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?"

Battlestaff Brief is in One Hour, Does Anyone Have Some Duct Tape?

Setting up and getting started in my classroom over the last few weeks has been much like getting dropped into a deployed location, given 250 troops from different bases who have also just deployed, and supported with not much more than a hearty slap on the back from a grinning commander, "I know you'll take care of it, let me know if you need anything, gotta go." Well, actually sir. . .

The only thing I haven't done is exchange a knowing, "flexibility is the key to airpower" with a colleague hustling past in the hallway.

The parallels are truly amazing. I was officially hired two workdays before I was to greet my class. In those two days plus the weekend, I had to figure out where to get the keys to my room, get access to the district intranet, buy or scrounge supplies, locate and check out a digital projector, set up my seating chart, figure out where my students were academically, prepare lesson plans, prepare a class mission statement, develop a discipline plan consistent with school and district policy, put together course syllabi, locate the teacher work areas, establish policies and procedures for my classroom, grade semester exams I had not written or proctored, post semester grades using a piece of software I had never encountered nor received any training on, duct tape extension cables to the floor to keep students from tripping on them, duct tape the mission statement, policies and procedures, seating charts, and discipline plan to the wall, fill out several forms that presumably mean something to somebody somewhere else in the organization, and finally sit down and put together my first day's presentations.

It was, for those who are familiar, exactly like putting together an intel shop while the battlestaff is screaming for a brief. Only this battlestaff is composed of more than 200 14- and 15-year olds each of whom can be far more critical, disinterested, and potentially disruptive than any wing commander or mission director I have ever encountered. Furthermore, the briefing must maintain interest, increase knowledge, and challenge juvenile intellects for 85 minutes.

You know, that gives me an idea, maybe intel briefs would go over better if we gave wing commanders different colored markers and butcher paper to draw on, and then played a game to help them retain and apply the information.

Grown Children

Most of my ninth grade students look like young adults.

The boys are mostly man-size: tall and heavy and strong. Most of the girls seemed to have passed menarche, given the number of requests I get to go to the nurse's office. I suspect some of these requests are actually sincere and not simply designed to exploit my natural disinclination to pursue a detailed discussion on the topic. The girls always get their nurse's pass. Boys, on the other had, often ask to go to the restroom but they obviously cannot play the "monthly" card. Most of the time I ask them to wait until later in the period when I have them working in groups. Often they forget they actually had to go. When I do allow them to leave, another student normally perceives this as a potential method of escape and asks me if he can go as well. I say that I will sign his pass but only after the previous student has returned. This usually results in disappointment. Although they look like adults, they often behave as little children.

Their brains and the way they use them are, of course, a dead give away of their age. Their emphasis on social and emotional connections almost always overrides their sense of professionalism and responsibility. Those not accustomed to dealing with young teenagers might respond to this statement with a, "well, duh," but I suspect they too might be initially fooled by these adult-sized humans with nascent socio-cognitive abilities. You see, sometimes they flutter between periods of mental maturity and childishness in the same way their voices once shifted tone. I have students who are perpetual children and those who seem adult beyond their years: these are at either end of a steep bell curve. Most lie in the middle, on the peak of churning wave, at times petulant, rebellious, and arrogant and at other times contrite, helpful, and considerate. This shift between personalities is, I believe, at the heart of what frustrates teachers and parents: They see the physique of adulthood in its prime: virile and capable, but have difficulty squaring that with juvenile social behavior. We must not forget that they are children, but children being emotionally born, making that transition from the second womb of childhood into the adult world. The work is painful and long, and no emotional C-section or spinal block can shorten or ease this labor.

I attach for your benefit evidence of a recent stir in my class room: a note from a substitute teacher who had an encounter with a student who is normally reasonably well-behaved.

Starting Over

I am a new teacher. I retired last July as a Chief Master Sergeant from the United States Air Force after 25 years of service. Six months later I find myself teaching English in a ninth grade classroom on the edge of city of almost 2 million people.

This is my first entry.

Alas, I am now just starting my third week as a public educator. I have 250+ 14 and 15-year old students of varying ability, some barely write at the fifth grade level. Much of my time has been spent counseling students and calling parents in an effort to get my classes under control. I inherited one class in particular with students who were fond of ripping dictionaries to pieces and throwing their pages around the classroom. I am pleased to report that I have moved them above that behavior, at least in my room. All of my classes started this school year with a new teacher who threw her keys at the principal before the end of the last semester and then they suffered under a series of substitutes and are thus behind in both their academic ability and their general civility.

I am starting a review of standard English conventions coupled with an autobiographical writing project as well as beginning a novel unit in order to build their ability to read actively and critically and to develop their sense of place within the context of the written word. All of this goes toward meeting state content standards and getting them ready for the state interim ability testing taking place in seven weeks.

I am surviving day to day and look forward to knowing exactly what I will be doing in the classroom a week ahead of time. It is a modest dream to those outside the profession but to those who have ever been first-year teachers it has a familiarity that brings knowing nods. I have other, less modest goals as well: start a quarterly literary journal of student work, develop connections with other secondary schools around the globe, and build culture of excellence in my classroom.

The ground here is fertile, I just need time to plant.