"Black man with a scruffy face," my friend wrote, "what kind of description is that?" Even though I don't know the pop cultural reference, I understand her dismay. What in the world are writers thinking with that kind of lazy writing.
What are some teachers thinking with lazy teaching. Although I was nostalgic about my teaching experience with the small school housed in a nightmarishly chaotic middle school in my last posting, I did not bring up Ms. X. Let's just say, she was not exactly organized.
After my son was born, I began teaching as a native language reading intervention teacher. I started it as a program from scratch. That is, after helping all the teachers start all their assessments. And one other thing, half the time I was subbing for Ms. X. She was a special ed teacher who shared a room and had a penchant for plastic surgery. She was a little nutty, and she kept no plans that I ever saw. Luckily, her assistant, Mr. G, was a grounded if young and fairly inexperienced teacher. He was wonderful with the students. Together we always managed to throw something together. But these students deserved so much more. When I went to the principal to complain, she silenced me. She used everything in her power to keep me from voicing anything about what was happening in that classroom. Ms. X had a dispute with her and the union was involved. It was so sensitive that she wanted to show me that I had no right to speak up for my program and the children that I was supposed to be serving nor the children in that ill positioned class.
That's not even that bad of a story, but imagine year after year of being told to copy the board and that's "writing." Imagine worksheet after worksheet and that's "learning." I think the best things I did was bring them authentic and beautiful children's literature and let them tell stories (about movies or whatever) that they could then write about.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
bauhaus font
This font was invented in the 20s, and this version was copied by my slightly letter-obsessed son. I tried to videotape this literacy event, but it is against the rules at the MoMA.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Becoming Visible, or it's complicated
“Whether or not we are aware of it or not, the United States is surely composed of a plethora of perspectives. I am reminded of this. . .Even with well-intentioned educators, not only our children’s legacies but our children themselves can become invisible. Many of the teachers we educate, and indeed their teacher educators, believe that to acknowledge a child’s color is to insult him or her. In her book White Teacher, Vivian Paley openly discusses the problems inherent in the statement that I have heard many teachers—well-intentioned teachers—utter, 'I don’t see color, I only see children.' What message does this statement send? That there is something wrong with being black or brown, that it should not be noticed? I would like to suggest that if one does not see color, then one does not really see children. Children made ‘invisible’ in this manner become hard-pressed to see themselves worthy of notice.”
Delpit, L. (1995). Other people’s children: Cultural conflict in the classroom. New York: The New Press.
As a teacher of urban children who are mostly children of color, I concur with Delpit and her point in the above quote. What we need to acknowledge as well is how the system set up failure with the NCLB policies where kids are being ignored because their test scores aren't close to be proficient. Yes, I was at a school where they told the teachers bluntly to focus on their special ed students who would be able to be pushed up to the level that "counts" as being proficient in content areas. Excuse me, children need to be seen and responded to despite their test scores.
What is often lacking are those counternarratives in schools, and they do exist, where kids and their teachers are doing great things. As a teacher, I take issue with those who have never taught condemning the schools and all the ways they are failing. Many who struggle daily do make a difference.
I saw this as an opportunity to reflect on my final years of teaching before coming back to school.
Situated in East New York
It was the year that high-stakes testing counted for third graders in New York, when they were told if they did not pass the test they could not move on to fourth grade. Summer of 2003, when I moved to Brooklyn, Celia Cruz, the Cuban born salsa singer, died. Especially in Latino communities, like the one I was about to start working in, young and old danced to her music as they mourned her death.
I remember East New York as a place alive with beats. Passionately loud, singers wail from passing cars and churches from the early hours throughout the day. It is an area of concentrated poverty. Burned out buildings flank bodegas that sell everything from ice cream to umbrellas. The rhythmic Spanish of the Caribbean is spoken here. My father, the son of an Italian immigrant, played in Highland Park, walking distance from my old school. A huge sign on a middle school with a few uninspiring murals attempt to welcome those who enter. The small bilingual elementary school founded by parents is housed in this larger school. The hallways ring with bells and over the loud speaker there are frequent and long interruptions. Sometimes students add to this chaos by pulling fire alarms, banging on doors, and starting fights. Their external world often mirrors the internal world of the children who experience death and loss in staggering numbers. With the experience of grief, life can be stressful. Within this noisy larger environment, there are some dedicated teachers and students working to make change.
Complicated Classrooms
In my tiny shoebox of classroom, 11 feet by 30 feet, where a year of teaching and learning took place, my students’ cultures and languages were multiple and new to me, as was Brooklyn and life on the East coast. I noticed my students in this particular third grade growing with awareness of their outside worlds as well as of their internal ones. One student in particular was experiencing turmoil about his mother who had died when he was 4 years old. I encouraged his exploration of his loss through writing during integrated themes such as the study of Mexico and the Day of the Dead. As our relationships grew and changed, my belly did too—because I was pregnant.
This classroom was not a simple place, but it was interactive. On one of the small sides of the shoebox room was the door, and, on the other side, there was a thin window. Instead of blinds, I hung a bright green scarf in the window. Also on that side of the room was our carpet area that had a two-seater orange pleather loveseat. We held our daily community meeting on that carpet, and we rotated the spots daily on the mini-couch. I learned lessons along side my students in this classroom—there was not enough room for me to stand in front of them anyway as the light filtered through that small corner window.
Lessons in Reading the Word and Writing the World
Students’ ways of reading the world are diverse as Freire reminded us. A simple game illustrates this concept. Apagón was played by my class with their dance teacher. When she turned off the lights, she would say a word. The students had to freeze and with their bodies form a way to express the word. One time, she said “iglesia” [church], and many of the students took positions that were recognizable as prayer, with hands folded and kneeling. However, one of the students lifted her arms to make a V. Davina, this African American student, sang in the choir. A simple activity encouraged expression of diverse readings of the world and the word.
Such readings show up in poems as well. Naming the word and the world is powerful for students. The language of metaphor helps students articulate their voices to a wider audience. Likewise young musicians learn to read music in order to begin to perform new possibilities. A few of my students, with the help of their families and teachers, went to study music at Julliard on the weekends, and one student was spotted by an accomplished jazz musician who began to tutor him on the trumpet. This was the student who had lost his parents and was near the edge. Accessing symbolic resources, such as poetic language or musical abilities strengthens school literacies—writers creatively conceptualize and convey ideas with whatever they bring in their "backpacks" to school. Speaking in metaphor, we articulate our sense making with powerful voices.
Learning to Look, Learning to Breathe
So how do educators let those students become visible with all the constraints and mandates around us? There are spaces, special schools and classrooms, where this is encouraged. We look closely at our students and take moments daily to breathe and be with them where they are at, with what they are dealing with, and make decisions. I look back and know that I had many times when I needed a poem posted that said, "Breathe, you are alive!"
Delpit, L. (1995). Other people’s children: Cultural conflict in the classroom. New York: The New Press.
As a teacher of urban children who are mostly children of color, I concur with Delpit and her point in the above quote. What we need to acknowledge as well is how the system set up failure with the NCLB policies where kids are being ignored because their test scores aren't close to be proficient. Yes, I was at a school where they told the teachers bluntly to focus on their special ed students who would be able to be pushed up to the level that "counts" as being proficient in content areas. Excuse me, children need to be seen and responded to despite their test scores.
What is often lacking are those counternarratives in schools, and they do exist, where kids and their teachers are doing great things. As a teacher, I take issue with those who have never taught condemning the schools and all the ways they are failing. Many who struggle daily do make a difference.
I saw this as an opportunity to reflect on my final years of teaching before coming back to school.
Situated in East New York
It was the year that high-stakes testing counted for third graders in New York, when they were told if they did not pass the test they could not move on to fourth grade. Summer of 2003, when I moved to Brooklyn, Celia Cruz, the Cuban born salsa singer, died. Especially in Latino communities, like the one I was about to start working in, young and old danced to her music as they mourned her death.
I remember East New York as a place alive with beats. Passionately loud, singers wail from passing cars and churches from the early hours throughout the day. It is an area of concentrated poverty. Burned out buildings flank bodegas that sell everything from ice cream to umbrellas. The rhythmic Spanish of the Caribbean is spoken here. My father, the son of an Italian immigrant, played in Highland Park, walking distance from my old school. A huge sign on a middle school with a few uninspiring murals attempt to welcome those who enter. The small bilingual elementary school founded by parents is housed in this larger school. The hallways ring with bells and over the loud speaker there are frequent and long interruptions. Sometimes students add to this chaos by pulling fire alarms, banging on doors, and starting fights. Their external world often mirrors the internal world of the children who experience death and loss in staggering numbers. With the experience of grief, life can be stressful. Within this noisy larger environment, there are some dedicated teachers and students working to make change.
Complicated Classrooms
In my tiny shoebox of classroom, 11 feet by 30 feet, where a year of teaching and learning took place, my students’ cultures and languages were multiple and new to me, as was Brooklyn and life on the East coast. I noticed my students in this particular third grade growing with awareness of their outside worlds as well as of their internal ones. One student in particular was experiencing turmoil about his mother who had died when he was 4 years old. I encouraged his exploration of his loss through writing during integrated themes such as the study of Mexico and the Day of the Dead. As our relationships grew and changed, my belly did too—because I was pregnant.
This classroom was not a simple place, but it was interactive. On one of the small sides of the shoebox room was the door, and, on the other side, there was a thin window. Instead of blinds, I hung a bright green scarf in the window. Also on that side of the room was our carpet area that had a two-seater orange pleather loveseat. We held our daily community meeting on that carpet, and we rotated the spots daily on the mini-couch. I learned lessons along side my students in this classroom—there was not enough room for me to stand in front of them anyway as the light filtered through that small corner window.
Lessons in Reading the Word and Writing the World
Students’ ways of reading the world are diverse as Freire reminded us. A simple game illustrates this concept. Apagón was played by my class with their dance teacher. When she turned off the lights, she would say a word. The students had to freeze and with their bodies form a way to express the word. One time, she said “iglesia” [church], and many of the students took positions that were recognizable as prayer, with hands folded and kneeling. However, one of the students lifted her arms to make a V. Davina, this African American student, sang in the choir. A simple activity encouraged expression of diverse readings of the world and the word.
Such readings show up in poems as well. Naming the word and the world is powerful for students. The language of metaphor helps students articulate their voices to a wider audience. Likewise young musicians learn to read music in order to begin to perform new possibilities. A few of my students, with the help of their families and teachers, went to study music at Julliard on the weekends, and one student was spotted by an accomplished jazz musician who began to tutor him on the trumpet. This was the student who had lost his parents and was near the edge. Accessing symbolic resources, such as poetic language or musical abilities strengthens school literacies—writers creatively conceptualize and convey ideas with whatever they bring in their "backpacks" to school. Speaking in metaphor, we articulate our sense making with powerful voices.
Learning to Look, Learning to Breathe
So how do educators let those students become visible with all the constraints and mandates around us? There are spaces, special schools and classrooms, where this is encouraged. We look closely at our students and take moments daily to breathe and be with them where they are at, with what they are dealing with, and make decisions. I look back and know that I had many times when I needed a poem posted that said, "Breathe, you are alive!"
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
identity piece
So what does it mean that my story seemed like it was told from the point of view of my son? Not really sure about that.
buildings and layouts
So my son spent a half day at a Sony computer lab, and, when I asked him, he reported he was on the 4th floor. Somehow the fact that there was a big elevator figured as importantly in his retelling as the fact that he spent time on computers. This from the boy who has to know about how many staircases there are in any new building, whether there is a ground floor or basement. Anyway, he was happy about the trip.
Monday, November 9, 2009
30 letters in español
The ch, ll, ñ, and rr have sparked many questions, as have the use of accents. Why isn't every letter able to have an accent? Just the vowels in Spanish...This is from a child who was fascinated by the & when he was 3, so we are really moving recursively.
He also tends to invent letters like the xo that he came up with last year. Kind of an ñ type thing--evidence of metalinguistic thinking.
He also tends to invent letters like the xo that he came up with last year. Kind of an ñ type thing--evidence of metalinguistic thinking.
We are back to the love of letters
There are short obsessions and long loves in our lives. Letters are the longest most enduring passionate affair around here. Not that tools aren't still around, but they have been knocked off the pedestal.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Anonymity of Cyberspace
I guess this is a follow-up to the last posting. There was another interaction by email with the ex-friend I wrote about that was cold and disturbing.
This has really led me to start thinking about some of the strange interactions that I have had online. Not that those same interactions can't be had on some level in live interactions (meat space, or whatever you want to call it) but somehow it is easier to be cruel or rude when people are physically distanced.
Cyber-bullying is something that must be more chronic now than ever. With films like Mean Girls we see a dramatization of what some people lived through in high school or middle school. Whatever you call it, there is some level of pressure that teens go through and, in negotiating their identities, they sometimes exercise power and position others as inferior or not worth their attention.
For me, it was hard to have this happen as a secure grown woman, so I cannot imagine what young people have to navigate in this online participatory culture.
This has really led me to start thinking about some of the strange interactions that I have had online. Not that those same interactions can't be had on some level in live interactions (meat space, or whatever you want to call it) but somehow it is easier to be cruel or rude when people are physically distanced.
Cyber-bullying is something that must be more chronic now than ever. With films like Mean Girls we see a dramatization of what some people lived through in high school or middle school. Whatever you call it, there is some level of pressure that teens go through and, in negotiating their identities, they sometimes exercise power and position others as inferior or not worth their attention.
For me, it was hard to have this happen as a secure grown woman, so I cannot imagine what young people have to navigate in this online participatory culture.
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