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.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
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.
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
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
Thursday, July 26, 2007
"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.
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.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, July 6, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
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.
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
Saturday, May 26, 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.
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.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
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.
"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.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
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:
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.
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:
- 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.
- The minimum effort required is the maximum effort I will put forth, if you're lucky.
- 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.
- It is unreasonable to expect me to read what I am given or to listen to directions or to remember what I am told.
- It is reasonable for me to ignore other's expectations but unreasonable for anyone else to ignore mine.
- It is unreasonable for anyone to expect me to apply the knowledge or skills I am expected to learn.
- If I can figure out a way to cheat or manipulate, it is the same as having learned.
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.
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