Kid asks for the question worksheet because he was absent yesterday. Fine, I give him one, and he returns to his seat near the front of the room.
After a couple of minutes I notice from my perch at my podium that I had given him the wrong sheet, one for a comletely different class. So I wait for him to raise his hand to tell me.
Well, genius spends the entire period staring off into space, and never notices he has the wrong paper on his desk. Never lifts a pencil to write down the answers we're all recording; never even glances down in mild curiosity at the paper lying untouched and half-covered by a limp hand. He's just waiting for the bell to ring.
The bell. He robotically jams the paper into his bag, and heads for the door, pulling his pants down under his arse as he passes out of the room.
Sigh . . .
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
With Apologies to Carol King
You came in late this morning with a pass to class,
There's something fishy here, your writing's smooth as glass,
And I don't think you know just what those big words mean.
Well it's too late, Baby, now it's too late,
Though I really did try to grade it;
When you brought me this late work you lied, and I tried,
But I can tell it's not yours: you faked it.
I can tell by your margins and the odd font size
This isn't your effort, you've plagiarized;
And I don't want to do it,
But a Referral is what you need.
Well it's too late, Baby, now it's too late,
the quarter term ends today,
You can't sleep in your seat three months
Then turn your sorry D to an A.
There's something fishy here, your writing's smooth as glass,
And I don't think you know just what those big words mean.
Well it's too late, Baby, now it's too late,
Though I really did try to grade it;
When you brought me this late work you lied, and I tried,
But I can tell it's not yours: you faked it.
I can tell by your margins and the odd font size
This isn't your effort, you've plagiarized;
And I don't want to do it,
But a Referral is what you need.
Well it's too late, Baby, now it's too late,
the quarter term ends today,
You can't sleep in your seat three months
Then turn your sorry D to an A.
Is This Going to Be On the Test?
Yes, Robert: that's why I'm talking about it now.
Maybe you ought to write this down.
Maybe you ought to write this down.
The Crack in the Dyke
I found a paper airplane in the teachers' lounge this morning.
Bad sign.
Little cracks of instability like this, early in the year, can turn into giant fissures in our sanity well before Christmas Break.
I'm keeping my eyes open.
Bad sign.
Little cracks of instability like this, early in the year, can turn into giant fissures in our sanity well before Christmas Break.
I'm keeping my eyes open.
Monday, November 05, 2007
I Got the Four-Wheel Blues
Okay, so my car is fifteen years old, and is approaching 150,000 miles.
It's given great service since day one, so I really have nothing to complain about. That Farfergnugen company makes a good product.
But the writing is on the wall. It didn't want to start this morning: cranked happily on a year-old battery, but no firing.
When I turned the key off, there would be a little firing, just enough to shake the engine a bit, so I began just releasing the key from the Start position to let it snap back to the On position, hoping it would catch.
After the fourth try, running the starter fifteen seconds or so without a hint of firing, I let the key snap back to the On position, and she fired up.
Odd, that.
I stopped at the store on the way to work, and when I got back in the car, she started immediately: I couldn't even hear the starter because the engine fired up so quickly.
Funny thing, but maybe she's getting to the place where I shouldn't be letting it sit the weekend without starting the engine. Usually she gets only an occasional Saturday off, but yesterday I slept in and didn't make it to church. That two days was just too long, I guess.
Yup, she's getting old, and I have to adjust. I think I'll drop by AAA, and see how much it is to join, to get the towing. It'd be nice to just pull the card and my cell phone out of my pocket if the car decides to take a nap in the street. I can't imagine how much it would cost to hire a tow truck to drag
I'm seeing the signs, and now I'm worried. I'll still drive my little wreck, but in the meantime, I'm going to be considering what I want my next car to be.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Please Leave a Message
"Why is my daughter not turning in her work?"
This is the question a parent asked a colleague in a phone conversation I overheard in the teachers' lounge/workroom/copyroom (lounge? Not a sofa in sight).
There's something odd about that question. Not in the question per se, but in who the questioner was and who the hearer was. I think they're reversed.
In a perfect world (or just in the world of a generation ago) it would be the teacher asking the parent "Why is your daughter not turning in her work?" But now the onus for making the kid perform is laid on the shoulders of the teacher. Parents send their kids to school in the morning and the kids are then our problems.
Of course, in that previous generation most kids grew up in two-parent households, and many of those were one-paycheck households, so moms had time to supervise more of their kids' school careers. Now, one-parent households are so commonplace as not to raise an eyebrow, and it's almost unheard of for a woman to devote her energies to being solely a wife and mother.
Some of this is a result of a changed economy, some a result of the femminist movement ushering women into the workforce, some of a higher divorce rate, some is a result of a higher expected standard of living, e.g., a larger home, (the square footage of typical home to house four people has gone up), two expensive, financed-to-the-gills cars, the big-screen TV, ad infinitum.
So we live in a way that might make our gradparents blush at our consumerism and lavishness, and the kid's homework isn't being done because no one is making sure it's being done, because parents are all working and rightfully tired when they cross over the threshold in the evening. We don't even use the term "latchkey kid" anymore, because it's not unusual for kids to be completely unsupervised from the time school lets out to the time Mom comes home from work at six.
Ideas have consequences. Human resources are finite: time and energy given to serve one value means fewer resources are available to devote to another. As I survey the landscape of the American family, I conclude that there has been no other time when it has been more important for families to take inventory of where their values are: a $40,000 SUV, or a few more hours to spend with the kids? A mother seeking fulfillment in the workforce, or in shaping the character of her children? Of course, many don't have the luxury of choice, but even some of those situations are the results of earlier choices that put kids on the losing side of the equation.
Incrementalism, the series of slight changes over time, can have a large cumulative effect. One drop of water on a rock is insignificant: but monoliths are eroded by nothing strong stronger than individual drops of water. And we don't notice, because the change is so slow, we adapt the the slightly different viewpoint, way of living, way of thinking, of accepting what is normal.
I'm not a cultural alarmist in the full-blown sense, and I know we tend to romanticize the past, but I see a distinct difference between this generation and the one I grew up in, and the results.
This is the question a parent asked a colleague in a phone conversation I overheard in the teachers' lounge/workroom/copyroom (lounge? Not a sofa in sight).
There's something odd about that question. Not in the question per se, but in who the questioner was and who the hearer was. I think they're reversed.
In a perfect world (or just in the world of a generation ago) it would be the teacher asking the parent "Why is your daughter not turning in her work?" But now the onus for making the kid perform is laid on the shoulders of the teacher. Parents send their kids to school in the morning and the kids are then our problems.
Of course, in that previous generation most kids grew up in two-parent households, and many of those were one-paycheck households, so moms had time to supervise more of their kids' school careers. Now, one-parent households are so commonplace as not to raise an eyebrow, and it's almost unheard of for a woman to devote her energies to being solely a wife and mother.
Some of this is a result of a changed economy, some a result of the femminist movement ushering women into the workforce, some of a higher divorce rate, some is a result of a higher expected standard of living, e.g., a larger home, (the square footage of typical home to house four people has gone up), two expensive, financed-to-the-gills cars, the big-screen TV, ad infinitum.
So we live in a way that might make our gradparents blush at our consumerism and lavishness, and the kid's homework isn't being done because no one is making sure it's being done, because parents are all working and rightfully tired when they cross over the threshold in the evening. We don't even use the term "latchkey kid" anymore, because it's not unusual for kids to be completely unsupervised from the time school lets out to the time Mom comes home from work at six.
Ideas have consequences. Human resources are finite: time and energy given to serve one value means fewer resources are available to devote to another. As I survey the landscape of the American family, I conclude that there has been no other time when it has been more important for families to take inventory of where their values are: a $40,000 SUV, or a few more hours to spend with the kids? A mother seeking fulfillment in the workforce, or in shaping the character of her children? Of course, many don't have the luxury of choice, but even some of those situations are the results of earlier choices that put kids on the losing side of the equation.
Incrementalism, the series of slight changes over time, can have a large cumulative effect. One drop of water on a rock is insignificant: but monoliths are eroded by nothing strong stronger than individual drops of water. And we don't notice, because the change is so slow, we adapt the the slightly different viewpoint, way of living, way of thinking, of accepting what is normal.
I'm not a cultural alarmist in the full-blown sense, and I know we tend to romanticize the past, but I see a distinct difference between this generation and the one I grew up in, and the results.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Baby Coulter Einstein
Eighteen months old. She lined up five pieces of cereal on the table the other day and counted them off, from one to five. She can sing the ABC song, and uses all twenty-six letters. She has blown right by the two-word stage of language acquisition and is in the telegraphic stage already, making utterances such as "Mommy car now." This is at least six months ahead of schedule.
Oh, and to thrill her English-teacher uncle's heart: she's in love with books.
She's a freakin' genius, I swear. And that just ain't proud uncle talking. I gots data.
An Unusual Rally on the Quad
On October 11 Dr. Linda Evans, a fifteen-year veteran of Mayfair, was killed in an auto accident while commuting to school for her zero-period Spanish class.
Last night I attended a memorial service in her honor at the school. It was our public recognition of her years of dedication of service to students and local community. It was held outside, in the main quad, about an hour before sunset.
The Air Force ROTC provided an honor guard and color guard, the school band performed the national anthem. A student from the middle school Bible Club gave the invocation.
Then followed a couple of speakers from the faculty, notably Mr. John Olson, a long-time friend and neighbor. A slide show of stills put to music: Linda as a young adult; traveling around the world; in her classroom. A member of her family spoke, and thanked the school for its outpouring of love. A student presented a surfboard (Dr. Evans, though 61 at her death, was a life-long surfer) to the family, signed and annotated by a couple of hunderd students. The football team came forward, and the head coach presented the family with a game ball (three of the four longitudinal sections of the ball painted white to allow for signatures). Dr. Evans was a huge football fan as well, always on the sidelines at games.
Because it was high school, it had a very assembly feel to it. But that's high school, and that observation is not meant as a criticism. There were probably over four hundred people there, mostly students and faculty, but a large number of parents, other school staff, the mayor of Lakewood, and of course our administration and the superintendent.
The most obvious symbol of the event was the lighting of candles. Early in the service, we teachers came forward to light single candles from a large candle on a stand next to the podium, then dispersed among the crowd to light candles that had been given out as people arrived. The candles burned through the ceremony, as we sat there tending our flickering flames in our laps. At the conclusion of the service, we all blew out our candles together to achieve a sense of closure. All in all, fairly effective, and a nice touch.
Even though it is a governmet school, spiritual input seemed welcome: the heartfelt invocation given by the middle school student, who closed his prayer "in the name of Jesus" wasn't blinked at, and seemed perfectly at place at a memorial service in a predominantly Protestant country, The president of the board of education, a local politician (they are voted into position by the public) felt free enough to include Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the noted spiritualist, into his comments. Though he used her deathbed laments only to speak of the need to seek humility, anyone who knows the name Kubler-Ross instantly recognizes not only her ground-breaking work in the field of death, dying and grieving, but also her foray into spiritism (in her case, attempts to communicate the the dead), which cast a shadow over her academic legitimacy, as any dabbling with the occult will tend to do. He was careful never to turn the corner and actually mention anything spiritual in his address, but as soon as I heard her name I listened closely to see if he was going to slip any "other side" references in. He held back, which made me wonder why he brought her up in the first place. Was he suggesting Dr. Evans lacked humility? Hardly seems that was his motive. Seemed to be an fence-sitting attempt at spiritual comfort in a politically correct arena.
Dr. Evans' classes are being taught by a new teacher, and that must be a difficult position to be in. I've heard though my student minions that classroom control is almost non-existent, and if that is true, what does it say about students' expression of sadness and respect for their former teacher? If they're screwing around in the very room that is still filled with her personal belongings, belongings that serve as reminders to the kids of their late teacher (not to mention the banners and balloons that festoon the outside of the room), it makes all their professions of love for and life lessons learned from her seem like mere lip-service. Sad. And it could be easily remedied. Well, at least I know I could do it with the snap of a finger, but I have to have sympathy for this new teacher's difficult situation. It's not her behavior I'm noting here, but the students' alleged self-centeredness and lack of respect for their recently passed teacher that is so galling. She shouldn't have to remind them to behave well, under the circumstances, it seems to me.
Farewell, Dr. Evans. You drank life to the dregs. You'll be missed.
What is the lesson for us? Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May…
Last night I attended a memorial service in her honor at the school. It was our public recognition of her years of dedication of service to students and local community. It was held outside, in the main quad, about an hour before sunset.
The Air Force ROTC provided an honor guard and color guard, the school band performed the national anthem. A student from the middle school Bible Club gave the invocation.
Then followed a couple of speakers from the faculty, notably Mr. John Olson, a long-time friend and neighbor. A slide show of stills put to music: Linda as a young adult; traveling around the world; in her classroom. A member of her family spoke, and thanked the school for its outpouring of love. A student presented a surfboard (Dr. Evans, though 61 at her death, was a life-long surfer) to the family, signed and annotated by a couple of hunderd students. The football team came forward, and the head coach presented the family with a game ball (three of the four longitudinal sections of the ball painted white to allow for signatures). Dr. Evans was a huge football fan as well, always on the sidelines at games.
Because it was high school, it had a very assembly feel to it. But that's high school, and that observation is not meant as a criticism. There were probably over four hundred people there, mostly students and faculty, but a large number of parents, other school staff, the mayor of Lakewood, and of course our administration and the superintendent.
The most obvious symbol of the event was the lighting of candles. Early in the service, we teachers came forward to light single candles from a large candle on a stand next to the podium, then dispersed among the crowd to light candles that had been given out as people arrived. The candles burned through the ceremony, as we sat there tending our flickering flames in our laps. At the conclusion of the service, we all blew out our candles together to achieve a sense of closure. All in all, fairly effective, and a nice touch.
Even though it is a governmet school, spiritual input seemed welcome: the heartfelt invocation given by the middle school student, who closed his prayer "in the name of Jesus" wasn't blinked at, and seemed perfectly at place at a memorial service in a predominantly Protestant country, The president of the board of education, a local politician (they are voted into position by the public) felt free enough to include Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the noted spiritualist, into his comments. Though he used her deathbed laments only to speak of the need to seek humility, anyone who knows the name Kubler-Ross instantly recognizes not only her ground-breaking work in the field of death, dying and grieving, but also her foray into spiritism (in her case, attempts to communicate the the dead), which cast a shadow over her academic legitimacy, as any dabbling with the occult will tend to do. He was careful never to turn the corner and actually mention anything spiritual in his address, but as soon as I heard her name I listened closely to see if he was going to slip any "other side" references in. He held back, which made me wonder why he brought her up in the first place. Was he suggesting Dr. Evans lacked humility? Hardly seems that was his motive. Seemed to be an fence-sitting attempt at spiritual comfort in a politically correct arena.
Dr. Evans' classes are being taught by a new teacher, and that must be a difficult position to be in. I've heard though my student minions that classroom control is almost non-existent, and if that is true, what does it say about students' expression of sadness and respect for their former teacher? If they're screwing around in the very room that is still filled with her personal belongings, belongings that serve as reminders to the kids of their late teacher (not to mention the banners and balloons that festoon the outside of the room), it makes all their professions of love for and life lessons learned from her seem like mere lip-service. Sad. And it could be easily remedied. Well, at least I know I could do it with the snap of a finger, but I have to have sympathy for this new teacher's difficult situation. It's not her behavior I'm noting here, but the students' alleged self-centeredness and lack of respect for their recently passed teacher that is so galling. She shouldn't have to remind them to behave well, under the circumstances, it seems to me.
Farewell, Dr. Evans. You drank life to the dregs. You'll be missed.
What is the lesson for us? Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May…
Friday, October 19, 2007
Curiousier and Curiousier
Only a few teachers took "stacks" (how many papers in s stack, who knows?) from the district office.
The district, stuck with thousands of essays, enlisted the principal and assistant principal to score the papers. So instead of seven or eight people, it was to be done by two. They (our two administrators) sent out an e-mail plea for help to us again, offering food and sodas in the library after school to any hapless teacher who wold come in to help them. I don't think there was much of a response.
How long it took them to score all those esays, only they know. The district office shows no sign of changing its stance, and so far, there's been no other communication to teachers: the only information we have is from anecdotes of frosty conversations between district office people and teachers who were up there for whatever reason.
We, on the other hand, are drafting a letter to our superiors, expressing our dismay and displeasure at both the manner in which this valuable task was changed without input from us front-line professionals, and some constructive suggestions about future tinkering with things like this. I don't know the actual contents, but they fall along those lines. All very professional, very respectful.
I'll keep ya's posted…
The district, stuck with thousands of essays, enlisted the principal and assistant principal to score the papers. So instead of seven or eight people, it was to be done by two. They (our two administrators) sent out an e-mail plea for help to us again, offering food and sodas in the library after school to any hapless teacher who wold come in to help them. I don't think there was much of a response.
How long it took them to score all those esays, only they know. The district office shows no sign of changing its stance, and so far, there's been no other communication to teachers: the only information we have is from anecdotes of frosty conversations between district office people and teachers who were up there for whatever reason.
We, on the other hand, are drafting a letter to our superiors, expressing our dismay and displeasure at both the manner in which this valuable task was changed without input from us front-line professionals, and some constructive suggestions about future tinkering with things like this. I don't know the actual contents, but they fall along those lines. All very professional, very respectful.
I'll keep ya's posted…
Monday, October 15, 2007
If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It
We just finished administering the first quarter writing prompt, a demand-writing situation used to measure growth in writing skill during the school year.
Up to now, the process for grading the prompt was:
Well, here's the new process:
If you think this new process is less than popular among teachers, you're right. There was nothing wrong with the way we did it before, and although it was tedious, we were able to get something out of it by talking to each other and seeing what the common mistakes and skill levels were around the table. It worked.
Oh, this morning in the faculty meeting we were asked what we could to do increase teacher collegiality and inter-department conferring. How about letting us sit around a table and score the writing prompt all together?
Up to now, the process for grading the prompt was:
- Turn the prompt in for delivery to the district office.
- District office makes a list of dates each grade level is to be graded, and the grade-level teachers who will be attending the grading sessions each day.
- On the days of scoring, substitutes are arranged for most of the English department.
- We sit around a conference table with teachers from the other high school, talk about the prompt, the scoring rubric, agree on scoring, talk some more about what skills are foundational and what trends we're seeing in student work, etc.
- Teachers from each school separate; stacks of essays are distributed.
- We sit, score, confer around the table, and generally keep each other from going insane whle scoring giant stacks of hurried essays.
Well, here's the new process:
- Turn the prompt in for delivery to the district office.
- We show up to the district office as individuals on a specified day to take a stack of essays (we never score our own).
- We score the essays on our own.
- We return the scored essays.
- We receive our own students' essays once the district tabulates all the data.
If you think this new process is less than popular among teachers, you're right. There was nothing wrong with the way we did it before, and although it was tedious, we were able to get something out of it by talking to each other and seeing what the common mistakes and skill levels were around the table. It worked.
Oh, this morning in the faculty meeting we were asked what we could to do increase teacher collegiality and inter-department conferring. How about letting us sit around a table and score the writing prompt all together?
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