So things have gotten darker this year.
The old principal goes on to bigger better things, the new principal struggling, getting smaller and smaller as the power slips away from her grasp.
But does it? I am frightened.
We are frightened.
Perhaps she is just swallowing power pills like some demented early '80's video game Ms. PacMan.
Just waiting to turn and gobble us all up.
I did not post this two days ago when I wrote it.
I continued to complain, but I upon rereading it I erased it. I don't want to be pissed off teacher.
Things actually got worse Tuesday but I had to take off today for pre-scheduled reasons, so I am calmer.
Take a deep breath start again- tomorrow.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Kelvin posted on Facebook, "Watching cartoons, never realized how many jokes were meant for grownups."
"Welcome to adulthood" I commented, "Never understood why my father thought the Flintstones were so funny."
And then Kelvin replied something about the Flintstones and the post moved into history.
The only thing that separates me and Kelvin is 35 years.Kelvin just completed his second decade- I am well into my sixth. What do we have in common? We spent four years together at this little secondary
school in the corner of a big city. And now we are Facebook friends.
I know there is a big debate whether to friend students, former or current. I had a former principal who was so techno-phobic and neurotic in general that she sent out hard copy letters to not give parents your work email because it might lead to them finding out your address. Okay- it didn't make sense to me either but- hey- when you are working for someone who is really paranoid-little does.
But for a while there -we were a real community in the little corner of the big city and we became friends, people in their second decade of life and people in all the succeeding ones- up to me in my sixth.
When the local news did a story about Teachers sending creepy sexual content to students on Facebook every man on the street interviewed responded with shock but no news story was done about the day Jasmine wrote that life wasn't worth living on Facebook and five us responded – what could we do?- we cared. It wasn't shocking.
So am I happy I am Facebook friends with a young man from a different time and social sphere?
Maybe I'm just happy that somehow, somewhere our lives got to overlap for a little while.
Maybe I'm just happy I got to be his “friend”.
"Welcome to adulthood" I commented, "Never understood why my father thought the Flintstones were so funny."
And then Kelvin replied something about the Flintstones and the post moved into history.
The only thing that separates me and Kelvin is 35 years.Kelvin just completed his second decade- I am well into my sixth. What do we have in common? We spent four years together at this little secondary
school in the corner of a big city. And now we are Facebook friends.
I know there is a big debate whether to friend students, former or current. I had a former principal who was so techno-phobic and neurotic in general that she sent out hard copy letters to not give parents your work email because it might lead to them finding out your address. Okay- it didn't make sense to me either but- hey- when you are working for someone who is really paranoid-little does.
But for a while there -we were a real community in the little corner of the big city and we became friends, people in their second decade of life and people in all the succeeding ones- up to me in my sixth.
When the local news did a story about Teachers sending creepy sexual content to students on Facebook every man on the street interviewed responded with shock but no news story was done about the day Jasmine wrote that life wasn't worth living on Facebook and five us responded – what could we do?- we cared. It wasn't shocking.
So am I happy I am Facebook friends with a young man from a different time and social sphere?
Maybe I'm just happy that somehow, somewhere our lives got to overlap for a little while.
Maybe I'm just happy I got to be his “friend”.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The New Chancellor
I co-teach high school English classes. I spend a lot of time talking about symbols, themes, metaphors and motifs. Themes I tell the classes, are what my college professor told me, - the stuff of life- love, hate, power struggles, , jealousy, desire and greed. What Shakespeare play could not be analyzed (in 500 words or less) using one of the above.?
So let's talk about the last election campaign. If there was one motif, one symbol used over and over by so many campaigns it was “Wall Street”. One clear metaphor for the anti-common man, one ”they get bailed out while we get screwed” image plastered across our consciousness in two monosyllables..
Greed- to capture the theme in one word. Wall Street -bad. Main Street-good..
Unless, of course, you are to be the chancellor of New York City Department of Education.
All those days spent in the “Main Street” public schools count for naught. Semesters of education theory, decades of lesson plans, curriculum new, newer and newest, days and nights of conferences with everyone students, parents, colleagues, textbook reps and the custodian, count for nothing.
To be the chancellor of the New York City Schools, you do not need to have been a student, parent or participant in any way of any public school. All you need is a high profile job, a history of sending your own children away and friends in high places.
So let's talk about the last election campaign. If there was one motif, one symbol used over and over by so many campaigns it was “Wall Street”. One clear metaphor for the anti-common man, one ”they get bailed out while we get screwed” image plastered across our consciousness in two monosyllables..
Greed- to capture the theme in one word. Wall Street -bad. Main Street-good..
Unless, of course, you are to be the chancellor of New York City Department of Education.
All those days spent in the “Main Street” public schools count for naught. Semesters of education theory, decades of lesson plans, curriculum new, newer and newest, days and nights of conferences with everyone students, parents, colleagues, textbook reps and the custodian, count for nothing.
To be the chancellor of the New York City Schools, you do not need to have been a student, parent or participant in any way of any public school. All you need is a high profile job, a history of sending your own children away and friends in high places.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
How's It Going?
It's hard to start typing. I need a good lead. The ninth grade English class is writing memoirs and I have been "conferencing" them. There maybe I got my lead.
"How's it going?"
I spent several summers in the nineties going to the Reading and Writer's workshop at Teacher's College and the Ralph Fletcher line "How's it going?" kind of sums it all up. If anything I learned to listen and look at kids and their work instead of pulling out an editing tool literal or figurative and making vast changes.
Here is where I think I could make a metaphor about change and administration and the sorry state of the "Inquiry" process at school- but I use this blog to write about kids.
So how was it going? It's going.
Ninth grader number one wrote about a time he got injured in science class. I was in that class. I wrote about that moment in time too- I called mine accident report 9995.
Nonetheless it was a solid piece of writing and I could see the event unfold yet again before my eyes.
Ninth grader number two wrote about a time her best friend "stabbed" her in the back and stole her boyfriend. Her memoir began with a line like: "Can you remember the time you first realized you couldn't trust someone you thought was your friend?"
Yes I can.
Teenage angst- a plot worthy of Glee. I love Glee- I would have been glued to the tv for that episode.
Ninth grader number three wrote about the day his mother passed. "I am so sorry for your loss," I began, "are you sure you want to talk about it?"
"No," ninth grade repled, "I want to write about it."
Duh
And it was a beautiful piece, "the hardest day of my life" he explained. Yeah- like I was forty with a husband and two kids when my mom died and it was the hardest day of my life.
It was the kind of piece I would have like to written- full of heart-wrenching emotion and love and family strength. By the end of the period I was crying-I asked the author if he would like me to set up time with the counselor to talk.
"No I'm okay now I live with my sister who loves me and takes care of me."
Period over I grabbed the tissues and went on to the tenth grade. They make me cry too, but for far more mundane reasons. Their lives are hard. They take it out on the teaching staff.
Perhaps they need a better way to tell their stories.
"How's it going?"
I spent several summers in the nineties going to the Reading and Writer's workshop at Teacher's College and the Ralph Fletcher line "How's it going?" kind of sums it all up. If anything I learned to listen and look at kids and their work instead of pulling out an editing tool literal or figurative and making vast changes.
Here is where I think I could make a metaphor about change and administration and the sorry state of the "Inquiry" process at school- but I use this blog to write about kids.
So how was it going? It's going.
Ninth grader number one wrote about a time he got injured in science class. I was in that class. I wrote about that moment in time too- I called mine accident report 9995.
Nonetheless it was a solid piece of writing and I could see the event unfold yet again before my eyes.
Ninth grader number two wrote about a time her best friend "stabbed" her in the back and stole her boyfriend. Her memoir began with a line like: "Can you remember the time you first realized you couldn't trust someone you thought was your friend?"
Yes I can.
Teenage angst- a plot worthy of Glee. I love Glee- I would have been glued to the tv for that episode.
Ninth grader number three wrote about the day his mother passed. "I am so sorry for your loss," I began, "are you sure you want to talk about it?"
"No," ninth grade repled, "I want to write about it."
Duh
And it was a beautiful piece, "the hardest day of my life" he explained. Yeah- like I was forty with a husband and two kids when my mom died and it was the hardest day of my life.
It was the kind of piece I would have like to written- full of heart-wrenching emotion and love and family strength. By the end of the period I was crying-I asked the author if he would like me to set up time with the counselor to talk.
"No I'm okay now I live with my sister who loves me and takes care of me."
Period over I grabbed the tissues and went on to the tenth grade. They make me cry too, but for far more mundane reasons. Their lives are hard. They take it out on the teaching staff.
Perhaps they need a better way to tell their stories.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Moving On Up
Fall comes again. The park is ablaze with color. October runs its course and I got through another open school night. Thirty two years worth- and I think I'm over the trauma of the first one which I wrote about in two different posts.
I've been thinking a lot about school leadership. (Not me- hell no, my current salary is pretty close to that of of a beginning administrator and in the new "accountability is everything even if the accountability measures are entirely flawed” climate, I can't think of anything less desirable, but I've been thinking how leadership means everything.
A staff member gave me a ride home.
Me: “I'm kind of angry at the old administrator.”
Her: “For leaving?”
Me: “Yeah that too, but for ruining what it took myself twenty-five years to figure out”
Her: “Which was?”
Me: “That my opinions don't count. That the best policy is the shut the door and teach policy.
Yeah for five years I thought everyone in the community had a voice. The brand new teacher expressed a preference for having the advisory period in the morning and the principal moved the period. The annoying ninth grader wrote a letter that his class should have off campus lunch privileges and they got permission slips allowing them to do so, and I opened my big mouth continuously and sometimes I got in trouble and sometimes I just got what I wanted.
Some faculty conferences took 45 minutes to discuss how many buttons on the uniform shirt can be officially left open but for those of us who have spent a lifetime in “its my way or the highway" hell its a small price to pay.
But the old principal moved onward and upward and we are back in the “shut up and teach" mode.
So I've been thinking about leadership a lot lately. How is it that spreading power around make a leader stronger?
Okay- I swore this wouldn't be a complaining log.
One story:
The eleventh grade English class is reading The Bluest Eye, by Toni Morrison. After a double period that includes a quiz, minor and major disruptions and other fun stuff we get to the following line, where Claudia describes the existence of her family in 1940 Ohio.
“Being a minority in both caste and class we move about anyway on the hem of life struggling to consolidate our weaknesses and hang on, to creep up singly into the major folds of the garment.”
We get it – personification and metaphor and all those good literary term things and what it must be like to live at the very bottom of the garment of life, but I feel the need to emphasize that the very best a Black family can hope for is to move up into the “fold” the hidden part.
Except I can't-'cause Lyle is singing loudly an adapted version of the theme song from the old TV Sitcom “The Jeffersons”
“Moving on up to the inside
To a major fold on the side
Moving on up to inside
We finally got a piece of the garment.”
I apologize to the teacher- I can't continue my thought.
“Usually I can ignore Lyle (funny as he is). But today he is cracking me up.”
The ELA teacher is not amused. “He's rude,” she reminds me. “He's disruptive-you were making an important point”
She' right of course. But he got “it” - the point. He was communicating it better to the rest of the class than my pontificating. I for one, know what its like to not to be able to keep your mouth shut.
And it was funny.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
The world in black and white
If there ever was a class that was going to make me retire it was last year's ninth grade inclusion class. It included a cast of characters that some sitcom might be able to make amusing but to anyone who had to teach them it was pure torture.
With few exceptions the 9th grade inclusion class became the 10th grade inclusion and the torture continues. (I know, I am the Union rep- my mailbox fills up with complaints nightly)
And this year I co-teach English. The very young and enthusiastic teacher chose a unit on Human Social Injustice to begin the year. Last week we read an article on racial profiling.
There emerged a discussion on New York City police being much harder on people of color than white people. Someone stated that White people are never pulled over for traffic violations.
Wait- as a person of 100% European ancestry I can attest to the untruth of that statement.
Me: “I got a ticket for talking on my cell phone this summer,” (The cop looked like there was no excuse I could use to get out it so I didn't try.) I have a reputation in the school and my house for losing cell phones on regular basis, so I currently own a $15 bare bone model.
Kenya, (our 6 foot six, thumb sucking, basketball star): “What you got hardly qualifies as a cell phone.”
Me: “Makes the whole thing even more pathetic." But someone added that had I been a person of color maybe I would have been treated more roughly, hey the cop wished my a nice day as he handed me the summons.
This week we watched Hotel Rwanda (Yeah, I though that's going to go well- turn the lights out on this class ?)
But they got interested. Day one, Ricardo came into the room late the last teacher having sent him to the Dean's office, and started talking.
Kenya: “Shut the Fuck up, I'm watching the movie”
Ricardo: “No, you shut the Fuck up”
I don't have to type the rest of the conversation- I called the dean.
But the amazing thing was Kenya, who told me last week that he is only interested in basketball texts became totally interested in the movie. One scene, Don Cheadles' character struggles to rip his tie off, disturbed into paralysis after witnessing the mass Hutu murder scene. Giggles emerge as if it were a Mr. Bean flick, Kenya again yells, “Its not funny assholes.” And the thumb goes into his NBA sized mouth.
The movie concluded at the end of the period Friday and the writing and discussion has yet to begin. Norris, raised his hand at the end of the period and wanted to know why Blacks would kill other Blacks, (so much for the pre-movie PowerPoint on the history of Rwanda)
But in the end isn't that the real question. Why did White Germans kill White Jews? Why do White Protestants kill White Catholics? Why did the Khmer Rouge kill other Asians?
Why do world citizens kill each other?
And how do we get this very troubling class to not see the world in just black and white?
I give the new young English teacher credit. He got them thinking.
Maybe it will be a better year.
With few exceptions the 9th grade inclusion class became the 10th grade inclusion and the torture continues. (I know, I am the Union rep- my mailbox fills up with complaints nightly)
And this year I co-teach English. The very young and enthusiastic teacher chose a unit on Human Social Injustice to begin the year. Last week we read an article on racial profiling.
There emerged a discussion on New York City police being much harder on people of color than white people. Someone stated that White people are never pulled over for traffic violations.
Wait- as a person of 100% European ancestry I can attest to the untruth of that statement.
Me: “I got a ticket for talking on my cell phone this summer,” (The cop looked like there was no excuse I could use to get out it so I didn't try.) I have a reputation in the school and my house for losing cell phones on regular basis, so I currently own a $15 bare bone model.
Kenya, (our 6 foot six, thumb sucking, basketball star): “What you got hardly qualifies as a cell phone.”
Me: “Makes the whole thing even more pathetic." But someone added that had I been a person of color maybe I would have been treated more roughly, hey the cop wished my a nice day as he handed me the summons.
This week we watched Hotel Rwanda (Yeah, I though that's going to go well- turn the lights out on this class ?)
But they got interested. Day one, Ricardo came into the room late the last teacher having sent him to the Dean's office, and started talking.
Kenya: “Shut the Fuck up, I'm watching the movie”
Ricardo: “No, you shut the Fuck up”
I don't have to type the rest of the conversation- I called the dean.
But the amazing thing was Kenya, who told me last week that he is only interested in basketball texts became totally interested in the movie. One scene, Don Cheadles' character struggles to rip his tie off, disturbed into paralysis after witnessing the mass Hutu murder scene. Giggles emerge as if it were a Mr. Bean flick, Kenya again yells, “Its not funny assholes.” And the thumb goes into his NBA sized mouth.
The movie concluded at the end of the period Friday and the writing and discussion has yet to begin. Norris, raised his hand at the end of the period and wanted to know why Blacks would kill other Blacks, (so much for the pre-movie PowerPoint on the history of Rwanda)
But in the end isn't that the real question. Why did White Germans kill White Jews? Why do White Protestants kill White Catholics? Why did the Khmer Rouge kill other Asians?
Why do world citizens kill each other?
And how do we get this very troubling class to not see the world in just black and white?
I give the new young English teacher credit. He got them thinking.
Maybe it will be a better year.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
"I'll set your flag on fire"
Adam came by. Oh- Adam. Had he enrolled in a suburban district with a fancy Child Development department Adam would have been labeled Asperger's Syndrome and been given a paraprofessional to shadow him. But Adam's (highly educated, highly intelligent) mom was new to our country and our system when Adam reached school age so Adam got to get thrown out of a variety of public and private schools before he reached us in sixth grade.
By then Adam had a relationship with a neurologist (his mother is a great advocate and also highly capable of getting him what he needs, once she figured out the system) Even so his early years with us were tough on everyone. They involved a lot of parent teacher-conferences, some broken desks, and lots and lots of tears.. (Actually Adam was one participant in the first fight I broke up at our school).
Okay- but Adam is our success story. Our poster child for inclusion. He doesn't fight. He has friends, desks remain intact and his mother stopped crying. I checked up on him in our 80 million dollar database system the City figured would solve all our problems. (In my case – it feeds what my husband calls my cyber-yentering habit) Adam's passed everything, has a solid B average and
a passing grade on every NYS Regent.
So enough back story. Adam came in at the end of the school day and sat down.
Me: Need something Adam? Or you just here to visit.
Adam: Just visiting
Me: Glad you stopped by, how's the new school year going?
Adam: Not so go good.
Couldn't be to terrible or I would have heard
Me: What's going on?
Adam: I think the new principal is very disorganized, new schedules, new program cards, new bell times everyday.
Me: Yeah, it's tough on everyone
Adam: Yeah but for someone like me,who needs structure, its unethical.
Yeah and for me its an opportunity to end my long gratifying career with my big Union mouth leading me into lots of trouble.
But I didn't tell Adam that. I just assured him we were all there to help him get through the chaotic start. And since I promised myself this is not a venue for complaints, I'll end with a story about Thomas
The song “I don't want to work I just want to bang on the drums all day” was written for Thomas. Thomas drums something, anything – all day long. Thomas also came to us in sixth grade (though several cohorts after Adam). And he has been banging ever since.
Very annoying -if you are trying to teach him something.
But Friday morning I wasn't trying to teach anything, just sitting at my computer while Thomas waited for the new support teacher- drumming loudly..
Thomas: loud rhythmic drumming
Me: softly at first, “iko, iko ay yah-
drumming continues, new kid joins in
Me: increasingly louder-”Jockamo fina fin nay ah, jockamo fina na ay.
More students enter and join the drum core and I'm up and dancing. Now if you have a vision of some hip, svelt MTV dancer up in front of the class singing and dancing, revise it- think chubby middle-aged, atonal, off-beat, white Aretha Franklyn
My grandma and your grandma sitting by the fire
My grandma to your grandma I'll set your flag on fire
Loud unison drumming continues now by a number of students
Ay now, ay now, iko iko ay yay
And then the new no-nonsense - “I used to teach at the correctional facility” teacher comes in
Ooops- silence
New teacher walks- properly to front of room, turns slowly towards group and says:
“Jockamo finay fin ay ay, jockamo fin ay -Open your books please.
I leave - everything under control.
By then Adam had a relationship with a neurologist (his mother is a great advocate and also highly capable of getting him what he needs, once she figured out the system) Even so his early years with us were tough on everyone. They involved a lot of parent teacher-conferences, some broken desks, and lots and lots of tears.. (Actually Adam was one participant in the first fight I broke up at our school).
Okay- but Adam is our success story. Our poster child for inclusion. He doesn't fight. He has friends, desks remain intact and his mother stopped crying. I checked up on him in our 80 million dollar database system the City figured would solve all our problems. (In my case – it feeds what my husband calls my cyber-yentering habit) Adam's passed everything, has a solid B average and
a passing grade on every NYS Regent.
So enough back story. Adam came in at the end of the school day and sat down.
Me: Need something Adam? Or you just here to visit.
Adam: Just visiting
Me: Glad you stopped by, how's the new school year going?
Adam: Not so go good.
Couldn't be to terrible or I would have heard
Me: What's going on?
Adam: I think the new principal is very disorganized, new schedules, new program cards, new bell times everyday.
Me: Yeah, it's tough on everyone
Adam: Yeah but for someone like me,who needs structure, its unethical.
Yeah and for me its an opportunity to end my long gratifying career with my big Union mouth leading me into lots of trouble.
But I didn't tell Adam that. I just assured him we were all there to help him get through the chaotic start. And since I promised myself this is not a venue for complaints, I'll end with a story about Thomas
The song “I don't want to work I just want to bang on the drums all day” was written for Thomas. Thomas drums something, anything – all day long. Thomas also came to us in sixth grade (though several cohorts after Adam). And he has been banging ever since.
Very annoying -if you are trying to teach him something.
But Friday morning I wasn't trying to teach anything, just sitting at my computer while Thomas waited for the new support teacher- drumming loudly..
Thomas: loud rhythmic drumming
Me: softly at first, “iko, iko ay yah-
drumming continues, new kid joins in
Me: increasingly louder-”Jockamo fina fin nay ah, jockamo fina na ay.
More students enter and join the drum core and I'm up and dancing. Now if you have a vision of some hip, svelt MTV dancer up in front of the class singing and dancing, revise it- think chubby middle-aged, atonal, off-beat, white Aretha Franklyn
My grandma and your grandma sitting by the fire
My grandma to your grandma I'll set your flag on fire
Loud unison drumming continues now by a number of students
Ay now, ay now, iko iko ay yay
And then the new no-nonsense - “I used to teach at the correctional facility” teacher comes in
Ooops- silence
New teacher walks- properly to front of room, turns slowly towards group and says:
“Jockamo finay fin ay ay, jockamo fin ay -Open your books please.
I leave - everything under control.
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