E-Published

I'm finally published, e-published, that is. It is nice to have someone who has never met me, isn't connected with anybody I know, and is interested in maintaining a quality product, choose to publish something I wrote. Loyal followers of this blog will recognize the piece, a slightly polished and renamed blog from earlier this year. To read it, go to the current issue of Grumble.

Join in the Discussion

I invite you to go to my new class blog, Extension, at http://mrrice.edublogs.org/ and join in the discussion.

I started it because it gives students time to reflect on a piece of text and then discuss it without the distractions and time restrictions we have in the regular classroom. I told them the whole world can read and contribute to the discussion. This seems to have done some good, since I have received thoughtful comments from students who normally do not do any work.

Those of you who have visited A Conspiracy of Silent Voices will recognize the poem being considered, but I told the students this was a "found" poem and thus must be viewed isolated from biography or history.

Some Worrying, "Thank Yous" from Students

I received 25 notes from students thanking me for being their teacher. Last week was "American Educator Week." As part of the festivities, students selected any teacher who had a positive impact on their life from any point in their K-12 experience and wrote a letter thanking them for their work. The school then mailed or distributed these letters to the teacher to whom they were addressed.

Some students said they really had no teacher who positively effected them and wrote letters expressing that unfortunate sentiment. Others had to work really hard to come up with a name. Sadly, one student's comment that I was "the only teacher who has impacted [her] in a positive way" was echoed in various ways in many of the 25 letters I received from a mix of this year's and last year's students.

Obviously, I am pleased that at least some of my students think I did something good for them, but I'm a little bummed that there weren't any phrases like, "I've had a lot of good teachers, but I wanted to thank you especially." Here is a sampling of the norm:

• "You showed that you cared . . . I don't think any other teacher would have done that."
• "Your teaching skills, in my book, are the very best that any teacher has offered me."
• "I never thought I would like an English class until I came here."
• "All my English teachers have been messed up but you." (This from the writer of the "Spangmanglish" post letter)
• "Honestly, you're the only teacher that [sic] listened to me. When I talk to you, it helps, even over the little things."
• "I just wanted to say thank you for making 4th period the only thing to look forward to."
• "When I was given the assignment to write a letter to a teacher I appreciated, the only person I could think of was you."

On the positive side, I also got back some validation that high expectations pay off:

• "Although the work you gave us was overwhelming, I appreciate that you did it. I honestly believe my writing skill have gotten better since I passed your class."
• "You inspired me to like English and to do my best. You taught me the skills I needed to succeed in my writing."
• "Thank you for teaching me how to look deeper into all sorts of writing and how to order my thoughts."
• "Thank you for teaching me new things and for being so strict about turning things in."
• "You helped me realize that high school isn't a joke."

Lastly, I am posting an unsolicited note I received from a student. This was not part of the AEW assignment, she told me she "just wanted to thank me." (click on the letter to enlarge it)

(A final note: I wrote individualized letters back to all the students who wrote me and thanked them for making my day a little brighter. Oh, and I didn't comment on their grammar, punctuation, or spelling.)

My Room

The student council made door decorations for the four veterans who teach at our school. Here's a shot of me in front of my classroom door and a couple of shots of the interior of my classroom.

Sorry, no snarky remarks this time.

My First Content Challenge by a Parent!

Two things:

1) I opened up another blog. It is a dumping ground for some of my writing and can be accessed at http://krhysvoices.blogspot.com/. It is really more of a loose web journal of under-polished thoughts that would normally have faded away, unrecorded.

2) I received my first content challenge. I had heard this kind of thing happens; it is discussed in teacher education seminars. I've also read some cases that have made national news (Kansas comes to mind). I must admit that I was excited when I received this e-mail and eager to put together and send a reply. Although the communication string is rather lengthy, I am pasting it in its entirety below. If you haven't dropped by in a while, you can zoom past it to see some less involved posts.

E-MAIL #1:
Dear Mr. Rice,
I'm not the kind of person to complain, but...Why would you choose for a ninth grade English assignment Nickelback's "Rockstar", a song that contains language that needs to be censored? I'm guessing you chose it because it was popular, you felt the students would be familiar with it, and that might make the lesson more effective. But I believe the attitude and language in "Rockstar" are not acceptable, even when censored, and need not be used to educate high school students. There are millions of other acceptable song to choose from.

I have told M__________ that she will not need to complete this assignment using the song "Rockstar". I would ask that you 1) provide M_____ with a more suitable alternative assignment, 2) allow her additional time to complete the alternative assignment, and 3) do not penalize her for not submitting this assignment ("Rockstar") by the original deadline.

I would also ask that in the future you be more considerate when selecting material for your classes. Judging from this assignment, and a few others that seem to be on the negative side, e.g., "Flowers", "The Scarlett Ibis", I believe you may have become desensitized to drugs, language, violence, death, etc., maybe as a result of your experiences in the military. There is a virtually unlimited number of stories, songs, poems, books, videos, photographs, etc. that are positive and educational, and many of which are even popular among today's high school students.

Thanks very much for your efforts, and for your patience and extra attention you've given to M_____.

Best regards,
J_____
REPLY TO E-MAIL #1:Dear J______,
Thank you for your letter regarding my selection of musical and literary selections. I appreciate your concern and especially appreciate your cogent and articulate arguments. I will address each in turn and let you know where we are headed in the future concerning literature.

I will gladly allow M______ to complete an alternate assignment and will not penalize her for handing it in after the deadline. In addition, I will consider my musical choices more carefully.

I did vacillate on my choice of "Rockstar" but ended up using it because I hear students sing it so often and the censored version is ubiquitous on several of the local popular radio stations. I wanted to students to understand what they were hearing and how this popular piece connected to a subject they often find so dry and unappealing. The song's verbal irony, being a rock star is not all its cracked up to be, helped make my final decision since the song does not advocate the lifestyle, but rather points out its emptiness and self-destructive nature.

The freshman English team chose the short story "Flowers" by Alice Walker, because it is an excellent example of compact storytelling and is easy and quick to read. Its dark subject matter was never a concern, and indeed, it seems to help students understand that they are part of the recurring theme of innocence being transformed to an informed adulthood.

I selected "The Scarlet Ibis" from the approved 9th grade English text book because it was of reasonable length and contained many of the elements I want them to be able to identify. Furthermore, Hurst's powerful language emphasizes the universal human condition of growing up with the paradox of love and hate inextricably intertwined and makes for excellent and meaningful discussions.

The next story we will read is also from the 9th grade text and is called "Brothers are the Same." It is a story of a rite of passage of a Masai boy who is required to kill a lion to prove his manhood and to win the affection of a girl in his village. Based on the tenor of your concerns, I do not feel this particular selection will be a problem. In any case, I'd like to send a copy of the 9th grade literature book home with M_____ so you can take a look at its contents and let me know what you would object to M_____ reading.

We will probably study "Romeo and Juliet" next semester and I intend to have them read Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451" as well. My emergency lesson plan is a study of Poe's "Cask of Amontillado." These stories have dark, violent, and some sexual elements so please let me know if you would like me put together alternate studies for M_____.

In addition, Our culminating publication is a collection of student stories about their lives. I ask students to write about an event or time that fundamentally changed who they are. We will publish it before the end of the school year. This may also be of concern to you since many of the stories students submit are honest, open, and often harrowing. Please take a look at last year's publication at (webaddress) You can select either the Microsoft Word version or the Rich Text File version if you do not have Office loaded on your machine. Read my introduction to the anthology to get an idea of what I wanted out of the publication.

I will try to call you this week or next to discuss your concerns in more detail.

Thank you again for your involvement in M______'s education, I wish all parents were as committed,

Mr. Rice
E-MAIL #2:
Thanks very much, Mr. Rice, for your response. I appreciate all the information. I know that M______ is a unique student, and I'm very grateful that you are doing so much, and even going out of your way, to help her. Unfortunately, literature is probably my weakest subject. I was never a good reader, and, sadly, I've read only a few books in my life. So I'm not very familiar with stories of the four titles you mentioned ("Brothers are the Same", "Romeo and Juliet", "Fahrenheit 451", "Cask of Amontillado").

I don't necessarily object to violence, or to sexual content, or to language, as long as it's not used gratuitously or in a way that is likely to promote misconduct (or discourage proper conduct), especially among our youth. Although I haven't read those four works, I don't think they compare to Nickelback's "Rockstar". Your titles are literature; "Rockstar" isn't.

I disagree with your assessment of "Rockstar". I think it clearly does advocate the lifestyle (it is full of "I want..."), and I see/hear nothing that points out "emptiness" or "self-destructive nature". If my interpretation is a misinterpretation, then it could easily be misinterpreted by 14-year-olds, which is my main concern.

I'll trust that you'll choose appropriate material, and I'll try my best not to interfere. I have no doubt that you can educate M______ in the English language much better than I can. (I'm also learning a great deal from studying with her!)

Although I want very much to be a part of M_____'s education, I really have no choice. I must define virtually every word for her, and that makes the study time very long and tedious for both of us. But I can see improvements every day, and that's most important. You definitely get credit for that, and, again, I am very grateful.

J_______
REPLY TO E-MAIL #2:J_____,
You are welcome. I wish I could give you academic credit for all your work. Your eagerness to engage in discussion of the subject matter is exactly what I hope for in the students and I really appreciate that, despite the hard work, you are modeling that for M____. They need to know how to defend a position using evidence and logic and to understand that civil discourse between intelligent people, including disagreement at times, is both healthy and productive.

I want to give dedicated students like M_____more of my individual time and energy. As part of my program to help those in need, I am instituting a voluntary Tuesday afternoon study and tutoring session . This is in addition to my regular availability to provide less formal assistance. The first session will be on Tuesday, 20 November at 1:30 PM. Students who attend will get credit as long as they focus and engage in the activities and, since it is a voluntary, after-school function, I can send unengaged or disruptive students out of the classroom.

There's no time like the present to start reading! You can read "Brothers are the Same" and, "The Cask of Amontillado" in less than an hour for each. They are in the literature text I sent home. "Romeo and Juliet" is also in the text, but drama needs to be performed so check out the Franco Zeffirelli version (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romeo_and_Juliet_%281968_film%29). It is the authorized film adaptation some of our teachers use to accompany the reading.

Have a great day,
Mr. Rice

Young Professionals

I took a couple of pictures of my white board after all five classes had completed, one after the other, a silent response exercise. For these exercises, I write a prompt, usually a question, or two on the white board. The prompt must be able to generate something more than a short comment but not require an essay to answer. I have enough area for four students to write comfortably side-by-side so I put four dry erase markers on the white board tray.

I then ask for silence (reinforced by the promise of "cool points" or erasure of added class time) and tell students that anyone of them may come up to the board and respond to either or both prompts in writing. I have very little trouble with talking and many students are eager to write on the board. When complete, the student responses are then used to stimulate discussion, look for common themes, and identify critical differences.


In this case, my prompts were an anticipatory exercise designed to get them thinking about why it might be important to learn how to write well and for different audiences. As part of the follow-on lesson, I explain that how we present ourselves in writing is as important as how we present ourselves physically. The care with which we dress ourselves, clean ourselves, apply our makeup, and coif our hair has a direct analog with the way we construct essays, craft sentences, and choose just the right words for the occasion.

Most of the responses for this go-round are thoughtful and mature; some are odd, but interesting to contemplate. I think these guys have potential.

Another Note

A student shyly handed me this note on Monday, about a half an hour after the last bell. It made it another good day.

Spangmanglelish

Check this note out. I picked it up from one of my students this week. She was supposed to be annotating James Hurst's "The Scarlet Ibis" as we read it in class but instead was writing this carefully crafted masterpiece. I asked her to put it away once; she did, but then took it out again in time for my next roll by so I carried it off. I deciphered it but, like Dante, or Homer, there are many ways one could shade a translation of this piece. I'd like to see how you, dear readers, might translate it.

All-Star Parents

I met the boy's parents: graceful and well-spoken mother and tall, articulate father. Their questions were valid and designed to find the truth behind their son's contention that I was too demanding.

The interview began with polite introductions. I had not expected the father to be there but he was, and filling the little blue office chair crammed against the counselor's bookshelf. Both Mother and Father looked clearly into my eyes, except when Father introduced himself, lowering his voice as he said his name and quickly averting his gaze. He seemed almost relieved when I simply stated my name and told them I was pleased to meet them.

We discussed their son. Their questions were clear and logical. Mother asked if, given my military background, I might be a little harsher than other teachers. I conceded that her's was a reasonable question and characterized myself as the third-hardest teacher out of the four primary freshman English teachers and explained my program and their son's progress. In these situations, I find it best to simply speak to the facts as I see them and not comment on my assumptions of a child's psychological condition or motivations.

After some discussion, Father told me he felt I was doing exactly what I needed to do and his son was simply failing to do the work. We discussed the athletic coaches' program for failing students (who can't play in games) which includes sitting on the sidelines and doing bookwork while the rest of the team practices. Father told me his son didn't deserve to wear the jersey or be with his teammates for any activity, including physical conditioning, if he was unable to meet his obligations in the classroom. He assured me, clearly and succinctly, that he would pull his son from sports if little man continued to slack in the classroom.

The man and his wife have class, and not because they agreed with me. They have class because they are thoughtful and rational advocates for their child and because they refused to play the fame card (and as I cruise articles, I'm finding out this guy, also a two-time Olympic gold medalist, has rock-star status up there with Michael Jordan among b-ball fans both hard-core and casual) .

Some days are really good days.

Student Conference (All-Stars)

Tomorrow morning I am meeting with a mother whose son has, according to the school counselor, convinced her that my workload is too heavy and is the reason for this quarter's failure.

What makes this case interesting is that this particular student is the son of a nine-time NBA All-Star who, just last year, signed a 7-figure contract for a single season. Interestingly, and perhaps not surprisingly or coincidentally, I was stopped by one of our coaches who urged me to "help the kid out" since dad provides "significant contributions" to our sports program. I assume the "significant contributions" have little to do with manning the snack bar or cheering loudly. I also assume "help out" means something more than providing extra tutoring.

Curiously (take this with a grain of Wiki-salt), Dad had a little trouble during his college sophomore year, was urged by his father to focus on his studies, and managed to graduate.

I'll let you know how it turns out.

New and Differently Dressed

I just received the prints from my first school picture since I left the 12th grade. They remind me of my changing situation, my second jerk into a completely different environment, and my excitement for a challenging future mingled with my longing for a comfortable past.

Curried Student: An Unlikely Pleasure

During one of my classes a couple of weeks ago, I kept walking past the same spot near the door. The students were taking a test and the room was blissfully silent save for the scratching of pencils. My nose was piqued by something pleasant.

It was the smell of Grimsbury, a small neighborhood in Banbury, UK inhabited mostly by immigrants from the Indian sub-continent. We lived there in the late 1980s and often walked by rowhouses that, just then, smelled exactly like the corner of my room closest to the door. There, near the "Turn-In" and "Graded" trays, was a spectral blend of cardamom, coriander, turmeric, and pepper cooked in oil.

I kept cycling quickly through the rest of the room and slowing down as I approached but still couldn't discern where the lovely odor was coming from. The lunch lady doesn't serve curries (there is some law against serving appetizing food in public schools), the smell wasn't anywhere near the air vent, and I didn't see any other obvious source. I tried to keep my sniffing surreptitious and widened my nostrils to drag in as many molecules as possible.

Then I remembered the name of the boy sitting at the end of the table closest to the door. It isn't an Indian name, but the sound of it would blend well with Samarkand and all that name evokes. I realized at that moment that the 14 year old boy sitting 3 feet from me and worrying over how to write a sentence using the word "suffice" was unknowingly carrying the traces of generations of culinary culture in in the threads of his clothing. It was hard not to lean in and take in a good, long whiff of his jacket.

The smell pulled me back down Grimsbury's winter streets and made me outwardly smile. It also made me suddenly realize how weird and creepy it was for me to be sniffing students.

Funk Free

Thanks for the support, blog readers. I am now funk-free!

The reason for both my anger and my funk came from a day I was out to a meeting and needed two of my classes covered by a substitute. Afterward, comments about my classes from a colleague, a parent, a hall monitor, and various other drop-ins to my classroom made my head head explode, leaving a fine grey-red mist of anger lingering in the air for weeks. A sampling:

"They were the most disrespectful class I have ever encountered."
"They were like animals."
"Would it possible for my daughter to change classes? She can't concentrate due to the constant noise."
"Man, Mr. Rice, your class was terrible."

I'm not sure the form-'em-up-and-chew-'em-out strategy worked. I still find it difficult to keep them in check sometimes. I have had some apologies, but only from those students who weren't the trouble-makers.

Perhaps you'd like to hear why I handed out the ass-chewing.

I don't feel like going into it right now.

I am in a funk. Not 1960's-Motown-Funk-with-capital-F, and not a dude-you-reek funk either. This funk is the kind that sticks and pulls: the kind that drags and sucks and slowly crushes. Some of my students sensed it. One girl, who dropped by after the last bell for some clarification on an assignment, looked at me, paused for a half second, and said, "Mr. Rice, you're not going to leave us, are you?"

No, I'm not going to leave them. I wonder, however, just where I am in the new-teacher continuum. Is my funk common at this stage? I thought I would have this gig down by now. Instead, I am behind the other ninth-grade English teachers whose students are generating wonderful little essays in MLA format and plowing into illuminating discussions about the nature of man as reflected in literature. I still have not finished introducing the elements of fiction or even gotten into a structured approach to essay writing. Most of classes are failing to even turn in assignments and I have the wrestling coach breathing down my neck to figure out some way to get his boys to pass so they can compete. I can see how some teachers either opt out or cave in.

On the other hand, I have a group of kids who start rolling into my room at 0600. They are a mix of all four grade levels and usually end up hanging out and listening to music, discussing the books they are reading, and generally socializing. Today we discussed Eliot's "The Wasteland" and "The Hollow Men," and listened to "Time Warp" and part of "The Boondock Saints" soundtrack. Most of these students are interesting, if a little naive, and have an eagerness to grow and engage: an eagerness, if you will, to both be and become. They are both willing to teach and willing to learn. Predictably, they are some of the "scary" students: Mohawks, bondage pants, corsets, trench coats, unnaturally colored hair, and one who often wears an evil-Alice-in -Wonderland black skirt, stockings, and heels. Most write and draw and chase knowledge. Many of them have terrible grades.

They contribute to my funk not because of who they are but of the system that does not allow for the education we could give each other if allowed to simply take our informal, before school activity and make it the primary learning platform. Instead, they shuffle off at the bell to make their ritualistic rounds.

On the other hand, my funk is also fueled by students who would get absolutely nothing but a nap if I were to implement such a loose arrangement in my classes.

Let the Ass-Chewing Commence

I turned all the tables in my classroom on their sides and pushed their tops against the wall. I stacked all the student chairs and placed them against the wall with their seats toward the wall and backs to the room. My classroom floor, like the deck of sailing man o' war, is now cleared and ready for tomorrow's battle. There is a sign posted on the window of my classroom door that reads:

3rd & 7th PERIOD CHILDREN. STAND QUIETLY ON EITHER SIDE OF THE HALLWAY AND WAIT FOR ME TO CALL YOU IN.

I practiced lining up my eighth period class to see how many columns there will be tomorrow when I put third and seventh in formation for the most phenomenal ass-chewing many of the ungrateful, self-absorbed, narcissistic, blame-shifting, sickly suburban spawn have ever encountered.

Oh, and there's a PowerPoint slide to go along with that ass-chewing. You know, technology makes education F-U-N!!!!!

I'll let you know how it goes.

Late Work

It's October Eve already. I can't hope to catch up on all you've missed, good reader, and so I beg your forgiveness and offer you this anecdote.

Last week, my new boss and I disagreed on the meaning of "fair late work policy."

I expect work to be handed in on time, especially since I normally give at least one week's notice before anything is due. I spell this out, as well as when I do allow late work, in my course expectations. Of course, many students turned in the first homework assignments a day or more late. I accepted the work and gave them a score of zero rather than showing it as missing in my electronic gradebook.

One of my students complained to her mother that I was being unreasonable. I spoke with the mother on the phone and gave her both my policy and my strategy to inculcate a sense of urgency and promptness. Specifically, I know that my students will not turn in work on time, at least until they understand that I am serious about requiring them to do so. Therefore, I give simple assignments worth few points at the beginning of the semester. That way, when a student gets a zero for turning an assignment in late, his or her grade falls to an "F" but can be easily corrected by submitting later, more valuable assignments, on time. In fact, students who fail to turn in the first three assignments of the year can still come around and potentially get an "A" for the first quarter as long as they act on the understanding that I do not accept late work except under specific circumstances normally involving and excused absence or extreme family stress verified by a meeting or phone conversation between me and the student's parent.

My boss, an assistant principle by the name of Ms. C_, received a phone call from an aggrieved parent who asserted that my late work policy was not fair to her daughter, who was confused by the assignment due date (I brief due dates verbally, write them on the whiteboard next to the classroom door, post them on my classroom website, and remind students daily of upcoming suspenses). My boss worked hard to convince me that my policy was unfair and that in normal working conditions, bosses normally accepted work after it was due but with penalties attached. She asserted that this was also true in the military. I'm not sure where she got her information about the military attitude toward timeliness and meeting one's obligations at or before the required date and time.

In any case, she failed to convince me of her argument but, as her subordinate, I agreed to take on the late policy of Mr. S_, a colleague with high standards who is also supervised by Ms. C_. She agreed that would be an acceptable course.

So now I will take work one day after it is due but it will receive only 50% of whatever grade it would have received had it been turned in on time. Interestingly, Mr. S_ had the same policy I did: no late work, until Ms. C_ forced him to take on a policy she considered fair. Mr. S_ posted his policy as an addendum to his course expectations, but did not disseminate the information to his students. They have no idea they can turn assignments in late for half-credit; they turn their assignments in on time.

I suppose this is what passes for intrigue in this new profession of mine.

Summer's Done

I am already looking nostalgically back on my summer vacation. For the first time since I left high school, I had three months off. Three months to do what I wanted. Three months to over-estimate my available time.

Still, I managed to fit in what I wanted most to accomplish: 1) spend lazy time with my family, 2) go to Anime Expo, 3) hang out with two old friends in the Bay Area, and 3) design, build, finish, and install a seven-piece cabinet and shelf unit.

Enjoy the pictures.

Hell Week

Students officially arrive in my class for the first time on Monday at 0700. I've been working since 15 August and still feel anxious and unprepared. I am also excited. I am excited because these are my first full-year students and we have the opportunity to do some great things together. I will be able to watch them grow academically, socially, and emotionally. That's if I don't screw it up.

I want to get through five novels, one play, some poetry, a research project, review the eight parts of speech, reinforce and build grammar skills, build a robust vocabulary capability, develop voice, build confidence with the basic five-paragraph essay, take the personal essay to a more personal level, and perhaps most importantly, get them to realize the power of words.

Time restrictions have already forced me to dump two of the novels, what's next?

I have also been selected as the Freshman Grade Level Leader. I receive no extra pay for this auspicious position but do get an extra preparation period. The extra prep period gives me 170 more minutes and 70 - 80 less students than I had last year. My duties are a bit nebulous, but it appears I am required to keep the lines of communication open between our supervising administrator, one of three assistant principals, and the ninth grade teaching staff. In addition, I am there to help my colleagues solve day-to-day problems. I will provide them with basic software tutelage, simple supplies, and procedural clarifications.

In any case, tomorrow is a day for first impressions. Tomorrow I am driving a new shop, setting expectations, and introducing procedures. Tomorrow I am using my military persona to its fullest: efficient, mission-oriented, by the book. The first two homework assignments are already posted. It's Hell Week in Mr. Rice's room.

And in that vein, here's a quick checklist for my first day out:
1 ea. Plain dark slacks, pressed
1 ea. Plain long-sleeve shirt, pressed and starched
1 ea. Conservatively patterned tie, double Windsor knot, extending when at attention to within 1 inch of the top of belt buckle
1 ea. Plain black belt
1 ea. Plain black leather shoes, dusted and shined to a low gloss
1 pr. Plain black socks
Comfortable underwear

Haircut, high and tight, blended on sides and back
Shower
Shave with five-blade, ultra smooth razor
Deodorant, solid stick, double application

"Hey, Hey , You, You, I Don't Like Your Girlfriend"

As of this moment I am listening to Avril Lavigne's most recent CD, The Best Damn Thing. The first track, "Girlfriend," drove me to write this little commentary.

Aside from the decidedly "Mickey" beat, girls are doing themselves no favors by taking "Girlfriend" as an anthem. The piece reinforces the teen stereotype adults carry in their hip pockets. In "Girlfriend," Lavigne neatly rolls up the vapid, clumsily scheming tart-vamp, an 18th century French aristocratette in-training. This is the self-centered, under-educated, aggressively apathetic teen bemoaned by many of my colleagues. They see most of the student body interested only in, and controlled by, the melodrama du jour.

I don't believe teenage girls are that simple-minded but, as Ms. Lavigne so artfully intones in the title track:" . . . you're not . . . gonna get any better/You won't . . . you won't get rid of me never/Like it or not even though she's a lot like me."

Perhaps all the little Avril's out there just take a little more growing up and some dedicated, educated and understanding guidance.

Watching Music

Music stirs us. It stirs every base and subtle emotion. We have evolved an aural palette, abhorring discordant sounds and easily slipping into harmonious melodies. To most of us, simply enjoying music is enough. We engage in music in the same way we savor good food or enjoy another's touch. We rarely think about why music can stir us to war, or seduce us to pleasure. Whether it is the pipes and drums of a Highland regiment on the battlefield or the crooning of Barry White in a softly lit chambre d'amour, we respond in the gut and our body releases chemicals to arouse our courage or our ardor.

Add to music the presence of our fellows. Our lusts, killing or sexual, are not so easily aroused by music in the absence of others. We would not so quickly charge a bristling English army armed with a spear, kilt, and a digital recording of Scotland the Brave without a stout comrade at our side. Live buglers at military funerals are always preferred over the best recording of Taps. Interestingly, the digital bugle was developed to fill in when a live bugler is unavailable to give the appearance of a live performance. Now one can be lowered into the ground with a Milli Vanilli version of full military honors.

Perhaps this explains why we generally prefer live performances, even if they are video recordings, over audio recordings. Human beings all recognize and respond to the human face. Indeed, our brains create human faces given only the slightest provocation. So when we couple these two strong stimuli: faces and music, it is no wonder some of us are willing to pay so much to become part of an audience rather than simply popping in a CD.

If you are wondering what prompted this entry, as I am certain you are, groove on over to YouTube and open up a couple of Andy Mckee pieces: Drifting, and Africa (yes, that Africa). Then listen to each piece without watching the video.

After you are done, watch and listen.

I can feel a difference.

Wood Working on my Dormant Dork

You may remember my earlier whinging regarding pay and benefits. Now, a month after leaving the classroom, I am enjoying a vacation unheard of in almost any other field. In two days, I will have been on summer break from one month and still have another six weeks to go before I have to be back for orientation.

My major summer wood working project is well underway: three cabinets with drawers, doors, and bookshelves flanked by two pillar shelving units. I am trying my hand for the first time and, true to form, am eschewing pre-production planning or design. Furthermore, I am using only the best #2 pine one-inch boards I can dig out of the mass of bowed and twisted rejects at my local Home Depot. I could have gone with birch ply, but why take the easy route when one can twist and pound kiln-dried, knot-filled, slabs of wood into usable pieces of furniture? I love the way each board is usually 1/8" to 1/2" narrower or wider than its sister from the same pallet. What makes it even more challenging is my lack of a joiner or planer or table saw. I suppose I should consider using an adze and timber saw next time, just to up the ante.

I have also been re-exploring my dormant dork. Four days at Anime Expo helped me see just how far I had strayed from my origins. I felt like a traitor. My daughter cosplayed (new verb, don't bother looking it up until Webster gets around to adding it) a character from Naruto as well as two tragic Shakespearean women. I went as a middle-aged American male: slacks and a polo. I figure I was seen either as a the clueless-guy-who-brought-his-kid or the closet hentai aficionado there to ogle the Japanese schoolgirls. I'll let you decide which one.

You may have noticed I didn't mention any preparations for the next school year. Lesson plans are languishing and I can feel the the slow buildup of guilt and its accompanying anxiety beginning to push my hand away from the drill and saw and wood glue and clamps and Japanese schoolgirls and toward the computer keyboard.

White Mexican

As Alice Cooper reminds us every year about this time, "school's out for summer." Unless they die, however, school is not out for my freshman students "forever." For many of them, their freshman year isn't even really over since they get to retake several subjects again. I know roughly 100 who get to re-take freshman English. It seems not too many are going to go to summer school. Instead, they will be going to a colleague who has been selected, for the 2007/2008 school year, to take on this year's crop of failing freshman. This colleague was hired the same day I was and came on board after over a decade of teaching English Composition at UNLV.

I hate cliche but could not resist a silent "out of the frying pan . . ."

Interestingly, a rather large number of my failing students expressed an interest in having me as their Freshman English teacher next year for their second attempt. I asked them if they wouldn't rather have a less demanding teacher. They all replied that I was "cool" and made class "fun" even though I assigned "too much work." I told them I planned on making the course even more demanding next year but they didn't seem to mind. My favorite compliment was from a young Mexican-American male who told me he didn't mess around in my class because I gave him respect and therefore he respected me. In one essay, he wrote that I was "like a white Mexican."

Gracias.

Semester Exams

The second semester is almost over. All that remains are four days of semester exams: 105 minutes for each class. I won't say I'm feeling particularly sad but I do feel as if it all went too fast and I didn't get enough accomplished. I suppose I have to leave some work for the 10th, 11th, and 12th grade English teachers.

I have had fewer supplicants at the end of this quarter than I did the last. Most seemed resigned to their fate, like death-row inmates staring at the execution chamber: in this case the door to six-week summer school course. Some say that summer school isn't as bad as it seems. True, they have to get up early and go to school, but they get to finish off a year's worth of material in much less time. I wonder how summer school teachers manage to cram it all in.

I suspect they don't. In fact, many of the students seem to know that less will be expected of them and they can generally expect at least a "D" even if they do very little work. This frustrates me and makes me come within a few miles of wanting to surprise them on their first day of summer school: "Good morning, I'm Mr. Rice, and I'll be your summer school English I teacher." But a few miles is as close as I care to get. I want a few weeks to unwind and build next year's curriculum map and lesson plans.

In Print

Check out the cover and my introduction to the 120-page collection of stories written, compiled, and edited by students in all of my English classes. I am proud of their work.

This is, in large part, what teaching is all about.

Introduction

Writers cannot exist without readers, so thank you for picking up this book. If you came here looking for one story in particular, read it. Then read the rest.

This collection of autobiographical vignettes was written, edited, and produced by students in my ninth grade English classes. I asked them to write about something that fundamentally changed them. Most of them have been used to writing superficially about their lives: where they were born, what they like to do, and where they want to go. Few have been asked to write about something that makes them what they are.

For many, it was difficult to understand what I was asking them to accomplish. Children are not used to having their voices heard in any meaningful way and, especially at this age, are uncomfortable telling truths that might expose an emotional weakness.

Reading some of these vignettes, it’s hard to believe they were written by children. Although the construction of many of the stories reveals their inexperience as writers, the spirit articulated by their sometimes clumsy words reveals unexpected wisdom: I believe it is unexpected not because it is unusual, but because we are not used to looking for it. Listen to the voices of these growing young adults. What they have to say speaks to a common human experience they are just now beginning to understand.

Remember too, these young voices are becoming stronger and are the shout of tomorrow’s majority. They will speak for us in the coming generation: they will teach their children and they will use their voices to affect families, neighborhoods, communities, and perhaps the world. I have called them children, but this collection shows how these young writers are on the cusp of adulthood and some, sadly, have already suffered a too early loss of childhood.

Here are stories of triumph, of joy, of pain, of sadness, of betrayal, and of a certain sad understanding. They will make you smile and chuckle and cheer. Some will make you cry. Some will haunt you.

K. Rice
S______ High School
May 2007

Plagiarists to the Left of Us, Plagiarists to the Right

Thank you for sharing your outrage, Gentle Readers. It is good to know I am not alone in applying direct pressure to hemorrhaging academic integrity. Our high school will also expel students for cheating although I only know of one case. A freshman was expelled for stealing his English teacher's semester exam and posting in for sale on-line. Standard cases of plagiarism like mine are common and I suspect often go unnoticed in the rush of hundreds of pieces of writing. When caught, a student can be punished in a variety of ways including expulsion but our administration has their hands full dealing with more serious issues of student safety and non-academic criminal behavior. Even next year, I will probably not give a failing grade for an entire semester for a first-time plagiarist but will almost certainly do it for a second offense.

Which brings me to the latest: more victims fell this week. I found this last batch of plagiarism particularly galling. The assignment was simple: select five poem forms from a list of twenty and write one poem for each of the poem forms selected. Bind your poems creatively. Turn them in for an easy 100 points.

I received many excellent entries. One student wrote a poem, word by word, on seashells and put them in small wooden box. The reader puts them together to form a poem. Was it her original poem or is it your own creation or, more likely, a blending of the two? Another wrote her poems on 12" x 12" floor tiles and bound them together into a book that weighed at least 20 pounds. Others made poem cubes and posters and fold out books. Almost all collections were colorful and original. The poetry was honest and heartfelt and filled to overflowing with overwrought emotions written in the self-absorbed style one would expect of high school freshmen. They were, for the most part, lovely to read. Some were too lovely.

I have yet to understand why my students think I cannot recognize various levels of writing skill at a glance. Do they think I am an English teacher who doesn't read or write? My previous plagiarists and their classmates all look at me with amazement as if I have some magic power to see into their minds and "sense" what they've been up to on paper. Almost every class asks me if I "check every paper on-line" as if all writing is equal and the only way I could possibly detect an evildoer is by cranking through Google searches on every single piece of student writing. This week's plagiarists may also be flummoxed as to how I detected them.

To be honest, I caught only two of this week's three plagiarists. My sexy research assistant nailed the last one. I knew this particular student's work was plagiarized: city-bred freshmen don't use lines like "the air resounds with voices piercing Autumn's still" or "the woodlands stand aglow in colors rarely seen." However, she had hand-written each poem and I couldn't get any hits no matter how many combinations I tried. The poems were mediocre, amateur poet stuff, but they still outstripped anything my students could produce. They key, it turned out, was that she had transcribed rather sloppily, omitting enough words here and there to thwart my hurried search. A deeper and more patient search teased out the sources and I gleefully zeroed out her work.

As mentioned earlier, I was particularly miffed by students plagiarizing on an assignment that was designed to be easy, fun, and a gimme"A" to anyone who wrote original poetry and stuck it in a binder. I made it clear I wasn't grading anyone on the quality of their poem, only that they had researched at least five poem types and gave writing each of them an honest shot. They could write five short and crappy poems in less than an half an hour, print them and past them on construction paper with a few crudely drawn illustrations and still get and "A:" pump out a Haiku, Tanka, Cinquain, Free Verse, and Couplet and your done for the semester.

Better news next post. I swear.

Mad Plagiarism Skills

I have been grading research papers for eternity. This task is made Sisyphean by the failure of many students to turn in their papers on time and by my weakness in allowing them to do so. In the week since the "final" due date, I have received a dozen papers, one of which sported an 8 1/2 x 11 cover note written in bold blue letters on pink paper, to whit:

"I'm sorry this is late, I was absent Fri. Please understand that i [sic] did take this assingment [sic] very seriously, and work [sic] on it and my reasearch [sic] very hard."

The paper and its accompanying Sharpie commercial came from one of my English I Honors students who manages to miss many of my classes and barely does any work in or out of class. If I may indulge you with her opening paragraph:

As the Internet enters its second decade as a mass medium, it's worth looking back at one of the old saws that was bandied around the covered-wagon days, when California sages made gnomic pronouncements about the future and the rest of the repeated them at dinner parties. "The net treats censorship as damage and routes around it." These are the words of John Gilmore, radical libertarian, Sun Microsystems employee number five and bona-fide west-coast guru-gazillionaire, and for much of the last 10 years they've been repeated as part pf the founding story of the Internet, along with a gloss about the net's inception as a military communications network designed to withstand partial destruction by nuclear attack.

Now, I really wish I could take credit for bringing ninth graders up to this level of writing. Unfortunately, my students don't even know half the words used in this excerpt. Some are more educated than others but, as you may have already figured out by comparing the quality of these two writing samples, the student in question is not among them. I don't even use "gnomic." I only know what it means because I looked it up after I read it in this well "reasearched" paper. (For those interested, it refers to a general truth. In this case something that is taken for truth without criticism.)

Fortunately, the student's lack of good plagiarism skills and eagerness to get the paper in made it simple to locate its source: The Guardian UK.

This research paper assignment generated several instances of plagiarism. One student was relatively sophisticated and copied chunks from several different sources and then altered a few words in an attempt to defeat a simple Google search for exact phrase matches. She did not, however, alter the original enough to make finding it difficult especially given my wife's fondness for solving logic puzzles and and tracking things down (thanks babe, for the academic CSI action).

Another student copied and pasted an entire essay from essaydepot.com and several others stitched together staggering semblances of essays from multiple sources and made an effort to get them walking.

Still, the pink-noted wonder writer made me angry, really angry. I wasn't mad at any of the other plagiarists; they were just giving it a shot to see if they could slide one by. Their attempts lacked malice and deceit. So, in addition to giving her the goose-egg she deserved, I wrote the following note:

A____,
You have wasted my time and yours. I am insulted both that you would present this as your own work and attach a note asserting that you took "this assignment very seriously."
Mr. Rice

The rest of my students worked hard and produced papers thick with errors and rich with honesty, certainty, and a lovely naivete.

They passed.

Four Years plus BMT and a Wake-up

It is amazing to see the transformation wrought by a few years plus six weeks of basic military training.

I went to a fellow Chief's retirement ceremony a couple of weeks ago. As part of the ritual, the youngest airman in the unit, probably no more than 18 or 19 years old, passed a folded flag to a family member of the retiree. This young man performed his office well; he marched up the aisle with crisp movements wearing a crisp uniform. This young man was high school freshman only four years ago.

I am prone to nostalgia and so it should come as no surprise that I miss the Air Force. Seeing that young man and listening to the conversations of the other young people around me made me long for a time, less than a year ago, when I knew that I would get competence and decorum from everyone I met in the course of my daily business, regardless of age. The few who did not meet these expectations were unpleasant and jarring surprises.

Now I am in a business where roughly 20 percent of my students are working hard and routinely meet or exceed what most adults expect from a socialized human being. As for the rest, I must continually set expectations of competence and decorum and continually address those instances when they fail to meet them.

The members of that 80 percent seem to have a few puzzling misconceptions:

1. If I don't like it or want to do it, it is "stupid" and therefore completely unreasonable for anyone to expect me to think it valuable or worth considering.
   
   
2. The minimum effort required is the maximum effort I will put forth, if you're lucky.
   
   
3. If I am told I don't have to do something, it means I should still get credit for doing it. It does not mean I have the choice to do it and receive credit or not do it and fail.
   
   
4. It is unreasonable to expect me to read what I am given or to listen to directions or to remember what I am told.
   
   
5. It is reasonable for me to ignore other's expectations but unreasonable for anyone else to ignore mine.
   
   
6. It is unreasonable for anyone to expect me to apply the knowledge or skills I am expected to learn.
   
   
7. If I can figure out a way to cheat or manipulate, it is the same as having learned.

Luckily, these misconceptions will be washed out of their systems over the next few years as life's storm begins to sweep them out to sea.

It looks like I'll be stuck in the tidewaters for a while longer, scooping the little urchins off the rocks and back to the safety of the pools.

100 mg of Inspirational Discourse, Stat!

I have a growing desire to engage in educational triage. I think this is a bad idea but it is, nonetheless, becoming a greater part of my inner dialog.

There are "expectant" students and students who need no educational attention whatsoever. As they pass through the classroom door each period, their faces and names evoke an instant and uncontrollable sorting response: no aid required, worth helping, possibly redeemable, no hope. This response requires an immediate and conscious effort to stop it from manifesting itself in my actions. Greeting my good students is easy, I am happy to see them. Greeting my sad, quiet students is also easy, I want them to know I am glad to see them and they are safe in my classroom. Greeting my disruptive students or those who seem to revel in their failure is far more difficult.

I also find it hard to focus just as diligently on teaching what I can to the do-nothings and loud-mouths who crow their straight-"F" status and snigger when I ask the class for essay topics. Like the daily greeting, addressing these students in a positive, academically helpful manner requires all my professionalism and integrity. Sometimes I am certain they will end up like the kids in that Rush song I'm sure you all know:

Louts swagger out of the schoolyard/waiting for the world's applause/rebels without a conscience/martyrs without a cause.

So, are these students really lost? Is there some way to reach them?

Maybe not, and possibly. I think maybe I even have the answer of how to reach them, or at least an answer that works for me. It doesn't involve the latest pedagogical wonder-drug or slick set of laminated posters. It doesn’t involve one set of worksheets over another. It doesn't involve teaching one novel over another. It doesn't involve lock-step, standardized practices across the department. It involves involvement: constant, repeated, and unrelenting care, honesty, and a commitment to high standards for myself and for my students.

It requires excitement, enthusiasm and inspiration. It requires that students know someone wants to inspire them, even if they reject that inspiration now.

It also requires an understanding that I may not be the teacher who makes a noticeable difference.

Real changes happen over time under the constant application of treatment: slow and steady. One must approach this job understanding it is far more difficult to build than it is to destroy. In an emergency room, medical workers can watch a life run out in minutes, a life that took years to craft, for better or worse. In the classroom, a teacher can choose to work on what appears to be a sick, potentially terminal patient or she or he can elect to give it another try to revive that life, to inject that little bit of inspiration even if it goes unnoticed and unrewarded. Perhaps, in a few years, a healthy young man or woman will walk back through the door and say, "Thanks man, for not treating me like a loser. It made all the difference."

Even if he or she doesn't, what can it hurt to try?

Rush to the Front

I saw Rush (the band, not the pseudo-pundit) with my best friend at the Los Angeles Forum back in 1979. My friend drew the band's trademark red star logo (sans naked man with gripping butt cheeks) on the left breast of a pair of heavy cotton hooded warm-up pullovers popular in those days with night time Huntington Beach-goers. I still have mine, and it fits if I try hard.

We scored our front-row, center tickets from a Ticketmaster booth next to Anaheim Stadium for a mere $80.00. Sure, it ate into our Asteroids and Defender budgets, but it was way worth it for such awesome seats, dude.

We rolled in, red stars prominently displayed, found our seats and were soon embracing a bra-less hottie (er, "fox," to use era-correct parlance) with her own homemade T-shirt sporting the words, "Neil Peart: Achiving Balance." We didn't really care that she couldn't spell "achieving" and were disappointed when ticket-checkers discovered she may have simply been jiggling and hugging her way to the front row with no more authorization than her breasts could muster. In our book, that was pretty substantial authorization. My friend and I both agreed she deserved to stay a little longer for her efforts.

After Geddy, Alex, and Neil played for us, I felt complete. I couldn't aural direction-find for a week; my deafness was a battle-scar: "Sorry man, I can't hear you very well, I had front-row seats to RUSH in LA last WEEKEND. FRONT-ROW."

Yes indeed, chicks dig eardrum scars.

Sadly, I only went to one other Rush concert after that: Wembley Arena, London, 1982, lame seats, no pre-show breasts, no 7-day aural disorientation. Since then, I've wanted to see Rush in concert and I missed their last gig when they came through town. In fact, I purposely missed it because I was a weak, tired, middle-aged old dude.

Lame, lame, lame.

Now I find that the mightiest epic-rock-power-trio ever to grace a Dungeons and Dragons gaming session is rolling back through town on their Snakes and Arrows tour. I know, as sure as my 8:30 PM bedtime, that I need to see Geddy's hipster goatee up close, count the hairs and wonder if "Just for Men" gets his business. I need to (carefully) bang my head and play unabashed air guitar/drums/bass to whatever the hell the boys want to play. I need to wail along with Geddy, "Earthshine/a beacon in the night/I can raise my eyes to Earthshine" and watch Neil hammer tight and clean through another set.

Bring me up front, Tickemaster, plant my ears in the 4KHz killzone.

Sure, for $740.00.

What! Is that the inflation-adjusted 80 bucks of my youth?

Adjusted for inflation, my 1979 tickets would run me $156. 80 today. Not too bad, I could probaby get the wife drunk and convince her that spending $627.00 for the whole family to get their eardrums pasted was a good deal. As long as I didn't mention bra-less, half-educated hotties willing to snuggle for a seat I'd probably be golden.

So what's going on here? If we leave out the fact that I now automatically count admission to anything that costs money in sets of four and look for "family pack" discounts, something seems terribly wrong. Is there some sort of conspiracy to jack up the price so aging guys can't live out their rather hum-drum rock and roll fantasies? I don't think so. I think it's simply supply and demand, ram 'em when you can capitalism. I suppose I shouldn't complain, The Police are coming and ear-bleed tickets for their gig in my town are running $3,750.

It looks like I'll have to buy cheap seats, pull on something sexy, and work my way to the front.

Come the Supplicants, Seeking Favor

It’s the end of the first quarter and I am like a little god. The villagers, in their time of need, have rediscovered my shrine; they have cleaned it of seven weeks overgrowth and re-consecrated it with murmured flatteries.

I grant grades.

Or at least they believe so. It is difficult weaning the masses off blind faith and onto personal responsibility. They BELIEVE that somehow everything will be fine with just a little prayer and maybe a quick “extra credit” project. How, after all, can I really fail them? If I do, or don’t allow them an extra day to turn in late work, they can always tell their secular rulers that their little god is weak. The shifting of responsibility away from oneself and onto others, earthly or otherwise, seems to be something we are born with.

The most insistent worshipers are those who ignored my dialectical journal and vocabulary assignments for five weeks and are failing as a result. These poor souls want to know if they can “do something” to get their grade up. I tell them that since I am more forgiving than many of the other minor deities in the building, I will grant them the right to present me with all five weeks of completed work before I close the grade books. Many are appalled that I would require such a thing. “But Mr. Rice, that’s going to take me forever.” I provide my standard response, delivered with the appropriate gravity, “It will take time, probably the same amount of time it would have taken you had you done the work over the last five weeks except now you will have to do it in only a few days. Furthermore, because you will not be getting the same academic benefit you would have received by doing the work in stages and getting my feedback after each stage, I will be deducting points. The points I deduct will be based on your level of engagement with the text and how hard you work to address all of the requirements. If you submit sloppy, poorly executed work, you will receive a significant mark down. I will deduct fewer points for lateness if you submit carefully crafted and insightful work.”

No sick or lame animals on my altar, only the fatted calf will do.

Some students return the next day proud and tired. “I worked all night on this.” I have a a few of responses based on my mood. The knee-jerk response is what you might expect: “Thank you, but had you done this over the time allotted you would have gotten more sleep last night.” Sometimes I snap back, “Great, now you need to apologize to my wife and daughters for taking me away from them to grade your work in one large piece. You realize that you stayed up all night doing one series of these while I have dozens of students’ work just like your's to grade. How late will I be up because of your inefficiency?”

My favorite response was to a student who never does classwork or homework. He complains constantly and repeatedly tells me I should extend my due dates to accommodate him because, as he says, “I can’t help it if I’m a procrastinator.”

This young man came to me for some help as part of an exercise he was doing in another class. The students in this other class were being required to build a portfolio with a set of educational and career goals, a resume, and a letter of recommendation. He came to me the day before it was due and said, “Hey, Mr. Rice, will you write me a letter of recommendation?”

“When is it due?” I asked, although my god-like powers allowed me to already “perceive” the answer.

“Uh, tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” I said, “How long does it take you to get me what I asked you to provide? Did you turn in your first dialectical journal assignment yet?”

“Yeah, I turned it in this week.”

“So how long did I wait for it?

“Five weeks.”

“OK, I’ll get your letter of recommendation back to you in five weeks.”

This little god is a forgiving god but one with a feel for irony. I gave the letter to him the next day but I wonder if he is familiar with the phrase, “damning with faint praise.”

Spring break begins next week. The weeds will begin to grow again around my shrine and I will be neglected and forgotten until May. Perhaps I shall enjoy the solitude.

A Round for the House

This entry has nothing at all to do with the American education system. I apologize if you came here looking for a classroom war story or a bit of fiscal whinging.

Today I must pass along some sad news.

According to an item on the Hook Norton Brewery website, the old Free House at the top of the village is now under the care of Mel and Sarah Phipps. I imagine they are quite capable and friendly landlords and I will certainly pay them a visit when I next find my way along the M40.

However, the ascension of the Phipps means, for me and probably many others, the end of an age. It is yet another symbol for all our journeys: places and people static and certain in photographs while reality recedes rapidly in the rear view mirror, no longer familiar.

I have an old and dented Ind Coope beer tray on the wall over my wet bar. Deep into Joey's bachelor party I used it to bash Dave over the head as he alternately bashed me with his tray in steady time with a bar full of fellow revelers singing and clapping, "Oh Lordy, pick a bale of cotton . . ." crescendoing faster and faster until the pans banged almost in unison and their rims bent on our senseless skulls.

Margaret put on a wonderful meal for my 21st birthday and from then until I moved away my pot, a gift from Joey and Frances, hung over The Red's bar on a hook graciously awarded by Colin. It now hangs sadly over our breakfast table, perhaps thinking of its own days, full to overflowing with 64 pence pints of Hooky's Best Bitter.

If I look carefully in my attic boxes, I might find some cocklebur or bit of barley from my first tramp across the fields from RAF Upper Heyford to the village on the hill, guided by the square Norman steeple incongruently crowned with a red light to warn off low-flying F-111s as they slid downward toward the airfield. Perhaps it came from a place I kayaked a year later, flooded knee-deep with water from the heavy rains and overflowing Cherwell. Perhaps the little seed or weed is there now, as I write, stuck at the bottom of a box or clinging to a forgotten pant leg, knowing it will be needed to stir some distant memory: to bring to life the smell of wildflowers, or wet earth, or burning corn stubble.

Only phantoms now: ghosts of winter fires in the corner hearth, of summer flowers and warm stones out front, of laughing friends, of children grown, of lovers found and lovers lost. The sad remnants of a coming of age, one among billions, flickering now to one day sputter and give out, remembered by no one but burning to the last. I know when I return to The Red I will be given the warm welcome of stranger in a country pub, a stranger whose heart is unknown but stays hidden under the brass and hardwood, close to the hearth, behind the bay window, and pressed against the bar.

Cheers, mate.

That's Chief Rice to You

At my approach during a mildly chaotic "clean up" time toward the end of a class period, one of my students, a tall, strong, intelligent, and intensely self-confident young woman, came to a slouching stand from the desk top upon which she was seated.
"At Ease, Cadet," she said, lifting two fingers to her forehead in what appeared to be an exceptionally sloppy Cub Scout salute.

I took the easy shot.

"Excuse me, I am a retired Chief Master Sergeant of the United States Air Force, not a 'cadet.' To call me such is an insult." Of course, my voice was clean, low and even and my face that of, well, an angry but well-disciplined Chief Master Sergeant of the United States Air Force. She shifted and moved into the young-teen defense mode and backed off, her body language shouting an unspoken, "Whatever."

"Damn," another student said, "where did that come from? That was cool."

Another student took up my cause. "Hey, you see those stripes up there on the wall, you know what they mean?"

Three students near the now sulking offender asked me if I could "show them some military stuff." I offered to show them how to come to attention and I asked the Cub (or, I suppose, Girl) Scout if she wanted to learn how. She wasn't interested.

At the end of the short lesson I turned to go back to the front of the room to prepare to release the class. She gave me a parting half salute and called me, of all things, a lieutenant.

I spun around. "That is perhaps the most insulting name anyone could call a senior non-commissioned officer." To which she replied, "Whatever, I don't know anything about the military, I don't even care about it."

"Then," I said, "Stop posing."

To be honest, I wasn't truly insulted. Of course she didn't know anything about the military and, if you'll reference my "Grown Children" blog, you'll know I do not hold any of them truly accountable for minor social missteps. Indeed, one must be careful with this age group. They are tough to others but tender to themselves. They have not yet internalized the grown-up maxim, "Don't dish it if you can't take it."

Still, I am a teacher and they have to start learning sometime.

Cash Money and So On

My thanks to Susan R. for making some excellent points and touching on most of the themes integral to water cooler commentary surrounding teacher compensation. I absolutely agree with her observation that my "Cash Money" entry seemed to find me "wallowing in a wee bit o' self pity."

I assure you all, however, that I did my homework; I'm just now getting around to whining about it.

First, pay was one of the three primary reasons I did not enter the teaching profession in my twenties. Now, with my pension, I can afford to teach because I like teaching. I am not concerned about my salary, but like Susan, watch as a pauper's compensation package drives away many highly competent people.

Second, my own Air Force colleagues' were skeptical of my post-military career choice. Why would I want to give up a lucrative contracting or GS gig? I served in the intelligence field for the last 13 years of my service, held a TS/SCI clearance, was professionally well-regarded, and had enough connections with active and retired Air Force officers and SNCOs to be able to land a job somewhere for at least twice my current teaching salary.

Third, I still chose to teach. Why? For all the intangible reasons every teacher who stays in the profession claims as his or her own: the joy of watching young people grow intellectually, emotionally, and socially. Unfortunately, there are teachers who do not have my choice or my access to Uncle Sam's back pocket. They entered the field with high hopes and a drive to teach and are now working hard in a field many people outside the profession consider to be a pretty easy way to make money. Teachers, like many others in jobs with little hope of meaningful advancement and faced with the same grinding schedule year after year, opt out or burn out and trudge forward, counting the years until retirement like so many inmates scratching tallies on concrete walls. Maybe society can survive a deadening of employee spirit in some sectors but I would argue that unless public education systems work toward a corporate model we will not move significantly forward no matter how many standardized tests we give. Principals need flexibility over compensation packages, they need to be able to headhunt and poach from schools, and they need to be able to develop more innovative ways to gauge teacher effectiveness and student achievement.

Lastly, I welcome all grammar, spelling, and punctuation nitpickers. I have yet to draft or publish an error-free piece of writing.

Cash Money

I have a BA in English and M.Ed. I am employed full time as a school teacher and given all the pay and benefits accorded to that post. According to the contract I signed with the school district, I am paid a couple of copper pieces over $29.00 and hour and access to a decent health package, employer-paid contributions to the Public Employee Retirement System (PERS), and 13 weeks of vacation every year.

The district's math gets a little tricky though. You see, I am actually a salaried employee which means, of course, the posted pay scale reflects an annual rate not an hourly rate and I am expected to work like a salaried employee; I work until the job is done and normally wear the uniform of a white-collar professional. My annual rate of pay is a couple of lumps over $38,000 per year. OK, still not bad considering the health, retirement and vacation package, but starting to look a little thin for someone with a graduate degree. In fact, according to the US Census Bureau's Evidence From Census 2000 Earnings by Detailed Occupation for Men and Women, it is $11,000 less than the 1999 median salary (50th percentile) for individuals with a bachelors degree or higher.

Sure, you may say, but you only work a few hours a day, five days a week and get all that sweet summer vacation. Using that logic, 29 bucks an hour isn't that bad for teaching kids stuff you already know.

So let's get back to the hourly rate. That number, the wage-for-a-non-wage-earning-employee, is calculated using the contracted teaching day of 7.11 hours including one 85-minute lesson preparation period and a 30-minute lunch break. By this calculation, I only have to work five hours a day for 180 days a year. What' the problem?

I don't work only five hours a day nor do I work only 180 days a year. Lesson planning, paper grading, student counseling, parent calling, and staff meetings, fill my prep periods, add another five hours to each day and usually take up at least 75% of every weekend during the school year. Outside the school year, I am expected to attend professional development classes and refine my lessons for the next school year. Thus, I am really working 12-hour days, six to seven days a week during the school year, and reduced hours over my breaks. Furthermore, the pay calculation does not include the need to purchase classroom supplies, much of which comes out of my own pocket. Our total English department supply budget, I was told by more than one source, amounts to a paltry $1,000 for the entire school year (excluding paper). With that, 15 teachers are expected to buy all the usual things you might expect a room full of students to need as well as some you may not have considered, like toner cartridges, four of which will eat the annual budget in one gulp.

Here's one last interesting fact: my take home check from the district every month is $300 less than my military pension from the United States Government and I can collect Uncle Sam's largesse while sitting on the couch watching Twilight Zone marathons.

Results of the Student Note Prompt

The students were far less critical of their peer's work than they were of the substitute teacher's. No surprise there. Most students were hesitant to remark on the notes, either because they may have been one of the authors or because they knew the authors or because they suspected one of the authors was in the room. Student solidarity against teachers trumps almost any desire to demonstrate academic prowess. I was able to coax out some obvious commentary but usually that commentary was delivered deadpan, empty of the blood lust evident as they circled and pummeled the teacher's note. The defense of the student notes is best illustrated by my exchange with one young man who sits in the desk closest to the screen and my normal lecture territory.
"But Mr. Rice, everybody writes like that."
"No they don't"
"Yes they do."
"Not everbody."
"Yeah huh."
"Dude, how old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"How old am I?'
"I don't know, old."
"I'm 45 and I'm here to tell you not everybody writes like that. I'm also here to tell you that if you insist on using chat shorthand, misspelling simple words, and fumbling your sentence construction outside the small world you now inhabit you will be considered . . . class?"
"AN IDIOT."
"Thank you class."

Authentic Activities

I used the substitute's note from my last posting as a warm-up exercise. I scanned it and projected it, three feet wide and two and a half feet high, on the screen at the front of my room. Above the note, I typed, "DWR: (the students know this means, "daily written response") Write a response to this note. Comment on the content and identify errors in grammar, spelling, and construction." The class did not immediately begin writing.

"Mr. Rice, the sub was like a crack addict or something."

"Mr. Rice, she came in here like she was the Queen of England."

"Mr. Rice, let me tell you what happened."

"Mr. Rice, was that our class?"

"OK, guys," I said, "After only four weeks I know it might be hard to remember, but what are you supposed to do when you first come in the room?"

"We're supposed to write, not talk. You know, just respond to the text or image or music, whatever you have up."

"Right," I said, "Push your thoughts through your pens, not your mouths; we'll have time to discuss this in less than ten minutes. You know, I have to take roll and I like to write spontaneously to these prompts as well."

"But Mr. Rice . . . ."

This dialog, or something like it, happened in all of my six English classes, especially the class with the offending young lady. In each case, they finally settled in and wrote for a few minutes with only minimal muttering.

The discussions after "pens down" went along the same path as well.

"She's stupid." "Her grammar sucks." "I can't even read her handwriting."

"OK, be more specific." Identify a sentence fragment or a run-on. Look for a sentence that doesn't make sense. Is she trying on a metaphor here or has she just scrambled her words?"

It worked out great, they gleefully butchered her work and stepped directly into my pedagogical trap.

"All right you guys, what level of education is required for someone to get a job as a substitute teacher in this county?"

"High school diploma."

"Big degree."

"Nothing."

"College."

"A four-year degree or two years of college with at least six credits in the field of education." I finally revealed.

"What do you think of someone who writes like this?"

"Wow, what a loser."

"Yeah Mr. Rice, she's a real idiot. Lame, yeah, really lame."

The class got a kick out of this woman's ignorance especially after discovering she had attained what they consider to be an extreme level of education.

Perfect.

" How did she manage to graduate high school and probably graduate college and still write like this?"

"She cheated."

"Yeah Mr. Rice, she probably cheated."

"How can you cheat on essay tests? Anyway, I'm digressing."

"I'll tell you how she ended up like this. She didn't pay attention, she didn't engage her assignments, and her teachers were probably tired of trying to make her. So she slid by and now you guys are calling her an idiot and stupid. She's a real moron, right? Do you want to be called a moron after you get out of high school? Do you want someone to snigger at your writing and think of you as an idiot? I am your English teacher, and I don't want you to be called an idiot, at least not because of your writing. That's why I push you guys. I'm not your previous teacher. I don't give out crossword puzzles and word searches as authentic work and I am very willing to fail those students who fail themselves and who fail to make an improvement from where they started this class in September."

"Oh."

This week I'm going to be projecting a couple of the notes they left behind on desks last week. They will be accompanied by the following prompt:

"DWR: Although these pieces of writing are quick notes between friends, there are some some unnecessary spelling errors. See if you can identify them. Which note is better constructed and has the fewest errors? Why?"