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.

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!!