 30-45 seconds to focus their attention on something visual, and about 6 minutes before you lose them- pretty small window for a lesson. Then you have students who are really only engaged with movement or processes; others who hate such things and prefer to draw or look at visuals. I have a reading group that is four kids: two get easily discouraged, two who have noticeably fewer oral-language skills than the other two, and one who absolutely cannot sit still for longer than it takes him to read the text. It's tough. I have a math group of three students and they are in the same group because they don't have place value yet, but there the similarities end.
Individually they're unique, engaging, funny and wonderful. Some of them come from less than ideal circumstances, a few stories that will really break your heart in there as well. Most of them are mercurial in their moods- something small that you didn't catch can throw them into a black, unproductive mood for a long time. They cry a lot. They hit sometimes- too many times. They aren't as nice to each other as I'd like them to be. They're pretty darn hard on themselves, too.
So while I am already missing the morning hugs I get from many of them, I am also ready for a break.
Although I have to say, the moments that they are kind, and the displays of mature, calm behavior, (which are not at all infrequent) shine like stars in contrast to the many, many conversations we have as a group about mindfulness, about conflict and being conflict-solvers, about wasting time and saving time.
It's quite something to watch how they respond to these ideas. Even the students without a great deal of language can understand from the many, many examples we discuss. I think, on balance, these kids try harder for more of the day than your average students: there's fewer of them, nowhere to hide and Mr. Lee does not give them a pass. But it never seems to get easier to see how many things are so hard for them. I know they will miss school, too, although they may not miss me specifically. I hope they have some fun this week.
Seriously: just for starters, you have a few students who need a lot of language to stay engaged, and you have a few who get about two words out of every sentence or phrase you utter. Everyone else is in between, so you have 30-45 seconds to focus their attention on something visual, and about 6 minutes before you lose them- pretty small window for a lesson. Then you have students who are really only engaged with movement or processes; others who hate such things and prefer to draw or look at visuals. I have a reading group that is four kids: two get easily discouraged, two who have noticeably fewer oral-language skills than the other two, and one who absolutely cannot sit still for longer than it takes him to read the text. It's tough. I have a math group of three students and they are in the same group because they don't have place value yet, but there the similarities end.
Individually they're unique, engaging, funny and wonderful. Some of them come from less than ideal circumstances, a few stories that will really break your heart in there as well. Most of them are mercurial in their moods- something small that you didn't catch can throw them into a black, unproductive mood for a long time. They cry a lot. They hit sometimes- too many times. They aren't as nice to each other as I'd like them to be. They're pretty darn hard on themselves, too.
So while I am already missing the morning hugs I get from many of them, I am also ready for a break.
Although I have to say, the moments that they are kind, and the displays of mature, calm behavior, (which are not at all infrequent) shine like stars in contrast to the many, many conversations we have as a group about mindfulness, about conflict and being conflict-solvers, about wasting time and saving time.
It's quite something to watch how they respond to these ideas. Even the students without a great deal of language can understand from the many, many examples we discuss. I think, on balance, these kids try harder for more of the day than your average students: there's fewer of them, nowhere to hide and Mr. Lee does not give them a pass. But it never seems to get easier to see how many things are so hard for them. I know they will miss school, too, although they may not miss me specifically. I hope they have some fun this week.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Tortured Metaphor, or How to Teach Reading Comprehension
It's like this: you're in a forest, with your teachers and also your students. Your teachers say, "Please teach your students about trees. Teach them about trees using the example of an elm." OK, fine, but I really like pine trees, and, well, oaks are good too, and here's a beech, and you know what, none of them has leaves right now, so which one is an elm again? And your teachers say, "OK, but make sure you pick a kind of tree that's right for your students."
This is what I feel like when asked to teach reading comprehension. It's not clear to me what trees, or strategies, will work well. All the trees seem appealing; I want students to love them all equally. That is to say, it's very difficult for me to distinguish between texts and techniques. I know very well that the only thing to do is go in and try it, and get a sense of it for myself. I did dive in, during a lesson that my advisor was observing, and thank goodness she was there because she saved my bacon during guided reading. Whew.
The three teachers I know the best: E, E and A, all have this same clarity of mind. I've seen them all perform magic in front of students, occasionally saving a derailed lesson of mine in the process. I've seen science lessons where, with just a plant in front of him, A has them all on the edge of their seat, asking just the right questions, having just enough discussion, making them think just hard enough. It's art, for sure.
I know it comes from years of experience, and the only way out is through, as they say. It's like being a white belt again: I just have to put my head down and train until I start to have some skills of my own. But in the meantime... the trees. It's tough walking around this forest!!
This is what I feel like when asked to teach reading comprehension. It's not clear to me what trees, or strategies, will work well. All the trees seem appealing; I want students to love them all equally. That is to say, it's very difficult for me to distinguish between texts and techniques. I know very well that the only thing to do is go in and try it, and get a sense of it for myself. I did dive in, during a lesson that my advisor was observing, and thank goodness she was there because she saved my bacon during guided reading. Whew.
The three teachers I know the best: E, E and A, all have this same clarity of mind. I've seen them all perform magic in front of students, occasionally saving a derailed lesson of mine in the process. I've seen science lessons where, with just a plant in front of him, A has them all on the edge of their seat, asking just the right questions, having just enough discussion, making them think just hard enough. It's art, for sure.
I know it comes from years of experience, and the only way out is through, as they say. It's like being a white belt again: I just have to put my head down and train until I start to have some skills of my own. But in the meantime... the trees. It's tough walking around this forest!!
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The Noise Contradiction
My students and I are conflicted about noise, in different ways. First of all, there's noise, and then there's noise. I also think that noise in the context of a special education classroom is different than it is in other classrooms.
Noise vs noise: I constantly militate against the idea that learning = silence. It's mostly in my own head, because as a practical matter, kids make noise by default and teachers require then to stop making noise in order to accomplish some instructional basics. But I do remind myself, often, that kids learn from each other and from their own expressions, thoughts, and ideas, and they can't do this silently. Engagement is learning is noise. However, as we all know there is a qualitative difference between the sound of kids learning and the sound of kids making a racket. I try not to wish for quiet, never mind ask for it, when kids are engaged. I get a good chance to practice this when I substitute teach: the class "feels" a little out of control, but when I am subbing for Art, they're *supposed* to be talking, moving around the room and showing each other their work. I talk myself down. Then it's easier to stop and listen when it's my math lesson, being observed by my advisor, to make sure that it's "engaged noise" I'm hearing.
Noise in context: The children in my class are often very sensitive to noise. Even engaged noise can be overwhelming, and it has a visceral effect on the students who are most sensitive. I can feel them tense, feel their affective hackles go up, and the engagement with any academic task evaporates immediately. Then the cycle begins: it's noisy and it sounds like this:
Student 1: "Can you PLEASE be quiet, I can't do my work!"
Student 2: "I'm not making any noise, YOU are!"
Student 1: "You are TOO, you're kicking the table and humming!"
Student 2: "Well, you're shouting, YOU be quiet!"
Of course, this is all at top volume, so everyone else in the vicinity is now disturbed. It's like someone kicked over the project in the block area: instant, utter destruction of nominal, fragile quiet.
The "calm noise" of our classroom is shattered in this precise way, many times a day. We are addressing it through a social-emotional curriculum unit, looking at conflict, the causes of conflict, analyzing conflicts students have had, and throughout the day, identifying instances like these and looking for opportunities to be a conflict solver.
While there are many self-defeating behaviors and habits that you can see in a special education classroom, this one seems to me to be the worst offender. Is there anything more ironic than kids who need quiet, who crave it, who physically react to its absence, being the destroyers of their own quiet? It's not because Student 1 was too impulsive in asking for quiet, or didn't ask nicely, or Student 2 was defensive and didn't respond well. They all need help with the social and emotional and self-regulation skills that will both help them not make the noise and get past the noise. This, more than any specific learning challenge, is what makes it so hard for these kids to do all the normal school stuff that they want and need to do. This is why we forgo reading time for talking about conflict and how to avoid it. It may not be the root of the problem, but it's close.
Noise vs noise: I constantly militate against the idea that learning = silence. It's mostly in my own head, because as a practical matter, kids make noise by default and teachers require then to stop making noise in order to accomplish some instructional basics. But I do remind myself, often, that kids learn from each other and from their own expressions, thoughts, and ideas, and they can't do this silently. Engagement is learning is noise. However, as we all know there is a qualitative difference between the sound of kids learning and the sound of kids making a racket. I try not to wish for quiet, never mind ask for it, when kids are engaged. I get a good chance to practice this when I substitute teach: the class "feels" a little out of control, but when I am subbing for Art, they're *supposed* to be talking, moving around the room and showing each other their work. I talk myself down. Then it's easier to stop and listen when it's my math lesson, being observed by my advisor, to make sure that it's "engaged noise" I'm hearing.
Noise in context: The children in my class are often very sensitive to noise. Even engaged noise can be overwhelming, and it has a visceral effect on the students who are most sensitive. I can feel them tense, feel their affective hackles go up, and the engagement with any academic task evaporates immediately. Then the cycle begins: it's noisy and it sounds like this:
Student 1: "Can you PLEASE be quiet, I can't do my work!"
Student 2: "I'm not making any noise, YOU are!"
Student 1: "You are TOO, you're kicking the table and humming!"
Student 2: "Well, you're shouting, YOU be quiet!"
Of course, this is all at top volume, so everyone else in the vicinity is now disturbed. It's like someone kicked over the project in the block area: instant, utter destruction of nominal, fragile quiet.
The "calm noise" of our classroom is shattered in this precise way, many times a day. We are addressing it through a social-emotional curriculum unit, looking at conflict, the causes of conflict, analyzing conflicts students have had, and throughout the day, identifying instances like these and looking for opportunities to be a conflict solver.
While there are many self-defeating behaviors and habits that you can see in a special education classroom, this one seems to me to be the worst offender. Is there anything more ironic than kids who need quiet, who crave it, who physically react to its absence, being the destroyers of their own quiet? It's not because Student 1 was too impulsive in asking for quiet, or didn't ask nicely, or Student 2 was defensive and didn't respond well. They all need help with the social and emotional and self-regulation skills that will both help them not make the noise and get past the noise. This, more than any specific learning challenge, is what makes it so hard for these kids to do all the normal school stuff that they want and need to do. This is why we forgo reading time for talking about conflict and how to avoid it. It may not be the root of the problem, but it's close.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Noise: Yours and Other Peoples'
It's Sunday and some sadistic soul has parked on the street outside our apartment. Their car alarm, I think, is set to honk the horn rhythmically for several minutes and then cut off for one minute. I called 311 with a noise complaint- the cops have not shown up yet. We're going on four hours now, and it's hellish. Only 60 seconds of relief every few minutes. My head hurts.
Our students often complain about noise. I think some of them with attentional issues are in a 12:1 setting because noise affects them so profoundly. Classrooms are noisy. At PSOhYes, the student I worked closely with often deplored the noise, sometimes loudly (which was necessary to be heard, in fairness!), and he was right. I can see how it can be hard to work if you're sensitive to noise, which he was.
Isn't that the received wisdom about kids, though, that they can't concentrate when it's noisy? I feel like that old truism is why we had to do math in silence when I was a kid, and why we still have quiet reading time today. At moments, it's how we ask students to show us that they are working very hard. We try to tell ourselves now that a certain quality of noisy chaos is a sign of engagement and signifies learning. I believe this; I think it's true, even though it's hard to tolerate for very long. But what about kids that really can't handle noise? And then, what do you when those selfsame kids are the ones making the noise?
We had been preparing for the last few weeks for a grade-wide exposition of social studies projects that was really a big deal, and happened last week. Activity in our room was frenzied and sometimes very noisy. The energy level was high and approached frenetic as we ticked down to the event. The kids were wired, even as they occasionally put their heads in their hands, heads on the table, heads under coats, to get a little down time.
In addition to parents, administrators and teachers from other schools came. Classrooms were rearranged; work our students did was placed in other exhibits; our classroom was "invaded" (it felt like) by other kids' work and many, many people. Our students knew how to check out for a few minutes when there was no one around, but now there was no escape. It was a long two days.
I'll be curious to see what happens to the noise level when things get back to normal. Will the class be quieter than other classrooms? Or will they make their own noise until they can't stand themselves anymore and then shout for quiet? Or something in between?
Our students often complain about noise. I think some of them with attentional issues are in a 12:1 setting because noise affects them so profoundly. Classrooms are noisy. At PSOhYes, the student I worked closely with often deplored the noise, sometimes loudly (which was necessary to be heard, in fairness!), and he was right. I can see how it can be hard to work if you're sensitive to noise, which he was.
Isn't that the received wisdom about kids, though, that they can't concentrate when it's noisy? I feel like that old truism is why we had to do math in silence when I was a kid, and why we still have quiet reading time today. At moments, it's how we ask students to show us that they are working very hard. We try to tell ourselves now that a certain quality of noisy chaos is a sign of engagement and signifies learning. I believe this; I think it's true, even though it's hard to tolerate for very long. But what about kids that really can't handle noise? And then, what do you when those selfsame kids are the ones making the noise?
We had been preparing for the last few weeks for a grade-wide exposition of social studies projects that was really a big deal, and happened last week. Activity in our room was frenzied and sometimes very noisy. The energy level was high and approached frenetic as we ticked down to the event. The kids were wired, even as they occasionally put their heads in their hands, heads on the table, heads under coats, to get a little down time.
In addition to parents, administrators and teachers from other schools came. Classrooms were rearranged; work our students did was placed in other exhibits; our classroom was "invaded" (it felt like) by other kids' work and many, many people. Our students knew how to check out for a few minutes when there was no one around, but now there was no escape. It was a long two days.
I'll be curious to see what happens to the noise level when things get back to normal. Will the class be quieter than other classrooms? Or will they make their own noise until they can't stand themselves anymore and then shout for quiet? Or something in between?
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Reading... or not?
We have four different reading groups in our class of 12 kids. At least four. I worked with one group of them the other day. They had a brief set of instructions: they were to re-read two short books of a series and then read a new one, and answer two questions about it. These were very short books, maybe 8-10 pages, with maybe 2-3 lines of text per page.
Kids in the second grade class I was in last semester were pretty quiet, but they were not silent and still during silent reading. But maybe because there were 25 of them, and not 3 of them, I didn't watch them each as closely in terms of their reading behavior. There was also an expectation (created by peers, not just from us teachers) that during reading time, you read. Students can read, and so they do. Maybe not every second, but for more or less the entire time. We had only one kid who didn't, and he was a source of great anxiety for the teacher.
But when you are sitting with three kids at one table, it's a completely different story. Focus is not these kids' strong suit, even if it isn't their main presenting issue. I really should have taken notes of the range of behaviors I saw during this activity. They were quiet and they were, for the most part, turning pages. But from moment to moment, it was not easy to tell who was actually reading.
So they answer the questions, or not, and that's how you know if they read the book, right? Well, maybe. It's like what I said in my post about assessment (http://studentteacher44.blogspot.com/2012/12/like-shakespeare.html)- when you ask a student to write, you are assessing their ability to write first, regardless of what you've asked them to write about. If they can't or won't write, you can't know anything about what they know or have learned by asking them to write. Right? So... some of the students seemed to be reading, but they pretty much all struggle with writing, so writing wasn't showing me if they had read the book, or understood it. The only way was to have them each read it aloud. And this was quiet reading time: not appropriate.
Anyone who survived the trauma of reading aloud in school when it wasn't their strong suit is probably saying "Nooooooooo!!!" at this point, but.... there really is something to be said for reading aloud. It's the real deal. I love quiet reading time, and I know a lot of second graders that do, too. But for this group, they may not be getting a lot of reading done. It's really hard to tell.
Kids in the second grade class I was in last semester were pretty quiet, but they were not silent and still during silent reading. But maybe because there were 25 of them, and not 3 of them, I didn't watch them each as closely in terms of their reading behavior. There was also an expectation (created by peers, not just from us teachers) that during reading time, you read. Students can read, and so they do. Maybe not every second, but for more or less the entire time. We had only one kid who didn't, and he was a source of great anxiety for the teacher.
But when you are sitting with three kids at one table, it's a completely different story. Focus is not these kids' strong suit, even if it isn't their main presenting issue. I really should have taken notes of the range of behaviors I saw during this activity. They were quiet and they were, for the most part, turning pages. But from moment to moment, it was not easy to tell who was actually reading.
So they answer the questions, or not, and that's how you know if they read the book, right? Well, maybe. It's like what I said in my post about assessment (http://studentteacher44.blogspot.com/2012/12/like-shakespeare.html)- when you ask a student to write, you are assessing their ability to write first, regardless of what you've asked them to write about. If they can't or won't write, you can't know anything about what they know or have learned by asking them to write. Right? So... some of the students seemed to be reading, but they pretty much all struggle with writing, so writing wasn't showing me if they had read the book, or understood it. The only way was to have them each read it aloud. And this was quiet reading time: not appropriate.
Anyone who survived the trauma of reading aloud in school when it wasn't their strong suit is probably saying "Nooooooooo!!!" at this point, but.... there really is something to be said for reading aloud. It's the real deal. I love quiet reading time, and I know a lot of second graders that do, too. But for this group, they may not be getting a lot of reading done. It's really hard to tell.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Same idea, very different execution
ABPS is quite different from PSOhYes, despite their similarly stellar reputations. The reps are for different things, for starters. There are definitely different emphases in all kinds of ways, from a teaching and learning standpoint. And, of course, I am teaching in a very different kind of classroom. But... it also just feels very different. And it's also been a bit crazy.
My cooperating teacher, who I'll call Mr. Lee, just to keep things simple, was sick for the first two days of my placement. The SETTS coordinator honored his request to have the students split and placed in the classrooms of their most recent teachers, which worked out better than you might expect. Both were CCT classrooms, for starters, which helped a lot. It worked out great for me, because I learned a few really cool things from the teachers I observed over the two days. And I got to know two of the three paras a bit, and they're both really terrific.
Mr. Lee was back today and things got back to normal. I met all the kids and they had a normal day in their own classroom. That was nice for everyone. I see now what my advisor means by his being a "therapeutic teacher." You can tell that their comfort, from moment to moment, their agency over what they are doing, and their voices, are most important to him. He comes at classroom management from the standpoint of what is the least stressful for everyone- himself included in that, of course. It's great, and very calming.
The school as a whole- well, I think it may partly be a function of the fact that this school feels much less crowded. So it's not military-style in the hallways, they can go out no matter how cold it is, they have a gym for recess when they simply can't go out, and they don't have to sit still with their hands in their laps very often.
For example, at dismissal, the cafeteria was nuts because of the bus strike (many kids bus to this school as it is a choice school for several districts) and two boys kept running off. At PSOhYes, they'd be called back immediately. Here, the paras were like oh yeah, they'll be back. One girl didn't get packed up by the time the rest of the class was ready to go. They left. I stayed with her and asked if she'd like me to walk her to the cafeteria. She said yes; turns out that was because she didn't know how to get there. But Mr. Lee was not worried, and neither was her grandmother, who was there to collect her. Others in the school would take care of her. That was of course what would have happened at PSOhYes too, but here it's just a lot more relaxed: no one will get lost, this is a safe place, and kids are supposed to run around. No panic.
And speaking of dismissal: instead of packing-up time being a scrum, in the classes I've been in it's "quiet time." There's enough time to do it, music is playing, no one is scrambling. A much less stressful way to end the day.
The stairways are kind of an analogy for that. They seem to defy their penal appearance by having the bright red banisters, and multiple pathways for changing floors. I believe the intention used to be that one flight was "up" and one was "down" but those traffic rules have been abandoned in favor of the relaxed attitude. It's growing on me, for sure.
My cooperating teacher, who I'll call Mr. Lee, just to keep things simple, was sick for the first two days of my placement. The SETTS coordinator honored his request to have the students split and placed in the classrooms of their most recent teachers, which worked out better than you might expect. Both were CCT classrooms, for starters, which helped a lot. It worked out great for me, because I learned a few really cool things from the teachers I observed over the two days. And I got to know two of the three paras a bit, and they're both really terrific.
Mr. Lee was back today and things got back to normal. I met all the kids and they had a normal day in their own classroom. That was nice for everyone. I see now what my advisor means by his being a "therapeutic teacher." You can tell that their comfort, from moment to moment, their agency over what they are doing, and their voices, are most important to him. He comes at classroom management from the standpoint of what is the least stressful for everyone- himself included in that, of course. It's great, and very calming.
The school as a whole- well, I think it may partly be a function of the fact that this school feels much less crowded. So it's not military-style in the hallways, they can go out no matter how cold it is, they have a gym for recess when they simply can't go out, and they don't have to sit still with their hands in their laps very often.
For example, at dismissal, the cafeteria was nuts because of the bus strike (many kids bus to this school as it is a choice school for several districts) and two boys kept running off. At PSOhYes, they'd be called back immediately. Here, the paras were like oh yeah, they'll be back. One girl didn't get packed up by the time the rest of the class was ready to go. They left. I stayed with her and asked if she'd like me to walk her to the cafeteria. She said yes; turns out that was because she didn't know how to get there. But Mr. Lee was not worried, and neither was her grandmother, who was there to collect her. Others in the school would take care of her. That was of course what would have happened at PSOhYes too, but here it's just a lot more relaxed: no one will get lost, this is a safe place, and kids are supposed to run around. No panic.
And speaking of dismissal: instead of packing-up time being a scrum, in the classes I've been in it's "quiet time." There's enough time to do it, music is playing, no one is scrambling. A much less stressful way to end the day.
The stairways are kind of an analogy for that. They seem to defy their penal appearance by having the bright red banisters, and multiple pathways for changing floors. I believe the intention used to be that one flight was "up" and one was "down" but those traffic rules have been abandoned in favor of the relaxed attitude. It's growing on me, for sure.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Saying goodbye
Last Thursday was my last day at PSOhYes. IT was a GREAT day, thanks in part to Ms. Lee, who had some great ideas about what they would enjoy, and also went to a lot of trouble to make the day special. She had never had a student teacher who stayed as long as I did, and she felt that many of the students had really bonded with me, so she made sure that there was time for them to individually say goodbye. I had really bonded with them too- they will always be my "first class" and the one by which all others will be judged, I guess.
Ms. Lee told me before the holidays that I should do whatever I wanted in terms of teaching for my last few weeks. We figured out few days that I could teach most of the day, and I also designed a Japanese lesson for each subject area. Some worked better than others, but a really effective and timely one was having the students review place value using Japanese numbers. Other teachers expressed an interest in trying it. We had planned a field trip to the Noguchi Musem in Queens, but that got nixed by the school bus drivers' strike, and we decided that at 90 minues each way, it was too far to go by public transportation.
For the last day, I found a few good web sites with Japanese games that the kids could play using the school's laptops. Predictably, getting them charged, set up, etc., for the lesson was not a simple matter and Ms. Lee had never done used the laptops before, which made it all stressful for her I'm sure. She also ordered in some sushi rolls and the kids had lunch in the classroom, which I didn't know was allowed! Between that and playing computer games in school, she made sure the kids will not forget me anytime soon.
We exchanged some gifts. The kids each made me a card, which she attached to a scroll of Japanese rice paper and rolled it all up on a dowel. I read them later with my daughter, and some of them were very touching. She patted my arm and said, "Don't worry Mommy, I'll get you another class." Ah, to be four. But she really enjoyed visiting the class, and she understood that I was feeling a loss.
I am going to another well-known Brooklyn public school, which I will call ABPS, to teach in a 12:1 self-contained special education classroom. Starting Tuesday. Stay tuned.
Ms. Lee told me before the holidays that I should do whatever I wanted in terms of teaching for my last few weeks. We figured out few days that I could teach most of the day, and I also designed a Japanese lesson for each subject area. Some worked better than others, but a really effective and timely one was having the students review place value using Japanese numbers. Other teachers expressed an interest in trying it. We had planned a field trip to the Noguchi Musem in Queens, but that got nixed by the school bus drivers' strike, and we decided that at 90 minues each way, it was too far to go by public transportation.
For the last day, I found a few good web sites with Japanese games that the kids could play using the school's laptops. Predictably, getting them charged, set up, etc., for the lesson was not a simple matter and Ms. Lee had never done used the laptops before, which made it all stressful for her I'm sure. She also ordered in some sushi rolls and the kids had lunch in the classroom, which I didn't know was allowed! Between that and playing computer games in school, she made sure the kids will not forget me anytime soon.
We exchanged some gifts. The kids each made me a card, which she attached to a scroll of Japanese rice paper and rolled it all up on a dowel. I read them later with my daughter, and some of them were very touching. She patted my arm and said, "Don't worry Mommy, I'll get you another class." Ah, to be four. But she really enjoyed visiting the class, and she understood that I was feeling a loss.
I am going to another well-known Brooklyn public school, which I will call ABPS, to teach in a 12:1 self-contained special education classroom. Starting Tuesday. Stay tuned.
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