Teaching with Poverty in Mind

I'm having lots of thoughts while reading this book: Teaching with Poverty in Mind. It's excellent, by the way. If you're a teacher in a classroom with low SES students, I HIGHLY recommend getting this book.

It talks a lot about the emotional under-development of children who come from high poverty households and how they need to be taught how to process emotions and proper reactions to them. I never thought about that at the high school level, but it's very true. And it explains a lot of the disruptive outbursts we see in class.

Right now I'm thinking about the high level of chronic stressors present in the lives of high poverty students. Growing up with chronic stress actually impairs the development of most aspects of the brain biologically. It's fascinating stuff. Chronic stress is the cause of their constant impulsivity (their lack of being able to think before they act or speak), because impulse is a survival mechanism they've used all their lives to stay alive and have their immediate survival needs met. The book says, "Our students don't wear signs around their necks that say 'Chronic stress lives here'..." but they don't have to. So many times you can see it in their appearance. And I'm not limiting myself to just judging a book by its cover here, but when you see a student that may or may not have bathed in the last few days, dragged a comb through his/her hair for a while, and you're pretty sure they were wearing those same clothes the last time you saw them, as indicated by that unforgettable spaghetti stain from the lunchroom, you pretty much know- that kid, and probably his/her family, operates in survival mode. You can almost perfectly predict classroom behavior at that point- at least to varying degrees.

What I really enjoy about this book is that it urges teachers to EXPECT these "negative" or survival responses from their students. It's the way they live their lives. Why would we expect anything different right off the bat in our classrooms? We have to create safe classroom environments where they can watch us model the correct responses to stress and in return teach them a healthy way of functioning in the world.

I have hallway duty the last 30 minutes of every other day, and without fail, every time I have to listen to a teacher, behind his closed door, scream at the top of his lungs and say some very berating and hateful things to his last period class because his class is out of control and he's been pushed over the edge. He doesn't know he's being counter-productive. And it doesn't seem to register with him that his screaming tantrums aren't fixing anything, because he still has to do it every single day. I want him to read this book-- it's laying on his desk. It would make his life so much easier if he would just breathe and have the patience to model and teach correct responses instead of escalating the stress in the room by hatefully screaming at the top of his lungs. Everybody is in survival mode in that room. Even the teacher.

I understand his frustration. I do. When a kid mutters EFF YOU, Bitch, under his breath about ten times in a class period, it's very hard to stay positive and have any desire at ALL to teach him ANYTHING- let alone how to act like an intelligent individual. But then that's our job, isn't it? Isn't that what we signed on for? To teach?

I did, anyway.

Graduation Day

Today I think of Jorge, one of my sophomore English students two years ago.

He came to America when he was nine years old having never set foot in a school before- neither here nor in his home country. He says he remembers walking down the streets of downtown Dallas with his mom, seeing business names high on the sides of massive skyscrapers and wishing he could read them.

I didn't even know my letters, Miss.

Today he becomes the first person in his family to graduate high school. And in a few months he'll become the first person in his family to go to college.

I'm not his momma, but today I feel like a proud momma. This is why I do what I do.

COURAGE

These kids inspire me every day. Yesterday we started a new book study as an entire school. It's called Success for Teens. And given the number of fights, drugs, and just general hood behavior on campus, I love that someone in administration finally stepped up to the plate and implemented a school-wide study like this. Hopefully we'll see some positive results.

So yesterday morning, we started on chapter one. The chapter was about making positive choices and having goals. At the end of the chapter, it asked the students to make lists of things they were good at and things they loved to do. Then it asked them to answer this question: If you could do absolutely anything, and it wasn't too far-fetched, and it wasn't impossible, what would it be? Then it asked them to write the footprint they wanted to leave on the world.


After a particularly long and grueling week (the first week teaching Shakespeare is always akin to taking a sharp stick in the eye for all of us), I came in this morning, and before sitting down to read all my emails or just generally ready things for the day, I decided to look at their responses from yesterday. And it gave me strength for today.

One particularly quiet and very intuitive girl wrote this. It stopped me in my tracks.

This one kind of hit me in the gut. Some things never change. I'm sooo going to encourage her to learn how to let go of her inhibition NOW, because it only gets harder as the years go by. And she's an incredible writer and doesn't even know it. Gonna have to spend some extra QT with this one.

Then I saw this. What kind of footprint do you want to leave on the world?

She will. And I'm gonna help her.

#WINNING

I'm not going crazy!  I'm winning!  I promise!

Although, I'm making a promise to myself right here and now.  NEXT YEAR I WILL FIND A FUN WAY TO TEACH SHAKESPEARE.  I've never been shy about my distaste for the old, crusty, white Elizabethan one.  I get that he's a legend, and I get that he has had a huge influence on our modern English language.  It doesn't change the fact that I still dislike studying him in depth.  I didn't like him in high school.  I didn't like him for four years as an English major in college.  And I still don't like him as an English teacher.  And if I have to teach him, I much prefer to teach his poetry.  After all, he did consider himself a poet-- and only a poet.  Yet we're so consistently mired in his plays.  Anywho, enough about Bill.

The stress has eased just a tiny bit on the job front.  Apparently a ton of teachers in the district, and specifically in our department, have taken the rather hefty resignation incentive offered by the district.  And that leaves more room for those of us who actually want to stay and teach next year.  So that helps a tiny bit.

But then there's gas.  Gas prices seem to go up ten cents every two days with no end in sight.  The cost of food and clothes is also going up.  Does anyone else feel like we're living in Stalinist Russia?  Luckily, my sister who has an incredible apartment in downtown Houston said we can come see her for a mini vacay.  So we can have a little get away without feeling like we're breaking the bank.  And my handy dandy new membership card to the Dallas Museum of Art finally came in.  Free admission to all Late Night events!  Woo HOO!  And let me tell you, the weather is ripe for perfect happy hours on the patio.  So we're making the best of this economy that is decidedly #NOTWINNING.

So in closing, Shakespeare and the price of oil are driving me to drink.  And that is all.  :)

A teeny, tiny glimmer of hope for our schools

With anti-teacher sentiment the highest I've seen it in my lifetime in this country, I humbly submit for your consideration...

Why it's not enough to appraise a teacher's performance solely on student test scores:

I think back to the year I spent as a social worker for the Child Welfare Division of DHS.  That was probably THE hardest job I'll ever have in my life-- not because it was such an emotionally gut-wrenching job, but because the sheer volume of the work was completely overwhelming.  I was responsible not only for sixty-four precious children who clearly did not ask to be born into dangerous and abusive situations, but I was also responsible for making sure their parents and other various relatives were putting a good faith effort into being rehabilitated and learning how to create a safe environment for their children in the event their children were able to return home.   I think about my job performance and the appraisals I received by my boss during that time.  She read the court reports I had written, she checked my calendar and my visit logs to review the weekly and monthly visits I had made with the children, their foster parents, and their biological parents.  She reviewed the referrals I had made to various service providers for both the children and their parents.  She looked at general work related things like the fact that made it to work on time every day and that I completed my work in the office in a timely manner.  And then she looked at the progress of my cases, and the progress of the parents on my caseload.

I cannot imagine what it would have been like if my job performance as a social worker was solely judged on the results of the many times drug-addicted, abusive parents on my caseload.  But isn't that partly what we're doing to teachers now in our educational system?  I don't mean at all to compare my students to drug addicts or child abusers, in fact many of them are victims of those types of crimes, but we are placing the worthiness and value of our educators squarely on the shoulders of children, who in many cases, especially in our urban school districts, have learning disabilities and do not test well.  Many of them come into the classroom already at a huge disadvantage.  Most times that disadvantage is entirely too much to overcome in one year, in two years with even the best teacher.  However, we can make progress.  And progress is something that is sometimes hard to measure.  Tests are unreliable.  The majority of the global educational establishment agrees on this and has FOR YEARS, yet we still used standardized tests as the gold standard.  Why?  It's because we're either 1) too lazy to invent a more effective method of assessment or 2) we're not creative enough to think of and implement another solution.

That said, there are a plethora of things that contribute to and show teacher effectiveness outside of standardized test scores.  A teacher's job is to provide instruction, is it not?  So when we're evaluating the effectiveness of a teacher, shouldn't we specifically look at the instruction, not just the results of that instruction?  Does the teacher plan lessons that align with the curriculum?  And more importantly, can you get your hands on those lesson plans?  If not, if the teacher does not plan, or if the same lesson plan has been used for the last ten years, the teacher should not be considered to be planning effective lessons.

Is the teacher delivering the instruction effectively?  This is a big one.  And there's NO way to answer this question without physically being present in the classroom.  I think it's important to define "effectively".  Does effectively mean that every child "gets it" 100% of the time?  Does "effectively" mean every student masters the content during the lesson and passes the subsequent test?  A more effective definition of "effectively" would be one that means each student is given the best chance possible for success through proper classroom management and differentiated instruction.  These are very teachery words for those not in the industry, but basically it means, if you are a good teacher, your classroom will be one where the environment is conducive to learning and that you are doing everything in your power to reach each of your students at whatever current level they may be.  You are giving them the best possible chance of success in mastering the content you are presenting.  Now.  Do they master it all each and every day.  Never.  (Well, at least mine don't.)  But part of differentiating instruction is evaluating, knowing who's struggling, and giving extra or different support to those students.  That is a mark of an excellent teacher. Will these children totally master the content even after extra support?  Some of them will, some of them won't.  But every one of them will make progress.

These are things we should include in evaluating teacher effectiveness.  Just as we cannot expect all of our students to learn in exactly the same ways, we cannot simply apply a one-size fits all teacher evaluation system by looking at numbers on a graph and saying this person is a good teacher or this person is not. 

And as much stress, nausea, and general anxiety I have about the current state of education in the United States, and about the thousands upon thousands of teachers who are currently losing their jobs across the country, if handled effectively, this economic crisis could become a catalyst to making sure the best and most effective teachers are staffing our schools.  And that could be the beginning of an educational revolution in our country.  And as much of me that can be excited at this point is excited about that possibility.

Even if I'm one of the ones that gets the ax.

Interesting Insight

So it's been an interesting week.  I recently found out at least 100 positions could possibly be cut at my campus because of the state's budget shortfall.  It's like one huge campus-wide freak out.  And rightfully so.

In contrast to this, I've had one of the most productive weeks of my entire teaching career-- teaching my kids to think critically and to express themselves intelligently on paper, many of them for the first time in their lives.  It's been an exhausting task, but after much whining and complaining and so many "Miiiiissssssssss, I don't getttttt iiiiitttt"'s, I can confidently say, things are looking up.  These kids are starting to sound like pros on paper.   As tenth graders.  Even my "special ed" kids.  And that makes me PROUD.

But today I had an interesting interaction with a student.  We'll call him Tony.  From the beginning of the year, I knew he was going to be one of my rambunctious, challenging students.  AND he just happened to be in one of my largest classes that contained the most "special ed" students, whom I love dearly but notoriously take a little bit more energy to wrangle, to keep from bouncing off the walls, and to encourage to focus on the task at hand.  Tony by NO means was special ed, but his behavior fit right in with the crowd.  However, his abilities are off the chart.  He's an excellent writer and really has some great thoughts when he can be coerced to express them.

At the beginning of the school year, I called his dad and set up a parent conference, just to nip in the bud any bad behaviors that might have been becoming a norm for Tony.  We met before school.  I talked with dad, while Tony, with his head down, didn't say much except my class was "boring" and then he glared at his dad for even attempting to correct him.  I was sixteen not that long ago.  I remember what that felt like.  I didn't completely fault him for it.  Things looked a little better in the classroom for a while.  While I still had to redirect him every once in a while, after I separated him from his friends who distracted him, he generally got his work done.  No, he didn't participate in class discussions, but he wasn't causing a distraction, and he WAS getting his work done.  I didn't push for more.

But today things came to a head.  I knew right off the bat, something had changed.  He came straight into the classroom, sat down and got to work without me asking or prompting him at all.  This was not the norm.  When I asked him about some missing work though, he got upset and told me  he had turned it in and that I had lost his paper.

I've been teaching for five years now.  I have yet to lose one paper.  However, I have made my share of grading mistakes, and I am the FIRST to admit it to my kids and make the appropriate grade changes. 

So I told him that I had not received his paper, and if he had in fact done the work, he must have forgotten to turn it in, as many of my students do on occasion.  I also pointed out that there was a stack of his papers stashed in his desk that were not supposed to be there, but in his binder.  His lack of organizational skills could have impacted his ability to turn his assignment in on time.  I asked him to check the stack of papers and then to put those papers in his notebook in their proper places.  He grumbled, but didn't say much.

About twenty minutes before the end of class, he walked up to my desk and handed me the missing work, which he had just redone apparently.  He said, "Here's my paper.  AGAIN.  Because you LOST the first one."

I responded, "Tony, I understand your frustration, but I did not lose your paper."  And then he started muttering things under his breath.  I heard "f---ing bitch" about three times.  So calmly, in a voice only he could hear, I responded, "Tony, if you have something to say, I'm sure it's worth saying out loud."  Again, he mumbled the F word about three times.  Then he proceeded to the back of the classroom, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him.

I was surprisingly calm.  Normally, when students exhibit this kind of behavior, teachers (at the very least) write them up.  This would ensure he spends at least a day or two in ISS.  But as I was standing in his wake of furiously storming out of the room, I took a minute to contemplate what had just unfolded.

I didn't write him up.

It was clear to me when he walked into the room that day, something was different.  Someone had gotten to him before he came to my class-- maybe his dad or another teacher.  I could tell.  He walked in with his head down and immediately got to work.  This wasn't normal.  So when he got frustrated and went off, I knew it wouldn't be productive to continue the conflict by writing him up.  And here's why.

When I see him again the next time in class, I'll smile, snicker a little, and say, Hey Tony, having a better day today?  And I'll tell him how great I think his writing has been lately. And he'll look down and hide his face, so I don't see the smile he's cracking (like he always does).  But I'll see it.  And he'll try to pretend he's not going to do the work, but then he'll get it done.  And I'll know I've done the right thing by our relationship.

It's not always about protocol.  Sometimes it's about doing what works.  And that was the lesson this teacher learned today.

You Get What You Need

I've been very discouraged with my profession lately, specifically in the last three or so weeks.  This has been an incredibly stressful year at school.  With state standards constantly changing and our student population seemingly not really understanding or caring for a large part, my job as a teacher feels like it's become significantly harder recently, not only with the students, but with the district and the school administration.  Everyone has a common goal of students achieving, but it seems everyone also has about ten thousand different ways of accomplishing that goal.  And someone seems to think scheduling about five weekly meetings for teachers to attend on their off periods will somehow make these children perform at a higher level.  And if you know anything about the work load of a teacher, you can imagine loading down already otherwise heavy-laden teachers with excessive meetings and bureaucratic paperwork that seems to accomplish very little is very discouraging.  And when you have discouragement blanketing a staff of 400 at one school, the atmosphere becomes very disheartening.

And this is only compounded by the fact, that in my view, nationally, regard for the profession of teaching is at an all time low.  Almost every time you turn on the news, or Oprah, you can hear about the horrible state of education in our country (which is a very valid point).  And you can also hear how the teachers in the country are failing American students en mass (which is not a valid point, in my opinion).  And for those of us who have dedicated our lives to not taking the easy road, to not teaching in the desirable school districts where money, parental involvement, and student motivation seem to be much more plentiful, it is extremely discouraging.  We work in excess of forty hours a week planning and preparing and analyzing data to see how we can better teach our students, and improve their achievements in the classroom. Are there terrible teachers out there?  Yes.  There absolutely are.  And some of them are at my school.  I see them daily.  And I absolutely detest that I get thrown in the same pot with them in the national education discussion.

So over the last few weeks, I've begun to feel like I'm at the breaking point.  I know I'm making a difference in a small handful of students' lives, but sometimes it doesn't feel like enough.  Maybe it's because I only suspect I must be doing some good in my head, and I very rarely get any definitive proof of it.  Then I got this email today:

Ms. Cochran -

Thank you so much for being such an incredible teacher.  I don't know of another teacher J has ever had that has worked so hard to help her learn.  J has never had a teacher so concerned about her hearing loss and how it affects her learning...and she definitely hasn't had a teacher take the time to teach her poetry.  J doesn't know it yet, but you are the teacher that will make all the difference in her life.

Thank you!!!!!!

Ms. D
Auditory Impairment Itinerant Teacher

Dallas ISD

(Ms. D is a district case manager for students with auditory impairment.)

On a day when it was 16 degrees outside (and I teach in a portable classroom), traffic was terrible, I missed yet another meeting before school and totally stressed out about it, this was the first email I read.  And maybe, just maybe, it started to fill my otherwise very empty, bone-dry cup back up.  

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well, you might find...

you get what you need.

Tonight I can Write...

I love teaching poetry to my kids at school.  This year, I've given them a variety of poems from the curriculum to analyze.  Lots of the poems they give the kids are about very accessible subjects, basketball, motorcycles, growing up, etc.  I'm teaching them how to read a poem.  Three quarters of understanding a poem is in how you read it.

So I threw some Pablo Neruda at them.  "Tonight I can Write..." And they threw the basketball and motorcycles right out the window. 

And from the back of the room, the same kid that told me two days ago, "Miss, I HATE poetry.  I just don't get the point," said, "Miss!  This poem go HARD!"


Pretty sure that's a good thing. :)

Dr. Elaine Smokewood

She was the first person in all my twenty-one years who ever told me my voice was important.  That what I thought mattered.  That my feelings meant something, and that I should think about them and explore where my thoughts about things were coming from.

She was the first person I'd ever come in contact with that lived her passion.  It literally bounced out of her on a daily basis.  She would get so worked up in class sometimes that her hands would literally shake while she was flailing them about, trying to impart to us the magnificence of whatever text we were talking about at the time.  I loved books and talking and thinking about books, but my like for books didn't hold a candle to her passion for literature.  She fascinated me.

Still today, when I come across a particularly challenging poem, I remember her words.  Let's press ourselves up against the poem.  Let's gently whisper in its ear and ask it to let us inside.  Let it feel our breath, hot on its neck.  We have to seduce the poem.  And if we massage it enough, it opens up.  It lets us in.

That's how much she loved poetry.

She had an imaginary love affair with John Keats.  We spent the better part of a class one time talking about what their relationship would have been like had Emily Dickinson and John Keats known each other and fallen in love.  She was a brilliant and beautiful poet who always underestimated herself and her work.

She was the first person who ever gave me an A on a paper.  I loved getting my papers back with little scribbles all over them-- usually they were questions or comments building on what I'd written-- a real, genuine dialogue.  I remember one particular paper I wrote on "The Tell Tale Heart".  It must have been an analysis on symbolism or something.  Somehow, I made a point about the story that she'd never though of before.  And she told me so.  It blew me away.  No way could I think of something about this story that she'd never thought of before.  That's how smart and intuitive she was.  And her confidence in me changed my life.  That's not an exaggeration.

She was a key player in my life at a time when it could have gone sharply in a very good direction or a very bad direction.  She was my academic advisor in school.  She kept me on the right track, and she took every opportunity she could to encourage me and tell me how far I'd come in school and in my personal life.

I knew her before the ALS took away her ability to move and to speak.  I know that in recent years, she pioneered the art of "teaching with silence" by facilitating student-centered distance learning with her classes.  She of course took the opportunity to learn more about herself through this horrible disease.  She said it even made her a better teacher-- even though she couldn't speak.  Her students still had brilliant discussions while she looked on through the camera and moderated.  She made the students truly responsible for their own learning.  And she won the Outstanding Faculty Award at OCU in 2010.  One of her students said it best when she said, "The disease may have taken your ability to speak, but it hasn't taken your voice."

She lived with the disease eating away at her body for four years.  And she passed away Tuesday evening in her home surrounded by her family.  When I heard the news, I was at school, testing students during our Assessment of Course Performance exams.  I couldn't help but cry.  And it's not completely because I'm sad.  I am sad, but I'm more grateful to have had her in my life.  Any success I've had, she has a major part in.  It is because of her encouragement and her passion and her confidence in me, that I've had the confidence to achieve the things I have.

I sincerely believe, had I not known Elaine Smokewood, my life would be drastically different.  And probably worse.  She was a game changer.  And I love these words she spoke about her philosophy on being a teacher, "I  have tried to open windows for my own students, as my professors opened them for me, and to be as intellectually and creatively challenging as they were, and as validating. And I have always tried to err on the side of kindness.”

And she did.  And her kindness changed lives.

Rest in infinite healing and peace, Dr. Smokewood.  Your voice lives on-- you can be sure of that.

Writing, War, and Words on Worldview

It's been a minute since I've blogged!  Interesting.  I'm noticing I'm doing a lot more observing than actually contributing to cyberspace lately.  Wonder why that is.  Probably, like Fran Lebowitz says, it's writer's blockade.  It's like Vietnam.  It lasts about as long.  I don't know how I got into it, and I wonder if I'll ever get out.  Yes, I think that sums it up perfectly.

Speaking of Vietnam.  I was hustling and bustling into school on Monday morning, trying to get out of the cold, when one of my students waltzed right up beside me and started walking with me while I rushed to get to the time clock.  

He started telling me about his Thanksgiving break, how he and his family went to visit relatives in Mexico, Nuevo Laredo.  He said he didn't have such a great time.  He said there were shots firing constantly down the street.  And people were throwing grenades. It was like a war.  I said, Whaaa?!  Please don't go back any time soon!  Then he proceeded to tell me they're going back for Christmas. 

Then once we made it back to the classroom and were warm and comfy in our chairs, getting ready for the day, we started talking about college.  He said he wants to major in Political Science and maybe one day become a politician.  I told him it was definitely a worthy cause and that I thought he would be a great civil servant.  He's one of a few of my students who seems to be pretty worldly and very aware of current events (which is always a welcome surprise).  So I asked him what party he thinks he would be affiliated with.

He doesn't know, he said.  He's kind of in the middle.  But if he had to pick, he might lean toward the Republican party.  I asked him why.  He said, Well, it's kind of hard to explain.  It's just that I like things to be old school.  More traditional.  And republicans seem to be more old school.

I told him that was an interesting way to look at it.  And then I told him I used to be a member of the Young Republicans in high school.  I grew up in a staunchly conservative household.  And it's interesting how a few years and a little life experience can change your outlook, especially on politics.  I told him not to worry too much about picking sides right now.  Just enjoy your time to explore and figure out what's important to you.

And then we had a conversation about how our experiences in life really shape the way we see the world, our worldviews.  And we talked about how our worldview is how we see our role in the world and how we understand our purpose, how we're to move about and live and function on this planet, usually in relation to other people.  And sometimes when we have new experiences, our worldviews can shift.  New and different things can come to light and become important to us.  And really, what affects our political affiliations more than our worldviews?  And we agreed that asking questions and seeking out the answers is a great route to figuring out what issues are important to you.

So it was a good talk.  I don't feel like it happens often enough, but I love it when I get one-on-one time with my students to talk about their lives, their families, and their ambitions.  It puts fuel in my tank that often seems to be running low in this "urban" educational environment.  Love, love, love those moments.

Student Quote of the Week

I decided to do a grammar unit at the beginning of the year just to give the kids in class a quick refresher. This is so I don't find myself in March having to explain why you can't write sentences like: I don't like to read and write it is not very fun for me at all because i don't like it.

So we're reviewing sentence structure and punctuation. We also reviewed how to use quotation marks. One sentence said: Caleb lamented, "I broke my ankle and will not be able to attend the dance festival."

From the back row somebody chimes in, "Miss! What's lamented?"

So I answer back, "Does anybody know? If I'm lamenting something, what am I doing?"

And I hear it from the left side of the room.

"You're covering something in plastic!"

And I did my best not to laugh. :)

And Still We Rise

The new school year is upon us.  This is when the life of a tenth grade English teacher gets REALLY exciting.  :)

The best part of going back to school for me is getting to hole myself up in my classroom for a couple of days doing nothing but decorating, organizing, and planning.  It's like vocational heaven!

We had the dreaded badge/yearbook pictures this morning.  And let's not kid ourselves, they're every BIT as bad as we remember yearbook pictures being in high school.  It's a veritable cattle call of sit downs, tilt your heads, look up at me, snap snaps.  NEXT.  But luckily, I had an aspiring photographer my first year of teaching who now works for the company who takes our pictures.  She so kindly did a few extra snap-snaps for me and gave me a REALLY good yearbook picture.  Take note, teachers.  If you don't already have enough motivation to be nice to your kids, this reason alone should be enough.  You never know when they'll come back and have the power to exact horrible revenge in the form of taking an awkward picture of your face that will be archived for all to see for hundreds of years to come!

Anywho, I had a nice encounter with our band director this morning who even after four years at this school, I'd still yet to actually meet.  He's a very soft spoken and kind older gentleman.  He stopped me on the sidewalk outside to introduce himself, and we chatted about students we have in common.  And just as we parted, he called after me, "Mrs. Cochran, have a great year AND DON'T LET ANYBODY STEAL YOUR JOY!!"  And that tickled me pink!  I said, "You got it, Mr. Pruitt!"

And that's so true.  In this school environment, where our students are faced with so many challenges socially, economically, and academically, it can be really easy to get burned out-- and quickly.  We have to remember why we chose this profession and, more specifically, this student population for our careers.  I was reminded of this yesterday when as a faculty we got to watch this amazing graduation speech.  If you're a teacher, you WILL cry.  I'm just warning you.



It's gonna be a great year!

Mr. J, The Hero!

The perfect gift on the last day of school! And I missed it!!

So I have a vast array of different kinds of students. That's no secret. I have some regular ed, I have some special ed, I have some gifted, and I have some who don't speak English all that well. I have them all in one classroom, and I and my co-teacher, Mr. Johnson, are charged with making sure ALL of them get what they need and learn the content we're teaching.

So this is how it works, I usually present the lesson, then somewhere along the way, Mr. J makes his way around the room checking to see who's getting it, who's not, and who might need a little extra help. This is what we've done in every class all year long. He's been an incredible co-teacher. Believe it or not, some co-teachers have been known to kind of blow off their assignments and use their co-teaching periods as bonus planning periods to just do whatever they want. Some of them show, some of them help, and some of them play on their iphones most of the class period.

I lucked out this year. I got to have Mr. J in my class every single class period of the day except one where I only have one special ed student. He showed up every class period ready keep the kids on their toes and ready to help them learn when they needed that little extra push. So when it came TAKS time (the ever-important holy grail of state achievement tests) our student's scores reflected the extra work he put in in the classroom this year. Last year, without stellar co-teachers, my SpED passing rate for TAKS was 66%. This year, it jumped to a whopping 75%. That is HUGE. We're talking about kids who came into our class this year barely being able to read or write. And now they're passing state tests with flying colors.

Before the test, Mr. J told our kids if any of them scored a 2600 or above (perfect is 2630- and I've never even seen anything above a 2481 in my classes), he would give them $100. The scores came back. And I had two special ed kids score off the charts. One scored a 2590 and the other scored a 2584. That was good enough for Mr. J. He printed out and framed certificates for both of the boys and presented each of them with $100 in front of their classmates.

One of the boys teared up as his classmates cheered him on and he was presented with the certificate and the money. This kid is in special ed classes and has a two year old little girl that he takes care of full time. And he told me at Christmas he was planning on dropping out of school because he needed to get a job to take care of his daughter and help make ends meet. And yet there he stood, accepting a hundred dollars for making a near perfect score on the biggest test of the year. My sincere hope is that he's realized he's capable of making the grades and that hard work will pay off financially if you just stick with it.

And for me, it was a reality check. It does my heart such good to see teachers like Mr. Johnson who care so much for students that he would sacrifice $200 out of his already low teacher salary to give to our kids for their grades. There are so many burned out teachers in inner-city school districts. I know teachers who refuse to even spend a dime to put posters up in their classrooms. And here's Mr. J going way above and beyond to help our students achieve.

And I think about the certificates he made and framed for the kids. I get probably twenty certificates a year for completing trainings, for completing classes, for taking on volunteer positions, etc. They all end up in the trash. To me they're just silly pieces of paper. I forget that to some kid who's experienced only failure and never achieved anything in his life, it could mean the world. It's the little successes that count and that should be celebrated. I can't forget that.

It's why I teach. And it's why I'm so completely thankful to be surrounded with teachers like Mr. Johnson who every day remember why they're here and don't get caught up in the he said/she said drama and red tape of it all. It's about these kiddos-- teaching them and giving them HOPE.

That's been done in my class this year, and I'm just glad I got to be a part of it.

Every new beginning is some other beginning's end.

Today is the last day of classes with my students this school year. I said goodbye to the bulk of them yesterday, and I'll say goodbye to my last two classes this morning. Yesterday, one of my seventh period girls walked in and said, "Miss! This is so sad! I remember when I walked in this room on the first day of school and it was was so colorful and fun, and I just knew this was going to be a good class! And now the walls are empty and well, it's just so sad!" And then she hugged me and begged me to teach English III next year. Three other students wrote me little thank you notes and gave them to me before they left.

I never wrote a thank you note to any of my teachers in high school. But then again, I never felt like I really had a relationship with any of my teachers in high school. I have some sweet kids.

This has been a challenging year. Not so much at school, but it's been a whopper at home (because of outside forces out of our control). But because of everything that's gone on, the school year has FLOWN by. I literally cannot believe how fast it's gone. My kids learned a lot and did an excellent job as a whole this year. And apparently that's the case school-wide. We went from an acceptable rated school to a recognized school this year. If you know anything about the ridiculous No Child Left Behind school ratings, then you'll know that's a HUGE deal.

So all in all, it's been a good year. And now it's time to work on my tan and do a few other things-- we've taken up a few new hobbies, including golf. I've also got a few other things on my plate that you might hear about in the near future. My calendar is full, and I'm ready to soak up the sun this summer and cherish every single second of every single minute until August 16th!

Reality Check. Check!

At lunch today I felt a little bit tired and started dreading the trudge through the last two classes of my day. Poetry analysis with sixteen year olds. It's daunting, ok. Even though we're doing Sylvia Plath, my personal fave, it can still be a chore sometimes. So I took some time at lunch to peruse through some reading I've been meaning to do online and I came across this: Taught by a Terrible Disease, an article in the Chronicle of Higher Education about my former professor, Dr. Elaine Smokewood. I've often said how her classes were literally life-altering (or mind-altering, more precisely). She taught me how to see literature, and in turn the world, in new ways. And I most vividly remember one class where we were tackling a particularly tough piece of poetry and she said, "We've got to gently press ourselves up against the poem and ask it to let us inside." And it was beautiful. And it worked. In the article she devalues the performance aspect of her teaching after having to do some soul-searching and losing her power of speech to ALS, but it worked in the classroom in 2002. It helped me learn. And it changed me. I can't even imagine what her students are learning from her now.

And now going into the last two classes of the day, I think I'll put the dread of the hard work of trudging through poems aside and try to inspire my students to want to learn. Because that's a lesson that stays with you for life.

Not gonna lie, I teared up a little.

I woke up and was shocked and nicely surprised this morning to see huge, fluffy snow falling to the ground outside our bedroom window. The golf course was covered, and it was coming down hard. We don't get too many of these days in Texas, so this is quite a treat. I breathed in a good morning deep breath, put a smile on my face and turned on the news to see that, as usual, our school is not closed today. I contemplated calling in, but thought, the roads aren't that bad. It's not freezing yet, they're going to need my help today. So I got ready and headed in.

And when I got to school I saw, what may go down in my book, as the best moment of the 09/10 school year.

Last year, I was having a conversation with three of my boy students in class upon one of them returning from a suspension for fighting. He beat the kid up pretty bad. It disappointed me and I couldn't let him just slide back into class, into the normal routine without saying anything.

So I asked him to come sit next to my desk after he'd finished his work and we talked. Two boys nearby joined in the conversation.

Miss, you don't understand. I know you say we have a choice how we react to things. I know you think I made a bad decision, but it's kill or be killed out there. That guy and his friends were waiting for me when I was walking home. They were gonna jump me. They've tried before, but I just took a different way home. I knew it was gonna happen, so I just got to him at school before he could get to me.

And that helped? I said.

He knows not to mess with me now. And I get to keep my iPod and my tennis shoes. That's how it works.

And I didn't really have an answer for that. My kids deal with this kind of stuff on a daily basis, and I hear about it all. As teachers, I think our ears are just tuned to listen for loud screams and watch for kids sprinting past, trying to join in the huddled masses around two kids pounding the crap out of each other during the school day. It's just something we get used to.

So when I was sitting inside my classroom this morning, getting ready for the day and I heard a tumult of kids screaming outside my window on the football field, it was instinct to run outside to see what kind of intervention was needed. There were tons of them. They were running and screaming at the top of their lungs.

And they were throwing snowballs at each other.

And it made my teacher heart happy. Even in their kill or be killed world, they can still be kids when it snows. And we'll be celebrating that today in my class. :)



**Addendum. My hopes were quickly dashed. We ended up in lockdown and on the news. This happened at a different time during the day, but still.
Click here to see the news story.

Tears are good. Even in English class.

I had a very touching moment in class this week. Right around this time every year my kids do a memoir project. They choose a story from their lives to write and present to the class with a physical object that represents something in their memoir. I've gotten a whole host of stories and topics, and they are riveting. It's probably my favorite assignment of the entire year. My kids seem to enjoy writing their own stories. Some of them are a little reluctant to share at first, but in the end, the class period that they make presentations ends up being a really fun and interesting one for all of us. Some of them are hilarious. Some of them are really dramatic and violent. And I usually have a couple who need an arm around the shoulder and a soft squeeze of solidarity to keep the tears from coming.

And this year the tears started early. I tell the kids way ahead of time that they can pick any topic they'd like to write about. They can tell any story from their life that they would like to tell but to keep in mind they will be sharing it with the class. Some kids don't mind getting personal and some do. I let them choose.

A couple of months ago I had the (unusual) pleasure of chatting with the father and aunt of one of my students. The kid is an excellent student, and I know I can always count on him to do the right thing, to do his best, and always get his work done. But his aunt stopped me in the hallway one day to ask me to watch this kiddos grades really closely-- especially as the winter months approached. Why, I wondered. He's the best kid! I have no reason to worry about him! Then she let me know that his mother died suddenly and unexpectedly a couple of winters ago during an elective surgical procedure. She said he gets kind of down this time of year, especially around Christmas. I told her I'd keep an eye on him and let her know if anything came up.

So we started our memoirs in class. I walked around during the class period to make sure everybody was making satisfactory progress, and everybody seemed to be doing great, so I took my seat behind my podium at the front of the class and graded some papers. Every once in a while I looked around to make sure everybody was still on track. And I noticed this kiddo. He was doing the thing where you dab the outside corner of your eye to keep the tears from coming all the way out. I thought, Well, maybe he's just got something in his eye. Then he did it on the other eye. Uh oh. I just sat and watched him for a couple of minutes. He was putting up a HUGE fight to keep those tears from coming out while he forced himself to keep writing. So I walked to the back of the room where he was sitting. I didn't say a word to him. I just stood next to his desk and put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze. The dam broke. He started sobbing. I looked down at his tear-stained paper and the title said, "The Day I Lost My Mom."

Mrs. Cochran started crying too.

The boy sitting next to him, who had caught on to what was going on leaned over to him and said, "Man, I totally understand. I felt the same way when I lost my dad. I'm writing my story about it too." So I asked the two boys to go outside together and talk for a few minutes. While they were outside, everybody else in the class wanted to know what was going on because they heard him crying. So we had a little talk about how some people are writing about very personal things, so we need to be sensitive to that when we do our presentations. And that sometimes it's good to get things out on paper. Sometimes it can help us when we're feeling down about something.

I went outside to check on the boys, and there they stood, two nearly grown, huge 16 year old super-macho boys hugging each other. The boy I asked to go outside with him said, "You straight, bro?" He said, "Yeah." They both sniffed a little, wiped their eyes, and went back inside. It was a proud moment for me as a teacher. I was proud that my kids felt like they could tackle such heavy subjects in my class, and I was proud that I had kids in my class who wanted to help each other. At my school, we always hear so much about fighting, and crime, and kids who don't care. And this really special moment in 8th period really made me happy. I have some good kiddos. And I'm really looking forward to hearing all their stories next week.

Every other day at school, I get two hours and fifteen minutes of quiet time all to myself. Right in the middle of the day. It's nice. I could explain the tedious logistics of our bell schedule, but I'll spare you. Suffice it to say that my off period falls on the longest period of the day every other day. And I am thankful.

I used to sit in my classroom and listen to the radio during my off time. But they stole my radio. So now I just sit and listen to the clicking of the keyboard whilst I type grades... emails... CNN searches... blogs...

We're studying the memoir genre in class this six weeks-- it is, of course, my favorite. Our theme for the unit: Examining the Past, The Importance of Family Connections. For their first project, they're interviewing an adult about a significant moment in his/her life. They'll present their interviews to the class next week. After that, they start their big memoir project. They'll write a story from their lives from memory and also bring to class a physical object that represents the story. Last year I had a kid bring a pair of bloody, bullet-holed shorts for his presentation. His story was about the time he got shot while he was asleep on his couch-- the gunmen were looking for his brother.

That one was interesting.

I want to do a memoir project of my own this year-- just to give them an example, but I can't decide what story I want to tell. This is going to take some thought.

Meanwhile, it just started raining and I can hear the raindrops pelting and pinging off the metal walk-way coverings outside my door. It's cold outside too. Perfect weather for the first homemade chicken and dumplin's of the year!

Toodles!