Y'all, I'm Such a Nerd

I really am. I have confirmation from my students. (I'm also a nag, but that's another story . . .)

Anyway, I am a nerd. I love to read, I love to learn new stuff, I get excited about knowing things and I want to share. I'm guiltiest when it comes to stuff I'm learning with my grad degree, and my colleagues are too kind to tell me to shut up when I get going at the lunch table about some new strategy I'm learning. But I can hear the mental, "Oh, Lord, here she goes again."

So I'm showing my seniors a series of documentaries on the history of Britain. Some of it is really interesting (to me, at least -- to them, I'm not so sure). I'd mentioned to them this morning that we were skipping the section on conquests, as when the DH and I were previewing the films, he turned to me and said, "You can't show them this. They'd be out, fifteen minutes, tops."

One of them looked at me, horrified. "You made your husband watch this?!"

Well, yeah. He's a history nerd. He's in the living room now, tuned into the History Channel.

So yeah, I'm a nerd. I'm all excited about going to the charter school conference next week because I know I'll be learning new stuff and that means I'll have more stuff to torture people with at the lunch table.

But y'all will tell me if I become an obnoxious nerd, right?

Sigh

This is why I feel like I'm treading water in the classroom many days lately. The following is a quote from a New York Magazine article {emphasis is mine}:

"But the suggestion that gets the biggest laugh in the office is from Stier’s 12-year-old son, who says, 'So maybe you have to turn all the books into movies so nobody has to waste their time.'"

Read some Leu on the new principles of literacy, couple it with a view of reading like the above, and you'd see why I worry.

Just Another Manic Monday

My siblings and me with my parents at my mom's 65th birthday party. I love how the Christmas lights on the tree make my brother look like he has devil horns. My sisters will, of course, get the wonderfulness of that image, considering he has Daddy's bald head.

I'm caught up on grading! Whoo! Well, at least until I get 35+ portfolio proof essays from the juniors tomorrow, plus freshman rough drafts of the same assignment. And on Wednesday? Fifteen senior project research papers, each in the ten-page range. Big junior essays on the American Dream in Modern and Post-Modern American Literature due Friday. Midterm is a week from tomorrow, so I have to stay on top of this.

Did I mention my edits on Facing It are due in ten days?

On a lighter note, I've posted a poll. My 20th high school reunion is on the 28th and I'm trying to decide if I want to go or not. I thought I'd give you the option to weigh in on my decision.

Oh, shoot! I just remembered after our "how we should be evaluated" chat today, I promised the juniors a rubric tomorrow. Have I typed said rubric? Um, no. Well, guess what I'm off to do . . .?

The Good, The Bad and the Down-Right-Ugly

Scenes from St. Augustine -- Graffiti from a window front at St. George Street. I snapped it for the allusion. I'm planning to make a big copy for my classroom as the seniors are beginning 1984.

I am fortunate enough to have a career I love. I can't imagine not teaching, even on the days when I'm tired and frustrated and grumbling aloud about finding something else to do with my degree. Today was one of those weird blends of what I love and hate about what I do for a living.

The bad. Oh, and it was bad. For about six weeks, I've been teaching the concepts of what makes up Post-Modern literature to my American Lit classes. In Georgia, American Lit is the only required English for all high school students and it has a high-stakes test attached to it. The standard relating to literary time periods, their context, etc. is hugely important and shows up on the EOCT and the graduation test. So when I'm teaching those concepts, it's crucial that kids get them. For some reason, this standard is hard for them to master.

So, for six weeks, I've been teaching my heart out. I could see them beginning to get the ideas. I had kids who were coming in for extra help on their Post-Modern paper (part of their culminating activity). I had them write rough drafts and peer critique and all the stuff that usually leads to successful essays. I had 99% of them turn in a paper, on time. I was thrilled.

Then I started grading.

By the tenth paper (about one-third through the kids), I knew we were in trouble. The knowledge was there. Not perfect, but there. The application of knowledge was there -- again, not perfect, but there. But they were failing. I went back to the rubric, checked it against the unit, against the standards. No faultiness in the rubric.

Finally, after I was braindead from grading (and ready to cry because I'd promised these kids that I'd set them up for success and give them what they needed to succeed and they were failing), it occurred to me that the problem lay in the fact that the rubric assessed multiple standards. Yes, they had the literary period context standard. They were missing points on the writing/grammar and the providing-sufficient evidence standards. Lightbulb! I can work with that.

However, that still left me with the task of returning papers with failing grades on them to a group of kids who'd been working really, really hard. And I was going to say, "Hey, you worked hard, but it wasn't good enough. Sorry, better luck next time."? Uh, no. Not in my world.

So they have papers. They were devastated and that was probably the most uncomfortable class period I've ever had. I have no problem laying down a failing grade where the kid has blown off the work or just slacked or whatever. But this killed me, because I felt like the failure (and in some ways I was). We're in that classroom together, and when they don't do well, that means we've not done well.

In the end, we came to an agreement. If the grade was less than an "A," they are required to revise and resubmit. I'm going to do targeted instruction and small group conferencing with them. Then I'll regrade. Hopefully, the results will be . . .

The Good. I *heart* my students. Some days, I want to smack them, but I do adore them (and unfortunately for me, a certain group of fifteen know that a little too well and will attempt shamelessly to turn it to their advantage). Anyway, this afternoon, two juniors came in to see if I'd graded their essays yet (I still had ten or so from one class to go). There were seniors milling around. The conversation went a little like this:

Junior 1, rolling his eyes playfully: I have to go home and read this boring book you're making us read.

Me: Boring? It's Gatsby, only the best American novel ever--

Junior 1: No, that would be To Kill a Mockingbird.

Me: No comparison--

Senior 1: Y'all are reading Gatsby. I love that book.

Senior 2: You have to get to the end, but it's worth it. The movie is pretty good, but it doesn't stand up to the book.

(I'm looking between them, wondering if they're being sarcastic, then picking up my jaw when I realize they're sincere.)

Can you say English teacher's dream?!

Anyway, it's midnight, I'm tired and I still have a ton of stuff to do this week. I'm pondering how I can have the seniors turn my classroom into a representation of the Orwellian society in 1984 . . .

Grumbly -- and Not in a Winnie-the-Pooh Way Either

Hero: Chris Parker. Book: Facing It. Pages left to revise: More than I want to admit to.

I'm very grumbly today. I'm pretty sure Connie is tired of listening to me. I don't even know why I'm grumbly. I just am. I know I'm all grumbly and grouchy when little things that normally don't bother me try to push me over the edge (like kids who don't understand BE QUIET at the beginning of standardized testing situations!).

On the positive side, several juniors came in for extra help with their Post-Modern papers after school the last couple of days. This is a challenging unit, and I can see major progress with their learning. That makes me happy.

But I'm still grumbly.

I've been trying to pre-read the Orwell article my seniors are reading tomorrow, but the office is the family-gathering spot and Monster #2 is in here reading aloud Rifles for Watie, and it's impossible to concentrate on Orwell's rules for the English language while he's reading. So I'm making a chapter two quiz for The Great Gatsby.

Did I mention I'll be teaching 1984, The Great Gatsby and either To Kill a Mockingbird or Lord of the Flies simultaneously? That means 50-60 pages of re-reading nightly because I have to read what the kids are assigned, plus my graduate reading (I'm working on my literature review for my Educational Research class) and my editing and revising.

Yes, I'm still grumbly.

I wonder if I watch Ghost Hunters if that will improve my mood?

Football Players Meet Romance Novels.

Scenes from My Hometown -- the walkway to my grandparents' home. It has fallen into disrepair, but my parents are planning renovations.

So what happens with macho high school football players* meet romance novels? Hilarity ensues.

My juniors are working on Post-Modernism projects in which they read any novel by any American author which falls into the Post-Modernist time period. So a few days ago, when they brought in their books, I kinda/sorta did a doubletake when I saw the purple cover of one football player's book. He held up the relatively thin paperback, with its orange-ish cover art of a secret agent and the words "Harlequin Intrigue" emblazoned across the top, and said, "I got it from my stepmom. It's okay, right?"

"Um, yeah." I glanced at the book again. "Are you sure you're going to read that?"

"Yeah! I read the back and it sounds kinda good."

I shrugged and went on to log other kids' books -- lots of Stephenie Myer and Twilight**, Sachar and Holes, Tayari Jones and Leaving Atlanta***, even one Winfree and What Mattered Most. The kids spent several days getting immersed in their books. Then, last Thursday, Mr. Football player (I'll call him Robert) looks up from his tome with a horrified expression. "Ms. Winfree! This is a romance novel!"

"Um, yeah, Robert. It is. I thought you knew that."

"No! Why didn't you tell me?!"

By this time, his football buddies are laughing and generally having a great time at his expense. I pin the most vocal (and one of the smartest) kid on the front row (let's call him Ray) with a stare. "You have a problem with romance novels?"

"No, ma'am." He gestures toward Robert's book. "It's just . . ."

"Yes?"

"Nevermind."

I thought so.

Anyway, two or three days pass. Robert is still reading his Harlequin Intrigue. His football buddies are still giving him a fit. I might, maybe, just perhaps have gotten frustrated with his tendency to talk excessively during class and said, instead of threatening him with up-downs at football practice, "Hush and read your romance novel."

So today, it's reading time. All is quiet. Robert snickers. He becomes intently engrossed in his book. He looks up. "Hey, Ms. Winfree, this is a great book."

Now, why do I just know at that point what kind of scene he's discovered?

He goes back to reading. A few minutes later, I am pulled from conferencing with a student about her book by the sounds of a small scuffle. Robert and Ray are tussling over the book, Ray leaning over dangerously in his desk to read whatever page Robert is on. I sigh, excuse myself, go separate the boys, who by now are giggling like seven-year-old girls at a slumber party.

The bell rings a little later and I notice that yet a third football player (we can refer to him as Tom) now has the book and is engrossed. He looks up. "Hey, do we have anymore of these books?"

Well, they're reading . . . that's a good thing, right?
--------

*Names have been changed.

**In my classroom, this series of books is moving beyond what was a girls-only audience. The girls have talked it up so much, the boys are picking them up.

***If you have not read this book, go buy a copy. It's a must-read.

Characterization

Since I was showing you character photos yesterday, I thought I'd share photos of the characterization evidence my 9th graders gathered about me by playing detective in my room. They could look in my desk, around the room, anywhere they wanted except my purse.

Here's the class debriefing:

These kids are smart. All that from five minutes of browsing? Let's see what they got right . . .

Well, they're doing pretty well. I can't stand Jazz Pepsi -- those cans in the class fridge belong to the Monsters. And I'm not a Republican. The Republican cap that led them to believe so was left behind last year by a kid doing his research project on politics. So what else did they get right . . .?

They're doing well. It's not so much that I like stuffed animals but that my DH is really good at those claw machines and I hate to discard his gifts. I do like some classic literature, but I think they overlooked all the current commercial fiction on my bookshelves, too. One more column . . .

The bananas one is funny. Someone gave me a box of bananas and I've been handing them out for days to get rid of them. You notice they called me beautiful, right? Listen, kids, flattery isn't getting you out of anything.

Overall, they did really, really well. I like this exercise. It gets them moving yet provides a purpose and is a nice segue into looking for characterization in the literature they read.

Did I Mention I'm a Cult Member?

Scenes From St. Augustine -- The Ghostly Experience walking tour. No, there aren't really dead hamsters buried under the brick street. But yes, the Augustin Inn was haunted . . . until they had it exorcised. That's the DH in the green shirt and the white baseball cap.

Yes, I belong to a a cult, a teacher cult that worships reading guru Kelly Gallagher. It all started a couple of years ago when I went to a workshop on reading strategies for at-risk learners. The materials included two of Gallagher's books and I fell in love. So I've been pushing Wayne (hey, Wayne -- you need a blog and a website. You also need to finish that darn book, but that's a different story!) to read Deeper Reading. He's had it, he just hasn't read it. So at the beginning of the year, he finally gave in to the yummy-teacher-goodness that is Kelly Gallagher's Deeper Reading and now Michelle (the 8th grade LA teacher) and I have sucked him into the Gallagher cult.

Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

Want to know how bad it is? Wednesday morning, I walk by the two having a conversation. Michelle stops me to ask my take on essay-length with middle schoolers. I mention using powerwriting as a teaching technique and Wayne says, "Is that Gallagher?" No, but that starts a whole 'nother Gallagher-worshipfest as we talk about how we're using his techniques and how they're working in our rooms.

Yes, we are sad people.

But if you teach language arts in grades 4-12, you need the Gallagher goodness. Seriously.

(And Anonymous, when you pop by -- all of our ELA teachers in grades 4-12 need a copy of Gallagher's Deeper Reading of their own. We should do staff development with those strategies.)

**

Misc. Notes:

1) Hearts Awakened is garnering lovely reviews and is at #2 on the MBAM top ten list!

2) I'm fiddling with my website. If you pop over there and things are wonky, that's why.

3) Monster #1 is at a middle school dance. Considering how much effort he put into his appearance, I do believe scamming on middle school girls was on his agenda. He was horrified when I mentioned possibly chaperoning said dance. I am an evil mom.

It Should Be Illegal

To be this wiped out on Monday! I think it's because I was sick last night -- my second vertigo attack in a week. That is not good. I don't get them that often, but two in a week? That worries me. Usually, I might have one every two-three months. Maybe my blood sugar was off or something?

Anyway, I'm reading Gatsby. Sigh. Have I ever mentioned how Fitzgerald was a huge, flippin' genius? Oh, only once or twice? Ad nauseum, maybe?

He was, though. I told the DH earlier tonight I'm really not qualified to teach Gatsby. I've read it so often that every time I come back to it, I see something I didn't see before in terms of the language, the structure, the style . . . and I'm just awed. How do I help relay that to a group of eleventh graders? Yeah, yeah, I know, most of them could care less. I get that. But . . . gosh, I wish they could see it. Or appreciate it for what it is.

I'll quit rhapsodizing and go read now.

Life's Passion

I love teaching. Not 'I like teaching,' but I love teaching. It has its days, when I want to quit and run away to the beach, but most days . . . most days are good.

I love the kids I teach, too. I'm blessed with smart kids. Kids who really do want to learn (even if they're too cool to admit it some days). Kids who work hard and try harder and sometimes just blow my mind with how they pick up some really difficult ideas.

Like my juniors and transcendentalism. Now, granted, they didn't want to study the philosophy of a bunch of old dead guys in American history. And they really didn't want to write transcendental connection essays for me.

But.

They did it. They grumbled and tried to get me to move tomorrow's deadline to Monday (ha!), but they did it. So during the last week or so, I've read sixty-odd essays linking Thoreau and Emerson to more modern authors. Sounds grueling, but I probably enjoyed those well-written and thoughtful short essays more than anything I've graded all year. They were thinking, and it showed in the writing. They were learning, and it showed in the thinking.

Darn, my kids are smart.

I'm going to miss them come May, when they get ready to travel down the deck to Wayne's World.

***

{PS: I know you lurk. You've given yourselves away the last week or so. Go ahead and admit you've enjoyed transcendentalism just a little bit. Leave me a comment telling me what you got out of the unit. The best comment (or comments) just might be worth bonus points or a homework pass. Oh, and by the way, I say you're smart even when you're not listening.}