My initial impressions were, I contend, accurate. At first meeting, they came across as a hard-pressed team of survivors. Few looked a little world weary. Alas, first-year teaching does that for you.
The many with whom I have had the chance to speak with were open and very honest, putting their experiences, both good and bad, into a positive light. They continuous admit their faults and know there is room for growth. As is now clear, I hold them as masters of perseverance, much as I did this summer. No one in the bunch came across as a defeated person bereft of fight.
The second years who had troubles with their administrators and districts, I feel an especial kinship with. They explained to me early on principals and district staff do things that make sense to absolutely no one, save said principals and district staff. There are those days when a memo goes around. One never knows if it is a joke or not. Then there are those days where one does not know if he should laugh or shout. So I combine the two. I go to my empty class and have a shaugh.
Now as the year moves on, I know I have not had as much interaction with the second years as I would have liked. But seeing on them on those Saturday mornings is refreshing. They are there to offer a kind word and, at the very least, willing to ask how one is and how the students fare. To be sure, I do not expect much more than that. Though there is comfort in being a second year, there is little time to shoot the breeze when they have just as much as work as we first years. So the niceties suffice. Pulses are checked; hearts are beating. The school wears one down; the second years know this. But they are pleased to know that the first years are alive, maybe not well, but alive nonetheless.
I hope to answer this post again in May. The second years will have come full circle with a host of information and tips and strategies to impart. I look forward to that. Their faces will show looks of resolve and loss. Not loss in the sense of tragedy. But loss in terms of two years flew by with nary a moment for the second years to stop and catch their collective breath.
In sum, my impressions are the same. A great group of people were presented back in June 2010. Thus far, they are shared great things with the first years. I am sure it was not half as much as the second years would have liked, but I am grateful for the information already given. “Keep in touch” sounds so trite. With the second years, it is said with such professorial urgency, the first years had better heed their requests.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Day in the Life
My life and daily routine has become so repetitive, I feel as though I am on auto-pilot. I make the same moves daily. I say the same things daily. I stop and ask did I say what I wanted to say, or was it yesterday that I said and am now repeating it. Did I say it to one class but not the other?
I wake at various times in the morning, depending on what needs to be accomplished that day. There are days when I wake up as early as 1 am. I leave between 5.50 am and 6.20 am. I need to be at work by 7 am, owing to early morning tutoring with my students. I tutor them from 7 am until 8 am. Planning should be from 8 – 8.55 am. Alas, I seldom have planning. Per the norm, there is always a meeting or some administrivia needing to be accomplished—usually during my planning period.
Moving on, I get my kids (6B) back at 9 am. From 9 until 11, I teach them Reading, Language Arts, and Social Studies. However, as my students’ reading skills are so low, many of them go to Read 180 twice a day. From 10.30 – 11.10, they take tutoring with the reading interventionist. After that, I do something called Tier Time, where I teach other grade-level kids 4th grade reading and language arts, as they need remediation. At 11.30, we switch classes. I then teach my next set of kids (6A). From 11.30 to noon, I teach them Social Studies. When we get back from lunch and restroom break, I teach that reading and language arts until 2.10. At 2.10, we switch to Math Tier Time, where I teach 6A enrichment Math. At 2.40, we switch back to homeroom kids and start dismissal. At 3.05, we prepare for afternoon tutoring. I take my kids to the cafeteria for a snack and bring them back at 3.15 for after school tutoring until 5 pm. At 5 pm, I clock out, return to my room, try to straighten up, and prepare for a new day. I leave the building at 5.30 and reach home at 6.10 pm.
Once home, I eat dinner, put in some grades, grade papers, and go over my five different lesson plans for the next day, hoping to muddle through this year and not fall out and/or walk out due to sheer exhaustion.
I wake at various times in the morning, depending on what needs to be accomplished that day. There are days when I wake up as early as 1 am. I leave between 5.50 am and 6.20 am. I need to be at work by 7 am, owing to early morning tutoring with my students. I tutor them from 7 am until 8 am. Planning should be from 8 – 8.55 am. Alas, I seldom have planning. Per the norm, there is always a meeting or some administrivia needing to be accomplished—usually during my planning period.
Moving on, I get my kids (6B) back at 9 am. From 9 until 11, I teach them Reading, Language Arts, and Social Studies. However, as my students’ reading skills are so low, many of them go to Read 180 twice a day. From 10.30 – 11.10, they take tutoring with the reading interventionist. After that, I do something called Tier Time, where I teach other grade-level kids 4th grade reading and language arts, as they need remediation. At 11.30, we switch classes. I then teach my next set of kids (6A). From 11.30 to noon, I teach them Social Studies. When we get back from lunch and restroom break, I teach that reading and language arts until 2.10. At 2.10, we switch to Math Tier Time, where I teach 6A enrichment Math. At 2.40, we switch back to homeroom kids and start dismissal. At 3.05, we prepare for afternoon tutoring. I take my kids to the cafeteria for a snack and bring them back at 3.15 for after school tutoring until 5 pm. At 5 pm, I clock out, return to my room, try to straighten up, and prepare for a new day. I leave the building at 5.30 and reach home at 6.10 pm.
Once home, I eat dinner, put in some grades, grade papers, and go over my five different lesson plans for the next day, hoping to muddle through this year and not fall out and/or walk out due to sheer exhaustion.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Chapter 3 Reflections
More than anything, this chapter on comprehension strategies applies to the English Language Arts classroom and curriculum. More than that, I find that many of these practices have been already been instituted in various guises throughout my short teaching career. Gone are the days when students jumped at the chance to read something new or learn material because it is what the teacher wanted. Material has to mean something, anything to the students in some shape or form.
Activating prior knowledge is something that must be done in practically every lesson, no matter what the content area is. To be sure, the youth can gauge their level of interest and how much they know about the material based on whether they have seen it or read about it previously. It goes without saying, textual meaning demands bring aware of the material. As students go further into the material, they begin to shape feelings and thoughts of what the message means to them. The teacher aids in this process by selecting or providing material that appeals to the students’ interests and needs.
Moving on, I found that the strategies offered were most appealing, as they have been repeatedly throughout Reading and Language Arts/Writing classrooms. Content and process statements occur rapidly and seemingly all the time. Students unconsciously respond in this way. Other examples include visuals of what is expected to be taught and what is expected to be learned. The students have a visual of what they should do and what they should learn. This occurs everyday in content-area classrooms. Through objectives and informal assessments, the teacher can effectively gauge how the students master content.
Finally, text mapping and charts play a huge role in most classrooms. As most students, including my own, are visual learners, visual graphics are the biggest aid in expanding comprehension. These visuals apply to the senses. They are presented in an organized style that let students see the big picture, be it text, formula, or math problems.
In sum, comprehension has to unfold through a multi-layered process. In following the steps suggested in the text, teachers in varying areas can have success. Visual aids are a given in any class; few students retain information just through “teacher talk.” The only concern I struggled were the social dimension strategies. My students are upper elementary. I wonder if they can handle the activities meant to foster student learning. While I can try it, I am wholly unsure of its success in my classroom.
Activating prior knowledge is something that must be done in practically every lesson, no matter what the content area is. To be sure, the youth can gauge their level of interest and how much they know about the material based on whether they have seen it or read about it previously. It goes without saying, textual meaning demands bring aware of the material. As students go further into the material, they begin to shape feelings and thoughts of what the message means to them. The teacher aids in this process by selecting or providing material that appeals to the students’ interests and needs.
Moving on, I found that the strategies offered were most appealing, as they have been repeatedly throughout Reading and Language Arts/Writing classrooms. Content and process statements occur rapidly and seemingly all the time. Students unconsciously respond in this way. Other examples include visuals of what is expected to be taught and what is expected to be learned. The students have a visual of what they should do and what they should learn. This occurs everyday in content-area classrooms. Through objectives and informal assessments, the teacher can effectively gauge how the students master content.
Finally, text mapping and charts play a huge role in most classrooms. As most students, including my own, are visual learners, visual graphics are the biggest aid in expanding comprehension. These visuals apply to the senses. They are presented in an organized style that let students see the big picture, be it text, formula, or math problems.
In sum, comprehension has to unfold through a multi-layered process. In following the steps suggested in the text, teachers in varying areas can have success. Visual aids are a given in any class; few students retain information just through “teacher talk.” The only concern I struggled were the social dimension strategies. My students are upper elementary. I wonder if they can handle the activities meant to foster student learning. While I can try it, I am wholly unsure of its success in my classroom.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Data Analysis
It must be that my district is in trouble. We collect data on nearly everything. My only complaint is that it is so time-consuming that I contend it gets in the way of quality teaching. We do not just grade tests. We take the data and look at who passed, who failed, who needs intense remediation, etc. I am all for data; I am, however, not for looking for problems and poring over the same numbers every week.
At one point, it has been said our bi-monthly lesson plans will reach thirty pages. It will include lesson plans and data on testing, planning, remediation, reteaching, test preparation and similar ilk. I worked for a large district last year. We had none of the headache and hassle. This district, as small as it is, pours money into everything that is bright, shiny, and new, seemingly to no avail. I would prefer to just work with my students, gauge where they are personally, and not have administrators breathing down my neck. It does not take a genius to tell me my students struggle with reading. nor was it necessary to waste instructional time having every child in the school take reading tests. The teachers know where they are and are familiar with the population. The students openly confess: reading brings them no great pleasure. They dread it in class. The students are aware of the data. They notice the lesson plans are “big.” They are professionals at filling out bubble sheets.
Another note that bothers is the constant need to plan ahead. Now that we are in reteaching mode at the schoolhouse, I must submit data for what I will be teaching on remediation Wednesdays based on last nine weeks’ data. It is all so much to do. I hope to be future-focused on my job. But so much of the future involves looking to the past. Yes, the state test is well-nigh important. We stress about it so much at work, the kids notice and begin to stress about it also. Testing has its place. Data has its place. When it becomes cumbersome to the point the kids complain about it, I worry about it. There was a time when children simply learned. My kids now remind of what to bring to Instructional Strategies. Further, they let me that the faculty meeting starts at 2.55 pm. They keep track for me. Two of my students are office assistants and keep me updated on what new data analysis is needed for the upcoming week(s). In short, the data says it all: I am nearly drowning in data.
At one point, it has been said our bi-monthly lesson plans will reach thirty pages. It will include lesson plans and data on testing, planning, remediation, reteaching, test preparation and similar ilk. I worked for a large district last year. We had none of the headache and hassle. This district, as small as it is, pours money into everything that is bright, shiny, and new, seemingly to no avail. I would prefer to just work with my students, gauge where they are personally, and not have administrators breathing down my neck. It does not take a genius to tell me my students struggle with reading. nor was it necessary to waste instructional time having every child in the school take reading tests. The teachers know where they are and are familiar with the population. The students openly confess: reading brings them no great pleasure. They dread it in class. The students are aware of the data. They notice the lesson plans are “big.” They are professionals at filling out bubble sheets.
Another note that bothers is the constant need to plan ahead. Now that we are in reteaching mode at the schoolhouse, I must submit data for what I will be teaching on remediation Wednesdays based on last nine weeks’ data. It is all so much to do. I hope to be future-focused on my job. But so much of the future involves looking to the past. Yes, the state test is well-nigh important. We stress about it so much at work, the kids notice and begin to stress about it also. Testing has its place. Data has its place. When it becomes cumbersome to the point the kids complain about it, I worry about it. There was a time when children simply learned. My kids now remind of what to bring to Instructional Strategies. Further, they let me that the faculty meeting starts at 2.55 pm. They keep track for me. Two of my students are office assistants and keep me updated on what new data analysis is needed for the upcoming week(s). In short, the data says it all: I am nearly drowning in data.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Chapter 4 Assessment
As Chapter 4 deals with student assessment in literacy, I found that much of the material was known, though it was good to have support. By now, those who rely only on standardized tests are living in the past. Current educational trends demand that students are only assessed with tools that encompass who the students truly are, inside and outside of the classroom.
One problem I have encountered in my district is the overwhelming reliance on teacher-created, state objective-following tests which do nothing to truly gauge student learning. The section makes vital the argument the most important goal of literacy and content assessment is to improve instruction and self-awareness. The standardized tests, so continuously de rigueur, do nothing to make or show real-world connections to the students’ lives. Thus is the problem. While data is important, the chapter reads. Also important are planning and interpreting. Content-area teachers must match goals and needs with data and other sources.
Kidwatching is time-tested and proven. So much so, I didn’t know it had a name. Even as a young teacher, I encounter it often, as students who are not readers slump in chairs or look around to avoid having to read aloud. I contend kidwatching may not be as potent in the secondary years as it hard to differentiate lack of reading foundation versus one being uninterested and the settling in of ennui.
The only suggestion I take issue with belongs the portfolio. I cannot see it working on the primary level. The output collected would not be sophisticated enough to measure against concrete goals. They would only with the upper grades, students who should know how to create and work with a quality product.
In sum, chapter 4 leaves alternatives for standardized tests. New policies and implementations involve the learner, instead of leaving him as a bystander. The learner is part of the product, occasionally making it. The teacher must give specific information to learners as to how and when their finished work will be graded. As the student plays a true role in his own assessment, the more he will take an active interest in it. Literacy assessment is ever expanding beyond the tests and quizzes and into the real world. Such is not possible without realizing that, while standardized tests have their place in academics, there are more tangible items which produce results that give students a hands-on view of their learning.
One problem I have encountered in my district is the overwhelming reliance on teacher-created, state objective-following tests which do nothing to truly gauge student learning. The section makes vital the argument the most important goal of literacy and content assessment is to improve instruction and self-awareness. The standardized tests, so continuously de rigueur, do nothing to make or show real-world connections to the students’ lives. Thus is the problem. While data is important, the chapter reads. Also important are planning and interpreting. Content-area teachers must match goals and needs with data and other sources.
Kidwatching is time-tested and proven. So much so, I didn’t know it had a name. Even as a young teacher, I encounter it often, as students who are not readers slump in chairs or look around to avoid having to read aloud. I contend kidwatching may not be as potent in the secondary years as it hard to differentiate lack of reading foundation versus one being uninterested and the settling in of ennui.
The only suggestion I take issue with belongs the portfolio. I cannot see it working on the primary level. The output collected would not be sophisticated enough to measure against concrete goals. They would only with the upper grades, students who should know how to create and work with a quality product.
In sum, chapter 4 leaves alternatives for standardized tests. New policies and implementations involve the learner, instead of leaving him as a bystander. The learner is part of the product, occasionally making it. The teacher must give specific information to learners as to how and when their finished work will be graded. As the student plays a true role in his own assessment, the more he will take an active interest in it. Literacy assessment is ever expanding beyond the tests and quizzes and into the real world. Such is not possible without realizing that, while standardized tests have their place in academics, there are more tangible items which produce results that give students a hands-on view of their learning.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Is the Teacher Fair?
Based on the anonymous replies, the answer is a resounding and solid no. The students did not consult one another; and many of the responses were similar. No, I am not an onerous monster. But I do expect my students to follow the rules at all times. The results are as follows:
19 students tallied
16 answered no
3 answered undecided
The pervasive theme was that I give warnings and writing assignments without cause. My rules are simple. They are defined thus: when a student speaks without permission, he is given a verbal warning; when this occurs twice, said student is given a writing assignment.
Next, the students contend I play favorites. This has some truth. I find myself picking the same students to pass out papers. These students though are efficient. They do it quickly and quietly to the point where no instruction is given to them on the process. The students desperate to pass out papers are those who skip entire rows of students, miscount, and chat along the way.
Another point of contention is that Mr. Farmer plays opera. No sensible black man would listen to opera. That I am from Memphis, the students suggest, means I should be hardcore and hate opera. I put it another way: the kids are listening to Mozart and Verdi, something other than the norm, what they are used to.
The students write I speak in Spanish. While I do have a Spanish-speaking student in class, the words are not for him. I speak in Spanish in class so that I may keep my job. In times of frustration (mostly with administrators), I let loose. I now use either French or Italian. But with my luck, one of my lambs summers in Paris every year.
Further, the children argue I am rude because I cut them off. They are sixth graders. They will try to take you bird walking every day. I will not lose instructional time on petty questions. I cut them down quickly, with no qualms about it. My students know they can file complaints in the suggestion box, which is conveniently located in the front of the room below the light switch or behind the door. One finds the box is filled with pencil shavings, tissues, and unwanted scraps of paper.
Finally, the kids say I won’t let them do anything. I rarely believe a student. Students lie. I seldom put faith in the stories they tell. Sixth graders will lie to you just as soon as look at you. One student said she doesn’t lie because she is a Christian. Sadly and regrettably, I could not contain my laughter.
In short, in the mind of a child, not having one’s way is akin to the Teacher (read: aggressor) being unfair. This is school. It is a job. I’ll do mine; the students will do this—or face a consequence.
19 students tallied
16 answered no
3 answered undecided
The pervasive theme was that I give warnings and writing assignments without cause. My rules are simple. They are defined thus: when a student speaks without permission, he is given a verbal warning; when this occurs twice, said student is given a writing assignment.
Next, the students contend I play favorites. This has some truth. I find myself picking the same students to pass out papers. These students though are efficient. They do it quickly and quietly to the point where no instruction is given to them on the process. The students desperate to pass out papers are those who skip entire rows of students, miscount, and chat along the way.
Another point of contention is that Mr. Farmer plays opera. No sensible black man would listen to opera. That I am from Memphis, the students suggest, means I should be hardcore and hate opera. I put it another way: the kids are listening to Mozart and Verdi, something other than the norm, what they are used to.
The students write I speak in Spanish. While I do have a Spanish-speaking student in class, the words are not for him. I speak in Spanish in class so that I may keep my job. In times of frustration (mostly with administrators), I let loose. I now use either French or Italian. But with my luck, one of my lambs summers in Paris every year.
Further, the children argue I am rude because I cut them off. They are sixth graders. They will try to take you bird walking every day. I will not lose instructional time on petty questions. I cut them down quickly, with no qualms about it. My students know they can file complaints in the suggestion box, which is conveniently located in the front of the room below the light switch or behind the door. One finds the box is filled with pencil shavings, tissues, and unwanted scraps of paper.
Finally, the kids say I won’t let them do anything. I rarely believe a student. Students lie. I seldom put faith in the stories they tell. Sixth graders will lie to you just as soon as look at you. One student said she doesn’t lie because she is a Christian. Sadly and regrettably, I could not contain my laughter.
In short, in the mind of a child, not having one’s way is akin to the Teacher (read: aggressor) being unfair. This is school. It is a job. I’ll do mine; the students will do this—or face a consequence.
Early Failure…
I preface this post offering that it is decidedly written in a vein of stram-of-conscoiusness.
Six weeks into the new year and my biggest failure is easily and readily identifiable. I get hopelessly behind on the paperwork and administrivia. Seemingly, since I began working in the district, there are billions of forms and papers that must filled out and turned into different people. Normally, I am pretty good with scheduling and organizing, but this year it is a no-go.
Every day I check my mailbox with fear and trembling. It started with textbook forms. The assistant principal gets those. Next came the inventory and fixed assets. There is more. Teachers were required to complete interest inventories for the children and submit them. Data sheets have to be submitted to the instructional coach.
Because the district is in trouble academically, there are extra forms that always need to be submitted so that the administration covers its hindquarters. These forms show up in various forms and guises and always need to be submitted to different people on different days by certain times. It seems simple enough, right? The commonsense solution would be to make a chart or spreadsheet or find some innocuous Google application to take care it. Alas, we get to the core of the problem. Time management.
I cannot make heads or tails of anything on most days. My grade-level chair calls me up and asks if have a sheet that was due last Tuesday. Problem is four days have passed since that Tuesday. And if I didn’t submit the sheet to the grade-level chair on Tuesday, chances are I haven’t done it yet. I rush home to complete or fill out some sheet only to remember I left it at work in the other folder or that the tools requisite to complete the data I needed to get from another teacher.
I get better. I have a box of manila folders ready to be labelled and categorized. I use different colors and brightly-colored permanent markers to label it all. By filing, I realize the loads and stacks (there are stacks) of paper are more manageable and less intense.
Also, I discover that saying to myself when something is do over and over again is a trend worth keeping. It gets the desired results. I am almost at the point where if things are not always on time, they are returned the very next day, and, even better, sometimes a few hours after they are due.
In sum, the best way to prevent time-consuming paperwork is to get it done as soon as it is given. Putting it to the side so that one can focus more on planning and direct instruction is noble but altogether pointless. Eventually, one loses in the end, as a whole day must be set aside to neglect planning and work exclusively on paperwork. This post is the hope and dream of the man who can’t quite get it together desperately hoping to get it together.
Six weeks into the new year and my biggest failure is easily and readily identifiable. I get hopelessly behind on the paperwork and administrivia. Seemingly, since I began working in the district, there are billions of forms and papers that must filled out and turned into different people. Normally, I am pretty good with scheduling and organizing, but this year it is a no-go.
Every day I check my mailbox with fear and trembling. It started with textbook forms. The assistant principal gets those. Next came the inventory and fixed assets. There is more. Teachers were required to complete interest inventories for the children and submit them. Data sheets have to be submitted to the instructional coach.
Because the district is in trouble academically, there are extra forms that always need to be submitted so that the administration covers its hindquarters. These forms show up in various forms and guises and always need to be submitted to different people on different days by certain times. It seems simple enough, right? The commonsense solution would be to make a chart or spreadsheet or find some innocuous Google application to take care it. Alas, we get to the core of the problem. Time management.
I cannot make heads or tails of anything on most days. My grade-level chair calls me up and asks if have a sheet that was due last Tuesday. Problem is four days have passed since that Tuesday. And if I didn’t submit the sheet to the grade-level chair on Tuesday, chances are I haven’t done it yet. I rush home to complete or fill out some sheet only to remember I left it at work in the other folder or that the tools requisite to complete the data I needed to get from another teacher.
I get better. I have a box of manila folders ready to be labelled and categorized. I use different colors and brightly-colored permanent markers to label it all. By filing, I realize the loads and stacks (there are stacks) of paper are more manageable and less intense.
Also, I discover that saying to myself when something is do over and over again is a trend worth keeping. It gets the desired results. I am almost at the point where if things are not always on time, they are returned the very next day, and, even better, sometimes a few hours after they are due.
In sum, the best way to prevent time-consuming paperwork is to get it done as soon as it is given. Putting it to the side so that one can focus more on planning and direct instruction is noble but altogether pointless. Eventually, one loses in the end, as a whole day must be set aside to neglect planning and work exclusively on paperwork. This post is the hope and dream of the man who can’t quite get it together desperately hoping to get it together.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Old Blogs
I’ve Got a Feeling
Aug 19, 2010 2 comments
By now, the feeling has completely settled in. That my time now mostly belongs to the school and the district is readily present. That feeling sinks in, not necessarily in a bad way. But I learn through trial and error the feelings I go on the job with every morning many not be those with which I leave the job.
I am nearly settled in my present position. Still ironing out the kinks, I make mistakes. I am new to the district and the city. That’s expected, and, thus, my feeling that everything goes according to plan leaves me quickly. My classroom is nice, not great, but nice. It could use some touches that make it more inviting. But I’ve a feeling that my supervisors are more interested in student achievement than they are bright, shiny laminated posters.
With settling in comes the reaction to the students. My students, in my mind, are typical sixth graders. On the verge of becoming teenagers, they still want the teacher to hold their hands. Just as well and as soon, they want the freedoms afforded older students but without any actual responsibility that goes along with it. I’ve a feeling I will struggle with that. Treating the students like young adults who still instantly run up and ask for bandages for paper cuts is an interesting angle I learn to explore. I think their reactions were similar to mine. We were both new and trying to figure out who would crack first. The results: I’m standing; they’re sitting, not defeated, but ready to learn.
Finally, I’ve a feeling my management is decent. The classroom could be run better. Transitions should be seamless. Every student should know exactly what comes next. I try to be consistent because now it remains the calm before the storm. The biggest problem is chatting without permission and a couple students who have had some grown-up moments. Writing assignments are dished out with gusto and a tinge of sadness. I’ve a feeling I’ll get over it quickly. If I want a silent classroom, I know I must use the consequences all the time. Management is what it is: a tool I have at my disposal to make it all work. I’ve a feeling it will be my favorite tool.
In short, I’ve got a feeling this will be a decent year, not great, not terrible, but decent. If the students do what they are supposed to do and I follow suit, my time spent in upper elementary may be quite thrilling. That is the hope, the feeling. Time will tell. It’s an adventure, this noble profession. I hope to come out of it changed and alive, in every possible way. I might be wrong about all of this, but, so far, I’ve just got a feeling.
2 comments
Reflections on the Summer Training
Jul 14, 2010 2 comments
As I told my TEAM teacher, the summer went by quickly, very quickly. Maybe it was the dizzying pace that makes it so hard for me to recount all the important things. Perhaps it was the oppressive heat that makes it so difficult for me to differentiate the cant from the minutiae and the minutiae from the substance. It doesn’t matter, really; I’ll still give it a try.
I loved being in the classroom. Education, I said and will say forevermore, is the great equalizer, the leveller. With it, you have a chance; without it, best of luck and warm wishes, dear fellow. That said, summer school was equal parts success, nonsense, and filler. I enjoyed almost all of it, walking away with the feeling I would still do it all once more, the second time for luck.
The successes include the very notion of the cohort's teaching for five weeks. My being in the classroom meant I got to transmit factual content knowledge to the students, my charges. That I enjoyed very much. Having duty at first seemed strange. But I grew into the roles assigned to me: lunch and bathroom monitor. There was a point to all of it, off course. Slow on the uptake, I finally got it: presence. Teacher presence is needed everywhere, not just in front of the classroom. Learning does not occur in only the classroom. Teaching moments, as well as disciplinary moments, linger everywhere, the hallway, the cafeteria, the bathroom, and sometimes just around the riverbend.
Other successes involved the role plays. Helpful though they were, there was too much repetition and time involved. On the spot decision making is a great lesson to be learned. Broken down into parts, the role plays had many faults. But as a whole, they worked, and worked well.
The workshops can be labelled successful for differing reasons. Some were hit and miss. When you are a new teacher in a new state, you must hold all information as vital. That is what I did and hope to use what I learned. Activities that involve the whole cohort are usually successful because they flow based on group dynamics, which is, thus far, positive and coherent. Working with administrators is a no-brainer. Do as you are told, easy enough. Many students will have IEP’s. Accommodate and be proactive. These things needed to be taught, lest we fall back on that old chestnut “Well, I didn’t know.” Success is objective. But having the tools for success readily available and dispersed into 2-hour sessions makes life and teaching in the Corps easier.
The nonsense included the clubs and the harried lunch routine in summer school. The clubs could work at a real school, never in a summer school. Only in Mississippi is a twenty-minute lunch considered acceptable. I remember to work with the system and be flexible. In twenty minutes, that’s all one can do really.
The filler included the moments when we away from summer training but still in summer training. Lesson planning was often independent and trying. Yes, we had the Wiki and Dr. Monroe’s guide sheet. Still, I noticed no two lesson plan formats were the same. Even in jest, the cohort incorporated training into our own extracurricular activities. When someone spoke out of turn, a warning was issued. When the group got rowdy, someone threatened a cohort-wide consequence. We used our teacher voices appropriately. We found ourselves modeling instructions and regaling others with a teacher stance or stare.
In short, summer training was good and bad for all the right reasons. Few expected a seamless operation. That is unrealistic. In the moments when the wheels were asked, we were amenable to change, flexible. When things went right, we learned, just like real teachers, don’t always expect any credit. When things go wrong, we accepted, just like real teachers to shoulder the blame and move on. Summer training by itself, the very words, represents something unexpected. The idea of summer is one of vacations and frolic and relaxation (even if you work all year long, owing to what are considered the lazy days of summer). Training brings to mind rigorous reapplication of what is modelled and practiced. Summer training, for me, was the world into which we entered half-knowing it wouldn’t always go as intended. But when it worked well, and on many occasions it did, summer training blossomed into what it was all along meant to be: exciting and dreadful.
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Reflections on a Second Year’s Blog
Jul 14, 2010 1 comment
I chose to comment on Conor McDowell’s blog. When I first reached Northgate Apartments on Sunday, May 30, Conor was the first person I saw/met. He had parked—rather well, I might add—in one of the empty spaces in front of Northgate, Building B. Seeing several parking spots open, I decided to take one for myself. Problem: I cannot parallel park to save a child’s life. So, depending on the kindness of strangers, as I often do to varying levels of success, I politely asked Mr. McDowell if he would park my car. He did so willingly; I appreciated the act of kindness. Introductions were made. He welcomed me to the Corps. And off we went on our separate ways.
After reading Conor’s relatively short posts, I concluded he enjoys the program and teaching, though one would be hard-pressed to get Conor to readily admit such. To begin, Conor started out with much hesitation, in the way he planned lessons, taught lessons, and handled discipline. Hindsight plays a huge role when he revisits his errors. I believe that when he was given multiple chances to remedy his ills, he still felt unsure and unready in his role as a teacher.
Classroom management boiled down to inconsistency. For lack of a better word, inconsistency often means slipshod management or acquiescence to continuing misbehavior. Either way, Conor is amazing at pinpointing his faulty spots. Eliminating or mitigating them is where the trouble is.
There were bright spots in Conor’s blog. His thoughts on the Ruby Payne book were unfailingly honest and refreshing. The connections he made for poverty and discipline can be taken at face value. In this region, it is seemingly manifest that kids take the easy way out, even in punishment. That he is willing to incorporate what he learned into his future classes shows improvement and growth.
Like the rest of us, Conor had mixed feelings about videotaped lessons and summer school’s effectiveness. He made clear he found problems in the programs. But he went further and struck a balance. For every negative, there was a positive. He incorporated what the Corps stresses. Few can deny Conor is receptive, save for his own ideas and suggestions, which, for better or worse, are hopeful yet imbued with an overarching reluctance.
Finally, in what may have been his best posts, Conor gives reasons to join and not to join the Corps. One can tell Conor easily played out these scenarios in his head, for they are well thought out. His views on administrative bumbling sound too real, and his thoughts that kids may slight you in every way imaginable are all too true. Yet you still love the kids and somehow hope the bosses get it right and right can’t get here fast enough.
Conor McDowell is a thoughtful novice in his posts. Conor is a Northerner finding his way in the South, which is an impressive feat, to be sure. He has stumbled, he has faltered, and he has failed. He is never bitter about the experience. He wants only to get better and make an impact. That is commendable and telling. It can be said of Conor that though his posts were brief, he revealed more by genuinely reflecting on his experience, warts and all.
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Reactions to the Second Recorded Lesson
Jul 10, 2010 1 comment
Perhaps it was the pacing, the clarity, or even the impact of the lesson that made my second recorded something to treasure. It was my fifth and final formal reservation. I was, of course, under due stress to perform well and perhaps score my highest tally yet. All things considered, my lesson on July 6, 2010 went off wondrously, and I am the better for it. Who knew a lesson on tools of persuasion, specifically logical fallacies, could meld into, what was called by my TEAM teacher, my best lesson thus far?
It goes without saying the lesson had been carefully prepared with a calculus of dynamics planned. I had to get it right. I was recording myself. The lecture had to miss nothing, cover all, and have humor. Indeed, parts of the lesson were decidedly superficial (we had much to cover), but I succeeded. And I am well-nigh pleased.
To begin, my lesson was near fragmented. Accordingly, a lesson on logical fallacies demands such; I wanted to move from hodgepodge to seamless transitions. The students caught on and performed well with it. The beginning of class was hushed as the students worked on the bellringer. The set was delivered in my “relate to the students” voice. It worked! The lesson’s objective was adhered to as though my life depended on it.
Teacher talk was not a problem. (True, I still loathe the sound of my voice.) My time management skills had been getting better with every lesson. I followed the clock with unfailing obsession. That paid off. As I got into the different logical fallacies, the students recited the names they had learned for fallacies. I was stumped; and I told them so. I had never heard of the “plain folks” fallacy.
In university, the philosophy professor had used the traditional Latin. I knew ad hominem tu quoque, but plain folks didn’t ring a bell. Nor did it reside somewhere in my memory from my middle and secondary years. I did what I think helped to endear me to the students: I admitted I didn’t know something. The class went totally silent for a quick second, and we all recovered from the revelation.
I lectured and had a student pass out the worksheet. The guided practice was solid. They caught on quickly! Independent practice was silent and independent (for the most part). I still issued consequences. An aside, for every consequence, I gave praise. Striking a balance has been tough. But I have become better at it. Informal assessment saw my touching the four walls, checking on nearly every student. My closure was a review and summary that worked as well as the set. Finally, I dismissed by my quietest rows.
In sum, I am most pleased with the lesson. My teacher presence was and is there. While the lesson was not monumental or life changing, I felt like a teacher with a goal. I needed to do what I had not already done: have mastery (and not only for the students) within a fifty-minute block. I needed to do more than what was required. This recorded session, I contend, makes up for what my first recorded lesson was not. Attempts at teaching have morphed into truly convincing teaching. I am the better for it.
Second recorded lesson grade: A
Evaluation score: 77 (out of 77)
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Reactions to a Recorded Lesson
Jul 3, 2010 Post a comment
Those who know me well know I can tolerate any mistake--except my own. So watching a recorded version my teaching lends itself to problems too manifest to be enumerated and too large to be dissected. Off I go. I first recorded myself teach on Thursday, June 18, 2010. My lesson covered peer revision and was recorded during Week 2 of summer school. In this blog, if I seem too stream of consciousness, do forgive me. I want this post to reflect all the thoughts going through my mind as I re-watched myself teach.
To begin, I thought the overall lesson was solid. The students participated when required, worked silently when directed, and wrote effectively when asked. Nonetheless, I have minor quibbles.
My set was far too long. My instructions at the beginning of the independent practice were hesitant and tentative. My attempts at humor were hit and miss. But the lesson was solid. I had the students write about their favorite movies. They had to write the way they would normally write an essay. Then, they exchanged papers and revised.
Relatively few students were off task. And those who were did not know how to start. The session shows me urging students to begin. That I did well, with confidence and authority. Another idea that came forth was to incorporate plot points of the film Friday. What a great idea! The lesson soared to new heights. It was quiet and controlled, but engaging rather, a model of success for me. Not all days were like this. My team leader can attest to that. But this lesson was solid!
Moving on from content, I moved around enough. I am rather rotund, so it took some maneuvering, but I managed to patrol the rows, making sure the students were working. The beginning of class was a little chatty, but the students settled into a reluctant hush mode. That was good! I talked too much. Too much teacher talk will be my undoing. I worked well with students during the actual independent practice. Many just wanted to spell a word or recall who was in the picture. Still, I like to think I offered some assistance. My repetition was not as bad. I have been told I repeat myself to the point of being comical. That did not happen this time. For that I am grateful!
Finally, the recorded lesson showed that my voice does some crazy things. At different parts of the lesson, I come across as confident. When my instructions are shaky, so is my voice. When my closure is decent, so is my voice. I realize I must take a very sharp intake of breath to avoid the dreaded sibilant “s” I am prone to lapse into when speaking very slowly. At my more comfortable rapid speech, all consonants and vowels are given their due. On tape, it appears that some words just drag on and on. Obviously, I hate the sound of my voice, recorded or not.
In sum, nerves didn’t really get the best of me. I had an easy lesson, a great topic for the students to write, and a halfway decent close. Far from my worst lesson, the recorded Mr. Farmer can improve and hopes to daily. Overall, I learned to just breathe, relax, and speak slowly when giving directions. We are all the better for it.
Recorded lesson grade: B-
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Reactions to Reluctant Disciplinarian
Jun 26, 2010 1 comment
After reading the short book, I first noticed many of the scenarios described in the book were topics of discussion in our classroom and are things I have done and seen thus far in summer school teaching. It certainly helps to have reinforcements. Author Gary Rubinstein is at his strongest when enumerates and categorizes the dos and don’ts of teaching.
To be sure, Rubinstein, like many before and after him, becomes a teacher hoping to effect change in young people’s lives and maybe stumble into a career. Of course, he is overparted by the actual events in the classroom. Just as we are told not to yell, argue, and outsource, we read about someone who makes all the rookie mistakes.
Particularly noteworthy are the sections where Rubinstein lists the characteristics of real teachers. We are taught that these teachers are not necessarily real teachers; they are effective teachers. They are those who have plans and answers at the ready. Rubinstein rightly admits his first-year mistakes are not terrible, but they are expected. No matter how many books are read or professional developments are attended, the only teacher training is on-the-job training.
Through teaching, Rubinstein learns to have rules and procedures. He learns to affix himself to a veteran teacher. He learns to develop a style, one that is honest and not in the mold of the saintly educator here to rescue the innocents. I find that the book is short and refreshing. For a novice teacher, the book can be referred to many times. Rubinstein has clearly laid out what works and what doesn’t. Further, I have heard so many veteran teachers echo Rubinstein’s points; I am nearly convinced that something must be right. As successful teachers do and say (model), it is more than wise for the rookies to listen and follow (not blindly, but accordingly).
In sum, I hope to implement many of the strategies set forth by Rubinstein. His suggestions appear on many classroom management techniques. The students, as Rubinstein often funnily points out, really want a teacher who takes charge, takes the lead, and takes no prisoners. Learning occurs in a classroom where there is structure and procedure. The reluctant disciplinarian yells, screams, hoots, and hollers. He goes home exhausted. Brimming with energy, the students go home. The dedicated disciplinarian plans, structures, teaches, and manages. Bursting with knowledge, the students go home. It is my hope and prayer to fall into the latter category.
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Freewrite Assignment
Jun 23, 2010 2 comments
Obviously, I am different. I speak differently. I look different. I behave differently. All of this must be true. When I stand in front of the classroom, these thoughts and others race through my head.
My kids are huge rap and hip-hop fans, as are most young adults my age. Thus far, I have heard talk of T.I., Lil’ Wayne, Boosie, and Yo Gotti. This is the first difference. I don’t care for any of these people. It would make my day if a student said his or her favorite singer was Joan Sutherland. But I’m learning to acclimate. What I consider to be nonsensical noise, the kids gobble up.
My kids watch (too much) television. I am not much a fan. As a result, I have no idea what they are talking about when making references to specific shows. This is another difference. I imagine many shows are risque and not suited for young adults. But I’m learning to acclimate.
My kids love movies. I am a fan of the really good ones. We were doing an in-class activity where we listed and described our favorite movies. Not surprisingly, my favorite is Lawrence of Arabia. My kids are in the Rush Hour, Friday, and Transformers group. But I’m learning to acclimate.
Differences are not a bad thing, not at all. We are all different. Without going after-school special, I hope that it is my differences that help me. The students are probably used to new people coming to the schools to teach. And while many of the teachers in the cohort hail from all over, California, Texas, and New York to name a few, it might be strange for my kids to know I grew up only thirty-five miles away. I want to my perceived differences to act as building blocks. I will learn more from the students.
So far, I do not rant. What I have done is set my priorities. I need to learn and discover what holds my students’ interests. Surely, most, if not all, of it can be tied to a quality lesson. I want my differences to become strengths. Now I try to catch snippets of the students’ conversations, not for spying, but for those water-cooler moments when they discuss the show, the movie, and/or the song that has caught their collective attention. It can be never be a bad thing to use lyrics and dialogue to demonstrate that reading and writing are incredibly exciting and altogether worthwhile.
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First Weeks of Summer School
Jun 23, 2010 Post a comment
Of course, I had many hopes of how I wanted to start the summer school training. And true to form, I started out halfway decently. I use the term “halfway” not to indicate that I gave halfway effort, but to allow for the actual results, which directly from my own uncertainties and failings. I can tolerate anybody’s mistakes, except my own. Some teacher I will be, right? From a good start to a rocky middle plagued with doubt and mild self-loathing, I am confident I can make it.
Once I finally started teaching, all was well. I was enforcing the rules and consequences with gusto. I began to establish a rapport or some norm, one where the students could expect consistency. I wanted to convey knowledge throughout. The students were to know I had content knowledge. Further, I was to know they had knowledge of acceptable and appropriate behavior. All was well.
But now there is a disconnect. In a little over a week, I feel as though I am losing them, one by one, slowly but surely. And once something is gone, anything really, it is hard to get back. I take full responsibility, to be sure. So now I must enter the classroom, ever ready to match behavior. (In the classroom, per our training, there is no misbehavior; there is only behavior, and it all must be managed well.) The key, according to my team leader and second years, is constant reinforcing of rules. The disconnect is my falling into the dreaded chestnut “They should just know how to behave.”
Nor is that unexpected. I chose the program for a reason. I love academic/intellectual rigor. Teaching these students requires a different rigor. I must tap into something grand and long-lasting to get and keep them. Management sounds like a strange word in education. I know, without equivocations, management comes with time. In this program, one’s placement is directly tied into regions where students do not have time. The regions need teachers with the minds and skills to manage then teach, and not vice versa. It is unexpected that I did not know this from day one. To survive in the program, management comes first. That is the real rigor.
Moving on, I can share some decent news. I know all the students’ names. I know less teacher talk is a good thing. I know the students should be working at all times, as it leaves less time for behavior. I know I have the remainder of the summer session to get it right.
In short, I still have high hopes for how I want the summer to go. I hate using cliched sayings like “step my game up” and “bring in the big guns.” So I resort to the tried and formula for management and hope to have it with me: be firm, be fair, and be consistent.
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The Cup or Questioning Techniques
Jun 19, 2010 Post a comment
This past Monday, I, as well as my cohort, have been using a questioning technique, with predictably interesting results.
As it happens, my first lesson and first formal evaluation coincided. Before the beginning of the class, I wrote the students’ names on popsicle sticks and placed said sticks in a Styrofoam cup. The cup was placed on a desk in the corner near the front of the classroom. During my lectures and discussions, I find myself asking questions. Sure, I use the waiting method. But who wants blanket silence? Don’t get me wrong; I love a silent classroom. Thirty seconds of silence after an easy question can be a number of things, saddening, maddening, disheartening, and the like.
When students give no response after a lengthy wait time, I have since gone to The Cup, as they are wont to call it. There is one student in particular, a girl, who loathes The Cup. She is not afraid to admit it her dislike of The Cup. She exclaims after I pose a question and start walking toward The Cup, “Raise y’all hands; he’s going to The Cup. I hate that.” Our little bully has forced a dozen kids into raising their hands. Whether they want to answer questions is of no consequence to her. In addition, the girl has convinced herself that, by raising her hand for every question, she will not be called. Poor dear. The concern I have is that students who raise their hands do so only because they fear my pulling sticks.
It doesn’t work that way. I still use The Cup. I still cold call. It makes the students listen and stay alert. Further, it helps me learn names. I pull a stick, show it to the class, and automatically, all heads turn to the student whose name appears. I do worry about overuse of The Cup. If I go to it all the time, I could lose them.
Throughout the week, I quickly learned to modify its use. Resorting to The Cup only when I feel or see lackluster participation, I usually have decent participation. My lessons are usually things the students have covered and can easily grasp. So now, my worries are limited. And of course, when my students shirk from being Volunteers (raising their hands of their own accord), they become Victims (their names are drawn and they are forced to answer).
Indeed, I will use The Cup in my own classroom. It will be under a sign that reads “The Cup.”
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Initial Reaction to Delta Autumn
Jun 13, 2010 Post a comment
Mississippi Teacher Corps. Delta Autumn: A guide for First-Year Teachers in the Mississippi Delta (Oxford, 2001). 176 pp.
A book with an important role in Mississippi Teacher Corps (MTC) history, Delta Autumn is at once a primer for novice teachers in the Delta and an economic, social, and political history surrounding storied movement in state education. The main goal of the book is fulfilled in two ways. Chief among those is how relevant and connected the history of statewide education is to surviving the first year teaching. To be sure, the initial development of statewide education gives pause—for good reason—but the end result is a more equitable framework that serves to ensure academic success for Mississippi’s poorest students.
The history of education cannot be divorced from race. The motivating factor in every political and legal decision involving education, race is the issue at the core of education in the Delta. For those living in the Delta, Blacks seemingly never got anywhere or anything from their state-issued education during any part of the twentieth century. Segregation, populist rhetoric, and racism prevented any progress for Blacks academically. Sadly, even now, the area falls victim to inadequate standards. Lengthy court battles, murders, riots, and school closures aided none and did little to ensure quality education in the Delta. Even more, that it took until the early 80s for educational parity to come to fore is harrowing and another blight on Mississippi’s record. Thus, the history of education is one of relative paucity in the sate. Nearly nonexistent though it was, said history is improving, though race continually looms in the background.
Moving on, the second way Delta Autumn fulfills its goal pervades the bulk of the book. The book proves most helpful when it offers tips and advice to new teachers. Organized with clarity, the book covers nearly everything the Delta teacher needs and wants. Initial reading indicates that teachers are forced to choose which battles they will fight, concerning problem students, apathetic parents, indifferent communities and the like.
As a teacher who taught in the past, I found the special education section most helpful. My English III/IV classroom was inclusion. Many of my students had IEPs, and I was made to accommodate accordingly. I modified lesson plans, gave extra time, read test questions, etc. It got to a point where I made the same modifications for everyone as to cut down on lesson planning and additional grading. Sad though it may be, I knew some of the students should not have been on the SPED rosters. Of course, there were students whom I recommended for placement on the same rosters. Special education will appear and reappear in my line of work. As confusing as it is, I want to do what I can to include all students, without purposely excluding others.
That reading levels are not commensurate with grade levels is flat-out frightening. I too encountered this last school year with the students. Students made to read Emerson and Dickinson were out of the loop when words and sentences do not form into recognizable wholes. I struggled in vain to make connections to modern life. I admit I failed in that respect. I think I taught it the way I learned it. While I thought my methods were reasonable, the students engaged in word calling and retained nothing. Reading and writing have to be drilled and assessed on a near constant basis to ensure success in the classroom.
Finally, the actual teaching of English will be the biggest challenge. As many of my students do not speak what is considered Standard American English, I must prepare and drill for that too. Pronunciation, enunciation, and articulation must become part of the lesson. I want my students to compete outside of their hometowns. Words, both spoken and written, have to be their weapon of choice. The book offers great tips on resolving some issues, but other issues will come to fore invariably. How shall I deal with that? Teaching English forces me to come up with some strategies not always used. But the book mentions them: tricks! To teach English is to know the students are behind what is considered normal. The book teaches that it is not so much a challenge as it is an opportunity.
In sum, Delta Autumn is a read divvied up. Educational history, methodology, and subject-area guide it purports to be, Delta Autumn is more. The book was presented at the right moment, the beginning of the journey. I am sure members of the cohort will find themselves adding to it, either through penciled emendations of personal copies or serving as contributors on new printings. I walk away feeling I have learned what I needed. Had I possessed the book last year, I might have been a halfway-decent instructor. My pratfalls were too great and the learning of what works and what does not came too late. I can start the new school year off right, with a copy of Delta Autumn in the top left drawer of my desk in the classroom.
Aug 19, 2010 2 comments
By now, the feeling has completely settled in. That my time now mostly belongs to the school and the district is readily present. That feeling sinks in, not necessarily in a bad way. But I learn through trial and error the feelings I go on the job with every morning many not be those with which I leave the job.
I am nearly settled in my present position. Still ironing out the kinks, I make mistakes. I am new to the district and the city. That’s expected, and, thus, my feeling that everything goes according to plan leaves me quickly. My classroom is nice, not great, but nice. It could use some touches that make it more inviting. But I’ve a feeling that my supervisors are more interested in student achievement than they are bright, shiny laminated posters.
With settling in comes the reaction to the students. My students, in my mind, are typical sixth graders. On the verge of becoming teenagers, they still want the teacher to hold their hands. Just as well and as soon, they want the freedoms afforded older students but without any actual responsibility that goes along with it. I’ve a feeling I will struggle with that. Treating the students like young adults who still instantly run up and ask for bandages for paper cuts is an interesting angle I learn to explore. I think their reactions were similar to mine. We were both new and trying to figure out who would crack first. The results: I’m standing; they’re sitting, not defeated, but ready to learn.
Finally, I’ve a feeling my management is decent. The classroom could be run better. Transitions should be seamless. Every student should know exactly what comes next. I try to be consistent because now it remains the calm before the storm. The biggest problem is chatting without permission and a couple students who have had some grown-up moments. Writing assignments are dished out with gusto and a tinge of sadness. I’ve a feeling I’ll get over it quickly. If I want a silent classroom, I know I must use the consequences all the time. Management is what it is: a tool I have at my disposal to make it all work. I’ve a feeling it will be my favorite tool.
In short, I’ve got a feeling this will be a decent year, not great, not terrible, but decent. If the students do what they are supposed to do and I follow suit, my time spent in upper elementary may be quite thrilling. That is the hope, the feeling. Time will tell. It’s an adventure, this noble profession. I hope to come out of it changed and alive, in every possible way. I might be wrong about all of this, but, so far, I’ve just got a feeling.
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Reflections on the Summer Training
Jul 14, 2010 2 comments
As I told my TEAM teacher, the summer went by quickly, very quickly. Maybe it was the dizzying pace that makes it so hard for me to recount all the important things. Perhaps it was the oppressive heat that makes it so difficult for me to differentiate the cant from the minutiae and the minutiae from the substance. It doesn’t matter, really; I’ll still give it a try.
I loved being in the classroom. Education, I said and will say forevermore, is the great equalizer, the leveller. With it, you have a chance; without it, best of luck and warm wishes, dear fellow. That said, summer school was equal parts success, nonsense, and filler. I enjoyed almost all of it, walking away with the feeling I would still do it all once more, the second time for luck.
The successes include the very notion of the cohort's teaching for five weeks. My being in the classroom meant I got to transmit factual content knowledge to the students, my charges. That I enjoyed very much. Having duty at first seemed strange. But I grew into the roles assigned to me: lunch and bathroom monitor. There was a point to all of it, off course. Slow on the uptake, I finally got it: presence. Teacher presence is needed everywhere, not just in front of the classroom. Learning does not occur in only the classroom. Teaching moments, as well as disciplinary moments, linger everywhere, the hallway, the cafeteria, the bathroom, and sometimes just around the riverbend.
Other successes involved the role plays. Helpful though they were, there was too much repetition and time involved. On the spot decision making is a great lesson to be learned. Broken down into parts, the role plays had many faults. But as a whole, they worked, and worked well.
The workshops can be labelled successful for differing reasons. Some were hit and miss. When you are a new teacher in a new state, you must hold all information as vital. That is what I did and hope to use what I learned. Activities that involve the whole cohort are usually successful because they flow based on group dynamics, which is, thus far, positive and coherent. Working with administrators is a no-brainer. Do as you are told, easy enough. Many students will have IEP’s. Accommodate and be proactive. These things needed to be taught, lest we fall back on that old chestnut “Well, I didn’t know.” Success is objective. But having the tools for success readily available and dispersed into 2-hour sessions makes life and teaching in the Corps easier.
The nonsense included the clubs and the harried lunch routine in summer school. The clubs could work at a real school, never in a summer school. Only in Mississippi is a twenty-minute lunch considered acceptable. I remember to work with the system and be flexible. In twenty minutes, that’s all one can do really.
The filler included the moments when we away from summer training but still in summer training. Lesson planning was often independent and trying. Yes, we had the Wiki and Dr. Monroe’s guide sheet. Still, I noticed no two lesson plan formats were the same. Even in jest, the cohort incorporated training into our own extracurricular activities. When someone spoke out of turn, a warning was issued. When the group got rowdy, someone threatened a cohort-wide consequence. We used our teacher voices appropriately. We found ourselves modeling instructions and regaling others with a teacher stance or stare.
In short, summer training was good and bad for all the right reasons. Few expected a seamless operation. That is unrealistic. In the moments when the wheels were asked, we were amenable to change, flexible. When things went right, we learned, just like real teachers, don’t always expect any credit. When things go wrong, we accepted, just like real teachers to shoulder the blame and move on. Summer training by itself, the very words, represents something unexpected. The idea of summer is one of vacations and frolic and relaxation (even if you work all year long, owing to what are considered the lazy days of summer). Training brings to mind rigorous reapplication of what is modelled and practiced. Summer training, for me, was the world into which we entered half-knowing it wouldn’t always go as intended. But when it worked well, and on many occasions it did, summer training blossomed into what it was all along meant to be: exciting and dreadful.
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Reflections on a Second Year’s Blog
Jul 14, 2010 1 comment
I chose to comment on Conor McDowell’s blog. When I first reached Northgate Apartments on Sunday, May 30, Conor was the first person I saw/met. He had parked—rather well, I might add—in one of the empty spaces in front of Northgate, Building B. Seeing several parking spots open, I decided to take one for myself. Problem: I cannot parallel park to save a child’s life. So, depending on the kindness of strangers, as I often do to varying levels of success, I politely asked Mr. McDowell if he would park my car. He did so willingly; I appreciated the act of kindness. Introductions were made. He welcomed me to the Corps. And off we went on our separate ways.
After reading Conor’s relatively short posts, I concluded he enjoys the program and teaching, though one would be hard-pressed to get Conor to readily admit such. To begin, Conor started out with much hesitation, in the way he planned lessons, taught lessons, and handled discipline. Hindsight plays a huge role when he revisits his errors. I believe that when he was given multiple chances to remedy his ills, he still felt unsure and unready in his role as a teacher.
Classroom management boiled down to inconsistency. For lack of a better word, inconsistency often means slipshod management or acquiescence to continuing misbehavior. Either way, Conor is amazing at pinpointing his faulty spots. Eliminating or mitigating them is where the trouble is.
There were bright spots in Conor’s blog. His thoughts on the Ruby Payne book were unfailingly honest and refreshing. The connections he made for poverty and discipline can be taken at face value. In this region, it is seemingly manifest that kids take the easy way out, even in punishment. That he is willing to incorporate what he learned into his future classes shows improvement and growth.
Like the rest of us, Conor had mixed feelings about videotaped lessons and summer school’s effectiveness. He made clear he found problems in the programs. But he went further and struck a balance. For every negative, there was a positive. He incorporated what the Corps stresses. Few can deny Conor is receptive, save for his own ideas and suggestions, which, for better or worse, are hopeful yet imbued with an overarching reluctance.
Finally, in what may have been his best posts, Conor gives reasons to join and not to join the Corps. One can tell Conor easily played out these scenarios in his head, for they are well thought out. His views on administrative bumbling sound too real, and his thoughts that kids may slight you in every way imaginable are all too true. Yet you still love the kids and somehow hope the bosses get it right and right can’t get here fast enough.
Conor McDowell is a thoughtful novice in his posts. Conor is a Northerner finding his way in the South, which is an impressive feat, to be sure. He has stumbled, he has faltered, and he has failed. He is never bitter about the experience. He wants only to get better and make an impact. That is commendable and telling. It can be said of Conor that though his posts were brief, he revealed more by genuinely reflecting on his experience, warts and all.
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Reactions to the Second Recorded Lesson
Jul 10, 2010 1 comment
Perhaps it was the pacing, the clarity, or even the impact of the lesson that made my second recorded something to treasure. It was my fifth and final formal reservation. I was, of course, under due stress to perform well and perhaps score my highest tally yet. All things considered, my lesson on July 6, 2010 went off wondrously, and I am the better for it. Who knew a lesson on tools of persuasion, specifically logical fallacies, could meld into, what was called by my TEAM teacher, my best lesson thus far?
It goes without saying the lesson had been carefully prepared with a calculus of dynamics planned. I had to get it right. I was recording myself. The lecture had to miss nothing, cover all, and have humor. Indeed, parts of the lesson were decidedly superficial (we had much to cover), but I succeeded. And I am well-nigh pleased.
To begin, my lesson was near fragmented. Accordingly, a lesson on logical fallacies demands such; I wanted to move from hodgepodge to seamless transitions. The students caught on and performed well with it. The beginning of class was hushed as the students worked on the bellringer. The set was delivered in my “relate to the students” voice. It worked! The lesson’s objective was adhered to as though my life depended on it.
Teacher talk was not a problem. (True, I still loathe the sound of my voice.) My time management skills had been getting better with every lesson. I followed the clock with unfailing obsession. That paid off. As I got into the different logical fallacies, the students recited the names they had learned for fallacies. I was stumped; and I told them so. I had never heard of the “plain folks” fallacy.
In university, the philosophy professor had used the traditional Latin. I knew ad hominem tu quoque, but plain folks didn’t ring a bell. Nor did it reside somewhere in my memory from my middle and secondary years. I did what I think helped to endear me to the students: I admitted I didn’t know something. The class went totally silent for a quick second, and we all recovered from the revelation.
I lectured and had a student pass out the worksheet. The guided practice was solid. They caught on quickly! Independent practice was silent and independent (for the most part). I still issued consequences. An aside, for every consequence, I gave praise. Striking a balance has been tough. But I have become better at it. Informal assessment saw my touching the four walls, checking on nearly every student. My closure was a review and summary that worked as well as the set. Finally, I dismissed by my quietest rows.
In sum, I am most pleased with the lesson. My teacher presence was and is there. While the lesson was not monumental or life changing, I felt like a teacher with a goal. I needed to do what I had not already done: have mastery (and not only for the students) within a fifty-minute block. I needed to do more than what was required. This recorded session, I contend, makes up for what my first recorded lesson was not. Attempts at teaching have morphed into truly convincing teaching. I am the better for it.
Second recorded lesson grade: A
Evaluation score: 77 (out of 77)
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Reactions to a Recorded Lesson
Jul 3, 2010 Post a comment
Those who know me well know I can tolerate any mistake--except my own. So watching a recorded version my teaching lends itself to problems too manifest to be enumerated and too large to be dissected. Off I go. I first recorded myself teach on Thursday, June 18, 2010. My lesson covered peer revision and was recorded during Week 2 of summer school. In this blog, if I seem too stream of consciousness, do forgive me. I want this post to reflect all the thoughts going through my mind as I re-watched myself teach.
To begin, I thought the overall lesson was solid. The students participated when required, worked silently when directed, and wrote effectively when asked. Nonetheless, I have minor quibbles.
My set was far too long. My instructions at the beginning of the independent practice were hesitant and tentative. My attempts at humor were hit and miss. But the lesson was solid. I had the students write about their favorite movies. They had to write the way they would normally write an essay. Then, they exchanged papers and revised.
Relatively few students were off task. And those who were did not know how to start. The session shows me urging students to begin. That I did well, with confidence and authority. Another idea that came forth was to incorporate plot points of the film Friday. What a great idea! The lesson soared to new heights. It was quiet and controlled, but engaging rather, a model of success for me. Not all days were like this. My team leader can attest to that. But this lesson was solid!
Moving on from content, I moved around enough. I am rather rotund, so it took some maneuvering, but I managed to patrol the rows, making sure the students were working. The beginning of class was a little chatty, but the students settled into a reluctant hush mode. That was good! I talked too much. Too much teacher talk will be my undoing. I worked well with students during the actual independent practice. Many just wanted to spell a word or recall who was in the picture. Still, I like to think I offered some assistance. My repetition was not as bad. I have been told I repeat myself to the point of being comical. That did not happen this time. For that I am grateful!
Finally, the recorded lesson showed that my voice does some crazy things. At different parts of the lesson, I come across as confident. When my instructions are shaky, so is my voice. When my closure is decent, so is my voice. I realize I must take a very sharp intake of breath to avoid the dreaded sibilant “s” I am prone to lapse into when speaking very slowly. At my more comfortable rapid speech, all consonants and vowels are given their due. On tape, it appears that some words just drag on and on. Obviously, I hate the sound of my voice, recorded or not.
In sum, nerves didn’t really get the best of me. I had an easy lesson, a great topic for the students to write, and a halfway decent close. Far from my worst lesson, the recorded Mr. Farmer can improve and hopes to daily. Overall, I learned to just breathe, relax, and speak slowly when giving directions. We are all the better for it.
Recorded lesson grade: B-
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Reactions to Reluctant Disciplinarian
Jun 26, 2010 1 comment
After reading the short book, I first noticed many of the scenarios described in the book were topics of discussion in our classroom and are things I have done and seen thus far in summer school teaching. It certainly helps to have reinforcements. Author Gary Rubinstein is at his strongest when enumerates and categorizes the dos and don’ts of teaching.
To be sure, Rubinstein, like many before and after him, becomes a teacher hoping to effect change in young people’s lives and maybe stumble into a career. Of course, he is overparted by the actual events in the classroom. Just as we are told not to yell, argue, and outsource, we read about someone who makes all the rookie mistakes.
Particularly noteworthy are the sections where Rubinstein lists the characteristics of real teachers. We are taught that these teachers are not necessarily real teachers; they are effective teachers. They are those who have plans and answers at the ready. Rubinstein rightly admits his first-year mistakes are not terrible, but they are expected. No matter how many books are read or professional developments are attended, the only teacher training is on-the-job training.
Through teaching, Rubinstein learns to have rules and procedures. He learns to affix himself to a veteran teacher. He learns to develop a style, one that is honest and not in the mold of the saintly educator here to rescue the innocents. I find that the book is short and refreshing. For a novice teacher, the book can be referred to many times. Rubinstein has clearly laid out what works and what doesn’t. Further, I have heard so many veteran teachers echo Rubinstein’s points; I am nearly convinced that something must be right. As successful teachers do and say (model), it is more than wise for the rookies to listen and follow (not blindly, but accordingly).
In sum, I hope to implement many of the strategies set forth by Rubinstein. His suggestions appear on many classroom management techniques. The students, as Rubinstein often funnily points out, really want a teacher who takes charge, takes the lead, and takes no prisoners. Learning occurs in a classroom where there is structure and procedure. The reluctant disciplinarian yells, screams, hoots, and hollers. He goes home exhausted. Brimming with energy, the students go home. The dedicated disciplinarian plans, structures, teaches, and manages. Bursting with knowledge, the students go home. It is my hope and prayer to fall into the latter category.
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Freewrite Assignment
Jun 23, 2010 2 comments
Obviously, I am different. I speak differently. I look different. I behave differently. All of this must be true. When I stand in front of the classroom, these thoughts and others race through my head.
My kids are huge rap and hip-hop fans, as are most young adults my age. Thus far, I have heard talk of T.I., Lil’ Wayne, Boosie, and Yo Gotti. This is the first difference. I don’t care for any of these people. It would make my day if a student said his or her favorite singer was Joan Sutherland. But I’m learning to acclimate. What I consider to be nonsensical noise, the kids gobble up.
My kids watch (too much) television. I am not much a fan. As a result, I have no idea what they are talking about when making references to specific shows. This is another difference. I imagine many shows are risque and not suited for young adults. But I’m learning to acclimate.
My kids love movies. I am a fan of the really good ones. We were doing an in-class activity where we listed and described our favorite movies. Not surprisingly, my favorite is Lawrence of Arabia. My kids are in the Rush Hour, Friday, and Transformers group. But I’m learning to acclimate.
Differences are not a bad thing, not at all. We are all different. Without going after-school special, I hope that it is my differences that help me. The students are probably used to new people coming to the schools to teach. And while many of the teachers in the cohort hail from all over, California, Texas, and New York to name a few, it might be strange for my kids to know I grew up only thirty-five miles away. I want to my perceived differences to act as building blocks. I will learn more from the students.
So far, I do not rant. What I have done is set my priorities. I need to learn and discover what holds my students’ interests. Surely, most, if not all, of it can be tied to a quality lesson. I want my differences to become strengths. Now I try to catch snippets of the students’ conversations, not for spying, but for those water-cooler moments when they discuss the show, the movie, and/or the song that has caught their collective attention. It can be never be a bad thing to use lyrics and dialogue to demonstrate that reading and writing are incredibly exciting and altogether worthwhile.
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First Weeks of Summer School
Jun 23, 2010 Post a comment
Of course, I had many hopes of how I wanted to start the summer school training. And true to form, I started out halfway decently. I use the term “halfway” not to indicate that I gave halfway effort, but to allow for the actual results, which directly from my own uncertainties and failings. I can tolerate anybody’s mistakes, except my own. Some teacher I will be, right? From a good start to a rocky middle plagued with doubt and mild self-loathing, I am confident I can make it.
Once I finally started teaching, all was well. I was enforcing the rules and consequences with gusto. I began to establish a rapport or some norm, one where the students could expect consistency. I wanted to convey knowledge throughout. The students were to know I had content knowledge. Further, I was to know they had knowledge of acceptable and appropriate behavior. All was well.
But now there is a disconnect. In a little over a week, I feel as though I am losing them, one by one, slowly but surely. And once something is gone, anything really, it is hard to get back. I take full responsibility, to be sure. So now I must enter the classroom, ever ready to match behavior. (In the classroom, per our training, there is no misbehavior; there is only behavior, and it all must be managed well.) The key, according to my team leader and second years, is constant reinforcing of rules. The disconnect is my falling into the dreaded chestnut “They should just know how to behave.”
Nor is that unexpected. I chose the program for a reason. I love academic/intellectual rigor. Teaching these students requires a different rigor. I must tap into something grand and long-lasting to get and keep them. Management sounds like a strange word in education. I know, without equivocations, management comes with time. In this program, one’s placement is directly tied into regions where students do not have time. The regions need teachers with the minds and skills to manage then teach, and not vice versa. It is unexpected that I did not know this from day one. To survive in the program, management comes first. That is the real rigor.
Moving on, I can share some decent news. I know all the students’ names. I know less teacher talk is a good thing. I know the students should be working at all times, as it leaves less time for behavior. I know I have the remainder of the summer session to get it right.
In short, I still have high hopes for how I want the summer to go. I hate using cliched sayings like “step my game up” and “bring in the big guns.” So I resort to the tried and formula for management and hope to have it with me: be firm, be fair, and be consistent.
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The Cup or Questioning Techniques
Jun 19, 2010 Post a comment
This past Monday, I, as well as my cohort, have been using a questioning technique, with predictably interesting results.
As it happens, my first lesson and first formal evaluation coincided. Before the beginning of the class, I wrote the students’ names on popsicle sticks and placed said sticks in a Styrofoam cup. The cup was placed on a desk in the corner near the front of the classroom. During my lectures and discussions, I find myself asking questions. Sure, I use the waiting method. But who wants blanket silence? Don’t get me wrong; I love a silent classroom. Thirty seconds of silence after an easy question can be a number of things, saddening, maddening, disheartening, and the like.
When students give no response after a lengthy wait time, I have since gone to The Cup, as they are wont to call it. There is one student in particular, a girl, who loathes The Cup. She is not afraid to admit it her dislike of The Cup. She exclaims after I pose a question and start walking toward The Cup, “Raise y’all hands; he’s going to The Cup. I hate that.” Our little bully has forced a dozen kids into raising their hands. Whether they want to answer questions is of no consequence to her. In addition, the girl has convinced herself that, by raising her hand for every question, she will not be called. Poor dear. The concern I have is that students who raise their hands do so only because they fear my pulling sticks.
It doesn’t work that way. I still use The Cup. I still cold call. It makes the students listen and stay alert. Further, it helps me learn names. I pull a stick, show it to the class, and automatically, all heads turn to the student whose name appears. I do worry about overuse of The Cup. If I go to it all the time, I could lose them.
Throughout the week, I quickly learned to modify its use. Resorting to The Cup only when I feel or see lackluster participation, I usually have decent participation. My lessons are usually things the students have covered and can easily grasp. So now, my worries are limited. And of course, when my students shirk from being Volunteers (raising their hands of their own accord), they become Victims (their names are drawn and they are forced to answer).
Indeed, I will use The Cup in my own classroom. It will be under a sign that reads “The Cup.”
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Initial Reaction to Delta Autumn
Jun 13, 2010 Post a comment
Mississippi Teacher Corps. Delta Autumn: A guide for First-Year Teachers in the Mississippi Delta (Oxford, 2001). 176 pp.
A book with an important role in Mississippi Teacher Corps (MTC) history, Delta Autumn is at once a primer for novice teachers in the Delta and an economic, social, and political history surrounding storied movement in state education. The main goal of the book is fulfilled in two ways. Chief among those is how relevant and connected the history of statewide education is to surviving the first year teaching. To be sure, the initial development of statewide education gives pause—for good reason—but the end result is a more equitable framework that serves to ensure academic success for Mississippi’s poorest students.
The history of education cannot be divorced from race. The motivating factor in every political and legal decision involving education, race is the issue at the core of education in the Delta. For those living in the Delta, Blacks seemingly never got anywhere or anything from their state-issued education during any part of the twentieth century. Segregation, populist rhetoric, and racism prevented any progress for Blacks academically. Sadly, even now, the area falls victim to inadequate standards. Lengthy court battles, murders, riots, and school closures aided none and did little to ensure quality education in the Delta. Even more, that it took until the early 80s for educational parity to come to fore is harrowing and another blight on Mississippi’s record. Thus, the history of education is one of relative paucity in the sate. Nearly nonexistent though it was, said history is improving, though race continually looms in the background.
Moving on, the second way Delta Autumn fulfills its goal pervades the bulk of the book. The book proves most helpful when it offers tips and advice to new teachers. Organized with clarity, the book covers nearly everything the Delta teacher needs and wants. Initial reading indicates that teachers are forced to choose which battles they will fight, concerning problem students, apathetic parents, indifferent communities and the like.
As a teacher who taught in the past, I found the special education section most helpful. My English III/IV classroom was inclusion. Many of my students had IEPs, and I was made to accommodate accordingly. I modified lesson plans, gave extra time, read test questions, etc. It got to a point where I made the same modifications for everyone as to cut down on lesson planning and additional grading. Sad though it may be, I knew some of the students should not have been on the SPED rosters. Of course, there were students whom I recommended for placement on the same rosters. Special education will appear and reappear in my line of work. As confusing as it is, I want to do what I can to include all students, without purposely excluding others.
That reading levels are not commensurate with grade levels is flat-out frightening. I too encountered this last school year with the students. Students made to read Emerson and Dickinson were out of the loop when words and sentences do not form into recognizable wholes. I struggled in vain to make connections to modern life. I admit I failed in that respect. I think I taught it the way I learned it. While I thought my methods were reasonable, the students engaged in word calling and retained nothing. Reading and writing have to be drilled and assessed on a near constant basis to ensure success in the classroom.
Finally, the actual teaching of English will be the biggest challenge. As many of my students do not speak what is considered Standard American English, I must prepare and drill for that too. Pronunciation, enunciation, and articulation must become part of the lesson. I want my students to compete outside of their hometowns. Words, both spoken and written, have to be their weapon of choice. The book offers great tips on resolving some issues, but other issues will come to fore invariably. How shall I deal with that? Teaching English forces me to come up with some strategies not always used. But the book mentions them: tricks! To teach English is to know the students are behind what is considered normal. The book teaches that it is not so much a challenge as it is an opportunity.
In sum, Delta Autumn is a read divvied up. Educational history, methodology, and subject-area guide it purports to be, Delta Autumn is more. The book was presented at the right moment, the beginning of the journey. I am sure members of the cohort will find themselves adding to it, either through penciled emendations of personal copies or serving as contributors on new printings. I walk away feeling I have learned what I needed. Had I possessed the book last year, I might have been a halfway-decent instructor. My pratfalls were too great and the learning of what works and what does not came too late. I can start the new school year off right, with a copy of Delta Autumn in the top left drawer of my desk in the classroom.
First week in the Mississippi Teacher Corps
First week in the Mississippi Teacher Corps
Jun 6, 2010 Post a comment
The hopes and fears are always the same, at least for me, when setting foot on a large college campus. The questions remain the same; the nerves set in. Alas, my first day in Oxford, MS as a cohort in the Mississippi Teacher Corps (MTC) was no different than my first day on the campus of the University of Memphis four years ago. The questions were still there; the nerves crept in. But Oxford was and is different, for all the right reasons.
After a short drive from Memphis, TN, I reached campus Sunday, May 30. Ready to tackle those ever-present hopes and fears, I waited and dawdled until the moment arrived: Introductions on Tuesday, June 1, 2010.
The people in the cohort have such varied backgrounds and a wealth of experiences that it is rightly dizzying. The people in the class of 2010, thus far, are friendly and receptive. After hearing of their undergraduate institutions, I was intimidated. In this cohort are alumni from Harvard, Amherst, Pepperdine, etc. I steel myself on a near-daily basis. Introductions went smoothly. The requisite hidden fact/talent portion either serves to enlighten or amuse, I can never be sure.
Moving on, Dr. Mullins, the co-founder of MTC, took the cohort on a tour of the campus. It goes without saying that a college in the South must have some painful chapters in its history concerning race. Ole Miss is, of course, no different. The good news is that Mullins and the school embrace the university's history, warts and all. For every triumph, there must be a tragedy. I recall hearing of James Meredith's arrival. That it was tinged by riots and murder makes it all the more indelible. For every joy, there must be a sorrow. Ole Miss, while embracing diversity and taking steps toward racial reconciliation, rests in a town that is also home to a populace that embraces Dixie and the Rebel Flag just steps away from the campus. Mullins's tour convinced me that there are miles to go on this educational journey.
Next, the movies shown with past alums were testaments that the program works and changes lives for the students and the teachers. Coupled with Buck Cooper's "Deficit Model," the combination cannot be denied. The MTC is breaking down barriers and implementing student successes. That many of Mississippi's students are written off is appalling; that members of the Corps can tear down shameful appellations hurled at the state's students and provide quality education in sometimes the worst circumstances is altogether thrilling. Once more, I know I am in the right program.
Meeting the second years was a joy within itself. They are the survivors. They are those who made it to year two. Bruised and battered, they march on. The second years have the tales to tell and the scars to show. They can recount the wily principals, the broken copiers, the combative students, all with a knowing smile and a furtive glance. They are skilled and ready to impart whatever they know to prepare the cohort for the first year.
Finally, Dr. Monroe, the instructor for the graduate classes, is knowledgeable and affable. Her lectures are practical and always include real-world examples. She contends that she models for us. And we should do the same with our students. I cannot find fault with her reasoning and hope to implement her guidelines in the classroom.
In sum, my first week went by quickly. I doubt the summer will do so. There will be days I want to end subito; others, I hope will go on and on. Such has to be my journey in the MTC. I have stepped out of my safe, cautious world and entered one where the unexpected is more than welcome. Wish me luck!
Jun 6, 2010 Post a comment
The hopes and fears are always the same, at least for me, when setting foot on a large college campus. The questions remain the same; the nerves set in. Alas, my first day in Oxford, MS as a cohort in the Mississippi Teacher Corps (MTC) was no different than my first day on the campus of the University of Memphis four years ago. The questions were still there; the nerves crept in. But Oxford was and is different, for all the right reasons.
After a short drive from Memphis, TN, I reached campus Sunday, May 30. Ready to tackle those ever-present hopes and fears, I waited and dawdled until the moment arrived: Introductions on Tuesday, June 1, 2010.
The people in the cohort have such varied backgrounds and a wealth of experiences that it is rightly dizzying. The people in the class of 2010, thus far, are friendly and receptive. After hearing of their undergraduate institutions, I was intimidated. In this cohort are alumni from Harvard, Amherst, Pepperdine, etc. I steel myself on a near-daily basis. Introductions went smoothly. The requisite hidden fact/talent portion either serves to enlighten or amuse, I can never be sure.
Moving on, Dr. Mullins, the co-founder of MTC, took the cohort on a tour of the campus. It goes without saying that a college in the South must have some painful chapters in its history concerning race. Ole Miss is, of course, no different. The good news is that Mullins and the school embrace the university's history, warts and all. For every triumph, there must be a tragedy. I recall hearing of James Meredith's arrival. That it was tinged by riots and murder makes it all the more indelible. For every joy, there must be a sorrow. Ole Miss, while embracing diversity and taking steps toward racial reconciliation, rests in a town that is also home to a populace that embraces Dixie and the Rebel Flag just steps away from the campus. Mullins's tour convinced me that there are miles to go on this educational journey.
Next, the movies shown with past alums were testaments that the program works and changes lives for the students and the teachers. Coupled with Buck Cooper's "Deficit Model," the combination cannot be denied. The MTC is breaking down barriers and implementing student successes. That many of Mississippi's students are written off is appalling; that members of the Corps can tear down shameful appellations hurled at the state's students and provide quality education in sometimes the worst circumstances is altogether thrilling. Once more, I know I am in the right program.
Meeting the second years was a joy within itself. They are the survivors. They are those who made it to year two. Bruised and battered, they march on. The second years have the tales to tell and the scars to show. They can recount the wily principals, the broken copiers, the combative students, all with a knowing smile and a furtive glance. They are skilled and ready to impart whatever they know to prepare the cohort for the first year.
Finally, Dr. Monroe, the instructor for the graduate classes, is knowledgeable and affable. Her lectures are practical and always include real-world examples. She contends that she models for us. And we should do the same with our students. I cannot find fault with her reasoning and hope to implement her guidelines in the classroom.
In sum, my first week went by quickly. I doubt the summer will do so. There will be days I want to end subito; others, I hope will go on and on. Such has to be my journey in the MTC. I have stepped out of my safe, cautious world and entered one where the unexpected is more than welcome. Wish me luck!
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