My Feet They Finally Took Root In The Earth

I have been trying to write this post for 9 days.I have lost the whole thing, fallen asleep in front of the computer  and run out of time to do anything.....so now, here is what I have squeezed out 9 days later...
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Some time ago I wrote about this guy. I wrote about him more than once and in December 2010 I had the very great privilege of attending his graduation ball. Here we all are.

Gene has renamed himself on facebook so I will use that moniker now. That's him, 'Al', on the right. Can you see why I love him? I don't feel so bad about posting this photo now, given that all the lads are over 18 and a pretty regular presence on the internet anyway. The other two gentlemen are also amazing men, with their own stories, but today I want to talk about Al.

After his graduation I connected with him on facebook and found out that he was doing a course in mechanics and expected to have an apprenticeship soon.We messaged each other occasionally and left comments. Then he went quiet.

The week before last, out of the blue, he contacted me. In the past I had always reminded him that I would be happy to help him in any way I could: study, references, course applications etc.
To my complete surprise (and delight) he suddenly popped up and said:
      "Hey Mrs A, I need you' help!"
I lost no time in replying:
       "Hey Al! Wass up? What do you need help with?"
       "Maths Mrs A. I want to learn everything. I'm ready now, I want to learn the basics and be able
         to do calculations and use formulas and stuff...."

Now any of you who have tutored will know that there is a significant per hour price tag attached to the assistance I was willing to give but as I prepared my response I knew that wasn't even in the equation.

        "No worries! What kind of things do you want to cover and where shall I meet you?"

We agreed to meet in the central library on Thursday night. I have got to admit I was anxious. I mean, it has been three years. What would he think when his sprightly, energetic maths teacher from 2010 turned out to be a middle aged pudding? Would it put him off study for ever? Seriously though, would he be committed? Would he even turn up?????

I was late as usual and then I found that the labyrinth of the library defeated me so I had to text him to come and rescue me from the foyer.

He came around the corner and I knew his shape from a distance.  Gone was the backward facing cap, baggy pants around his crutch and sleeveless singlets. Even the dubious symbols previously carved into his tight dark curls had gone. In their place was an attractive, respectable looking young man in a plaid shirt and slim fitting jeans with a conservative haircut and an air of purpose.

We sat and talked for a while. He was off that evening to graduate from his TAFE Course in Business Management.
"So you don't really need my help after all?"
"No, Mrs A, I really DO need your help. I want to do this..."
and he flipped over a folder he was carrying.....
He wants to learn to fly.
"I can do it Mrs A. I believe in myself now.  I don't care what I have to do. If I have to, I will go back to the beginning......"
"You may have to Al..."

He told me where he'd 'been' and what he'd been through. He told me of bad trips and seeing things he never wanted to see again. He told me of holing up in his mum's house and refusing to see his 'friends'; he told me about needing to separate himself from the culture and how his mother helped him keep the toxic friends away....

He told me about how he had found God.
 I smiled broadly.
"Yeah Mrs A, I knew you would like that," he said.
"Cool," was all I could offer. :-)

He had to leave to get to his graduation ceremony but I was so pumped after seeing him  I didn't know what to do with myself, so I went to the pub.
It was completely empty.

I sat with myself and thought about a lot of things. I thought about the last time I had been in that pub, maybe thirty years ago. I thought about how much it (and I) had changed. I thought about what I had wanted to do with my life 30 years ago and I thought about how that had changed and what I had contributed to Al's life.

Life is such a convoluted thing. My own weird journey, my regrets, my disappointments, I looked at them all through the lens of Al. I sat in that empty pub and downed pint  with a quiet sense of euphoria. Maybe, for once, I had made a difference.

God bless you Al. I know our journey will not be predictable, after all you didn't turn up this week while I sat there and waited, but I know God put us  together for  reason. I don't even know if my level of maths will be sufficient for the road you have set ahead for you but if not I will find you an appropriate tutor. Don't you worry about that!

I can't tell you how excited I am to be on this journey with you.

Love ya Al. In a nice, 'not creepy' kind of way ;-)


Growin Up : Bruce Springsteen

What Will My Future Be? I Wonder.

Diverting slightly(?) from the topic of backyard makeovers (and God knows my back could do with some diversion... and not THAT kind of diversion thanks!!!) I had a weird and nostalgic moment at dinner tonight.

The Baby Angel has, for a long time now, struggled with the idea of her future.

It starts when you are a tiny tot and someone notices you playing hospitals: "Oh, he/she's going to be a doctor" (the looney parents quip). The child who shows an interest in the recorder...."virtuoso symphonic performer"...the poor soul who wins a race at infants sports day.... "Olympic hopeful!!!"

Through all of this, I always found it very difficult to imagine what the BA would be. She wanted to be a policewoman. Whatever.

As the years passed, the BA's strongest suit was always her ability to understand people. Friends would tell me of it and I would be semi surprised....
"She knows what to say to bring people together."
"She can defuse a situation."
(She could also be a manipulating little toad; I guess that's the other side of the same coin.)

But I really hadn't twigged it myself, not really, until we were living in Australia. At 10 she would accompany me to netball  matches with my team of 15 year olds. Once, after watching me interact with one of my more difficult pupils she said, "Mum, Anne is the kind of person who needs a LOT of encouragement isn't she?" Perceptive indeed for one so young. And shortly afterwards, in a blinding flash, it hit me; the BA was going to work with people. It might be HR, psychology, counselling, marketing;  there were any number of careers which would call upon her talents. Of course there was always teaching......(hush ma mouth). It was several years later however, before she announced that she might be interested in being an aid worker in developing countries, although this definitely came in behind being a TV presenter for a travel program like 'Getaway'.

With this broad spectrum of careers in her headlights, the BA approached that process at the end of year 12 where you list a bunch of nebulous courses, the content of which is a minor mystery and the focus of which is the university with the best campus and the best bar, and try and give them a priority. It's called 'listing your preferences'. Now I remember this process myself. I don't think my Alma Mater, in those days, had much in the way of career counselling. I think we filled in a survey/ questionnaire thing which came back with a list of 'suggested' careers for us, but I have no recollection of what it suggested for me. I do recall what my father said however;
"Do something that makes money, Medicine or Law."
I didn't fancy blood much, so I put down Law. I also vaguely remember putting down Architecture because I quite liked houses.

Of course, I knew what I really wanted to be. I wanted to be an actress. This was no ill informed celebrity-news fed fantasy. I really did want to be an actress. Or at least a performer of some kind. I have talked before about my involvement with theatre in my youth. These productions were professional performances, two shows a day for two weeks through my school holidays, not to mention the months of rehearsal leading up to it. I knew what I was letting myself in for. Needless to say, to my academic father, the idea of 'acting' as a career was nonsense. My previous career choices from nurse (aged 7...I liked the uniform and bossing people around), fighter pilot (I read a lot of Biggles), air hostess (after they told me I couldn't be a pilot), secret agent (except I couldn't keep a secret) and finally astronomer (since I probably wouldn't be allowed to go to space either....>:-(...)  were pretty close to nonsense too. And so I applied for Law.

Himself on the other hand, knew exactly what he wanted to be from an early age.
"I want to design record covers," he told his mother. "What is that job called?"
"That would be a commercial artist dear," she informed him.
And so he knew his future. Right then and there aged about 10. And blow me down if his first job wasn't....yup, designing record covers. Of course he went on to many bigger and better things including producing the branding for a famous South Australian beer and working with the Sydney Olympic Committee to design posters for the Olympic Arts Festivals. It wasn't a picnic for him to get there, after all his 1970s private boys' school didn't even offer Art as a subject, and his father wanted him to be a rocket scientist (like him), but at least he knew what he wanted to do.

I did try to follow my dream. After two years at Law, during which I performed in: two productions with my children's theatre employers; a Footlights' show; a production of The Crucible with a local semi-professional company and a 6 week country tour of a cabaret style show with the Arts Council; I deferred my third year and never went back. I moved to the eastern states and began work in a theatre restaurant two nights a week. Encouraged by this I applied for the Acting Course at the Victorian College of the Arts and after a rigorous audition process, was accepted. I was ecstatic.

But it was the 80s, money was tight and the publicly funded college had already experienced cuts. The previous year they had run an Entertainer's Course alongside their Acting Course; this had a broader focus including, dance, music, singing and circus skills, but this had been axed in the wake of the tight budget. Now, part way through my first year, further cuts threatened the very existence of the college. The College Director, founding Dean of the school, resigned his position under the condition that his salary would go towards making up the shortfall. He was called vainglorious and it was made clear to us that the cuts would come anyway.....but that was in the future. We admired him fiercely and vowed to soldier on. (Interestingly, the problem with funding continues to this day!)

So it was with a completely open heart and unsuspecting mind that I attended my Review Meeting at the end of the term. Unlike academic courses, we had no exams and assignments, but our work was being constantly assessed and instead of a report card, we fronted a table of our tutors and lecturers for a face-to-face review.

I should have heard alarm bells when I was asked to wait an extra 15 minutes before coming into the conference room, but I was so excited about my progress, the positive feedback I had recently received and my future in the theatre. Once they called me into the room, I sat at the end of the large rectangular table and the Dean delivered the blow.
"Arizaphale, this has been a very difficult decision but after some discussion we have decided to terminate your course. Essentially, we can not guarantee that at the end of the course we will turn you out as an actress."
I remember turning the words over in my mind and trying to make sense of them.
I made sense of them. They didn't think I was going to be an actress.
I revisited their sense. they don't think I'm going to be an actress.
I suddenly saw the consequence.
It was over.
I was out.
I had to completely re-adjust my reality. I was not going to be attending college for three years. I would not make a show reel, find an agent, go on to work in the industry......
I started to cry. I tried to hold it in.
"Don't worry," someone, said, "Let it out..."
For a control freak who had spent most of her life holding it in, this was the permission I needed. I sobbed. I howled. I cried my guts out. The grief was overwhelming. To have got this far and have it taken away.......
Many years later I met one of the teachers who had been present that day. "Oh yes, I remember you!" he exclaimed."Do you know what I remember above everything? I remember you crying. I remember your grief."

There was more discussion and feedback. Each teacher had their say. It was pretty evident from their feedback, who had advocated for me and who hadn't. The room was equally divided. At the end of the day it had come down to the Dean, the deciding vote. The man whom I had so admired had not seen a future for me as an actress. He mitigated it somewhat. He said that, had they still been running an Entertainers course, I would have been a perfect fit. He explained that he felt I was unable to let go of 'me' enough to become someone else in a role. He was probably right.
After a while I had calmed down enough and received sufficient warm, fuzzies from my supporters to emerge from that room and face my peers.

A group of us sat on the lawn and as they all fed back their experiences. When it came to my turn I had to admit that I was finished. There was shock, there was sympathy and there was a strange bemused smile from one other young man.
"The same thing happened to me,"  he said. I sat back in amazement, my own situation receding. I had thought he had it all together. I had thought he was ahead of the game.
It became evident that around four of us had been axed and several put 'on warning'. It was strange. It felt like a cull and many people would say to me later that it was a 'numbers game' and we had been sacrificed, but knowing what I know now about tertiary funding, I can't see how that was the case.

My dear, dear friend The Honourable Husband, a fellow Footlights alumni came down to see me the week after the axe fell. I was out in the garden, forlornly digging my petunias.
"WELL!," he announced in his distinctive Pennsylvania accent as he appeared at the proverbial garden gate:
"YOU didn't s*** the right c***s did you?"
I think I bust my garters laughing.

I embraced him for the dear, dear friend he was and for saying what I needed to hear at precisely the right moment in my life. For even if the reality wasn't as crass as failing to provide fellatio, it was indeed an acknowledgement of the fact that I had failed to fulfill their desires, which didn't necessarily mean I was a total failure. And how beautifully he delivered it. Laughter is indeed the best medicine.

Interestingly, Himself was horrified when I recounted this tale. He thought the HH was being completely insensitive. The BA cracked up! "No," she protested, "that kind of humour can lift you out of it when you're at rock bottom (or words to that effect)."
I was so glad that she 'got it'.

So what am I getting at here, with this rant about futures and disappointments? Well, I have to admit that re-telling that story, which I don't think of often, and which I generally think I have 'got over', opened an old wound. I got quite teary and felt the old tug of 'what if'..... but then I thought about this:

a little girl with severe dyslexia and language disorder; a girl whose spelling score I have managed to advance 2 years in 12 months, who has learned cursive (a great boon for spelling btw) and now wants to read books......

God has a place for you in the world. It may not necessarily be the place you thought would suit you and it may not come with the trappings that may have appealed to you when you were a shallow youth, but you can be sure that the rewards are there. Small, smudged...but right there.
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Footnote: The young man who was kicked out of VCA at the same time as me went on to be a well known face on Australian (and UK) TV screens!
Stefan Dennis

Would You Believe....?

School is always good for a laugh when you work with Special Needs kids. We have a Downs' Syndrome girl at school, in year 8, who is at that difficult stage where she has discovered BOYS but, thankfully, doesn't quite know what to do with them. Naturally, she fixates on one and follows him around at lunchtime. It does not take very long for this to deteriorate into 'kiss chasey', with said boy and his mates hiding in the toilets and Emma (not her real name) lying in wait for them as they emerge. It's a bit like what we all did when we were 9 or 10 except they are 13 and 14.

What?
You mean you didn't do that? It was just me?
Oh well....

Anyway, there she is lurking outside the toilets and there's much hilarity from the boys inside, until one of them decides to hold his friend so that Emma can get to him. Now I don't know if you're aware, but Downs' Syndrome kids can be really strong and when Emma gets hold of you it is quite an effort to disengage. In all the wrestling and so forth that ensued, Boy 1's jumper was ripped, Boy 2 (the holder) got roughly jostled into a wall and Boy 3 hurt Emma's hand when he tried to pull her off Boy 1.
The whole lot of them ended up in the Office of the Head of Student Welfare having to explain themselves.
Part of my role is to debrief Emma after these situations and make sure she understands what is appropriate and acceptable behaviour so that she will be able to operate successfully in society. When she came cheerfully up to my office the next morning I had to sit her down for a chat.
"So Emma, can you tell me about what happened yesterday?"
(thinks hard)"Ummmm, yes, I got a lot of 'good's in my diary"
"Yes, that's wonderful that you were good in class Em but what about lunchtime? Did anything happen at lunchtime yesterday?"
(I am now about to get a lesson in asking euphemistic questions of people with intellectual disabilities.)
"Nothing happened yesterday."
"OK Em, when I ask you if anything happened yesterday, I actually know what happened but I just want you to tell me about it. Tell me about what went wrong at lunchtime yesterday. Why did you get into trouble?"
Emma's face fell, not into a canvas of remorse but rather into a Hieronymus Bosch-like darkened oil painting of deviation. I could almost see the cogs turning. 'How do I get out of this?'
"Well.." she started," John Smith was hurting my hand."
"Yes, Emma, but he was pulling your hand off Tom wasn't he?"
"Yes. But I never touched Tom's jumper. He was being nasty to me."
"I see. But you did touch Tom's jumper didn't you Em because that's how it got ripped."
(Eyes dart sideways, cogs turn.)
"Yes. But Tom was hurting my feelings. He mumblemumblemumble..."
Like many people with Downs', Emma's speech is sometimes hard to understand, but I thought I had heard her correctly.
"What did Tom do Emma?" I asked with some incredulity.
"Tom Brown killed my grandfather." she announced. And then for good measure:
"With a GUN."

Sometimes it's very hard to keep a straight face in this job.

Cos The Times They Are A Changin'

What a time of life I'm in right now.

Who is that middle aged lady wearing her mother's dress?


No, really, that IS my mother's dress.

As well as my seemingly sheer vertical descent into middle age, the Baby Angel and I have been talking about her subject selections for next year, her second to last year of school (hopefully)!
It's a really weird feeling. I mean, it doesn't seem that long ago since she was this little girl in her first year of Reception in Southampton UK. Now we're discussing the relative merits of Biology over Drama as a Year 11 subject.

She doesn't really have a clear idea of what she wants to do when she leaves school so it's a case of leaning to her strengths and keeping her options open. Lately she's taken an interest in fashion and has, in rather typical 15 year old girl style, started keeping a notebook full of fashion designs she's drawn. As a result she is considering taking Design/Textiles as a subject next year, never mind the fact that up until this point in time she has shown no more interest in sewing than the pencil case she made in Home Ec in Year 8 or the puppet she put together in Year 7, which, as it turns out, was decked out in her preferred post school option as......wait for it......................................... a dress designer!!!!!!!!

How can one mother not know her own daughter that badly?

No but really! I have spoken before of her lack of craftiness and so I am a little reluctant to get too enthusiastic about this particular subject choice because, to be honest, it sounds like a lot of hard work for ME! On the other hand, I didn't start really crafting until I was in my late teens so perhaps her talent is lying dormant, waiting to be nurtured and developed?

There is a real sense of gravitas about the whole conversation however, regardless of my flippant manner. I mean, these choices will shape her immediate future. Biology or Drama? Society and Culture or Media Studies? The key thing is to choose subjects which will get you a decent ATAR score. In my day there were one or two 'standard' collections of subjects. I did the science focused: Maths I, Maths II, Physics, Chemistry and English. I did this because my dad said I should. My sister did the more Arts based five: English, Australian History, Ancient History, Economics and Biology (the token science). There were few variations on these groupings, perhaps an Art or a Music thrown in there. No Drama for goodness sakes and definitely no Design Textiles!!!!!! Is it good that there are more choices nowadays? I don't know. Perhaps we are suggesting they specialise too soon? Who really knows what they want to do at 15? (Except you Prof J, I know you knew!!!!:-D)

Next week she is off on work experience. She will be working on a Kindergarten class at the school up the road; although her choice was more about convenience for transport than a real desire to experience teaching. Unfortunately for her she has teaching in her blood as not only her mother and father but grandmother and in some ways grandfather(Uni lecturer) are all teachers. Oh, and her aunt although she had the good sense to get out!

I suppose she could do worse for a career.

Come to think of it...nah. Teaching's pretty gruelling* :-)

But while all this is going on I am dealing with my own changes. There's the hot flushes. Oh. My. Goodness. Now I know what my mother was on about. I'm telling you, I've got to get this sorted out before Summer because, despite the coldest Winter in decades, which we are currently experiencing, I am reduced to wearing layers so I can throw them off at the drop of a hat when I turn into Furnace Girl!!!!! Actually, that has been the only benefit of these damnable things; the other morning when I was getting up at 4.45am to do some prep for the day's lessons because I had fallen asleep at 9pm the night before (*see previous comment about teaching), I was resisting the emergence from my cocoon of sleepy warmth into the 2 degree bedroom air when WOOSH.....hot flush! You've never seen anyone leap out of bed so fast! So, quite useful really.

And tomorrow I'm meeting with another school to talk about a possible job next year. Do I leave my gruelling but familiar current position to take on the stress of a new appointment? It could be a return to primary teaching. Do I want that? Do I want to give up the Maths and focus on Special Ed again?

Change is all around me.

Don't you Ever get Sick of Maths Miss?

"No, I just get sick of kids.."
"Ah, but you love us deep down don't you miss?"
"Yes. That is my curse."

(Conversation in Y9 Maths today)

Now THAT's What I'm Talkin' About

I have just GOT to do a shout out to my friend 'Just Jessie' who is high in the running for my all time 'Flaming Sword' Brilliant Mom prize :-D

This lady home schools and has recently instated a 'no computer or wii on weeknights' rule. This in itself endears me to her but when I saw her recent post on her method for engaging her boys in study, I was blown away.

I really ought to get back to primary teaching.

Too Good To Be True

This first week of lessons has been remarkably calm. Many of the kids have just 'got down' to work with minimal fussing; noise levels have been lower and (with the exception of Year 10) most are doing their homework.

Today I have all three classes and I am inadequately prepared.

Today may be the turning point.

Tales From The Exam Room

Yesterday in Year 10 Geography, in answer to the question:

"Name two of our country's worst bushfire disasters."
one of my little friends had written...............

USA.
(don't ask...I have NO idea)

Yesterday: in answer to a question in the Year 9 Maths exam

"Is the data symmetrically distributed, positively or negatively skewed?"
one of my testosterone driven lads had written..........

Positively screwed.
(I suspect he did it on purpose. I gave him half a mark for getting the 'positively' bit correct >:-)

Today: in the Year 8's first exam, I announced that they had 10 minutes 'reading time' and sat back. After a few moments one of the boys put his hand up.

"Errrr....what are we supposed to read?" he enquired.

I refrained from the bitingly sarcastic "Shall I get you a magazine?" which sprang to my lips and indicated his test paper but before I could recover from the complete stupidity of this question, I noticed one of the other boys sitting staring into space.

"What are you doing?" I whispered in his ear, "you're meant to be reading."

He smiled vacantly and whispered back apologetically,
"Oh well, I didn't actually bring anything to read."

We assume so much.

It's Here.......Thanks Mum!!!!!

Oooo-er, very cool eh? My Mum bought me this in Ireland after a recent trip. It arrived today. I think I'll get some wear out of it for sure. Just perfect for this chilly weather we're having. Thanks Mum!!!!!!! The BA loved her card too. :-)

Took our big, bad tempered cat to the vet today to make sure there was nothing more wrong with him than a bad case of stress and resentment of local feral cat interlopers. There wasn't. We've been given a spray to spray around the areas of the house where he normally lurks. It's supposed to calm him down. We shall see. Lately he's been hissing if you so much as look at him :-( Himself calls him The Anti-Pet.

The last few days of term are bearing down upon us. Year 10 exams have started and year 8 and 9's start on Thursday. I hate this 'revision' period. The lower ability groups have no interest in exams and no desire to revise or take any of it seriously so it turns into a recipe for challenging behaviour. The theory behind exams 'right down the grade levels' hinges on the idea that it gets them into practice for when exams really matter (year 11 and 12). The Boss gave a talk on revision practices in assembly on Monday and pointed out to the kids that efficient revision does not simply involve reading your notes through.

This is a big issue.

Do any of us remember being taught revision techiques explicity in school? I do hope it happens. My revision used to consist of retyping my lecture notes and doing old exam papers, although never for English; I just used to rely on pretty good stream of consciousness for English :-)
What about you older folk? Did anyone teach you how to revise for exams or was it just hit and miss?

One of the girls in my Care Group today told me that she had 'revised' by doing an old exam. "How did you go?" I asked. "Notsure," was her response,"I didn't finish it!" Had she got it 'correct this far', I enquired. She didn't know. She hadn't marked it and she hadn't attempted the bits she didn't know.

*sigh*

The Nanny State strikes again. They will not 'try to find an answer' because they believe the only way you can get support is by 'asking a teacher'. So much for independence. Lord help them on the day that there is no teacher or alternate adult standing around to answer their questions.

In other excitement, I was working up for my next career as a security guard again last Friday.

One of our young lads, with Aspergers, flew through the door of my classroom and launched himself at another pupil, putting him an incredibly effective headlock as I discovered when I tried to prise the two of them apart. The other pupil, realising I was not going to get him out of this predicament imminently, squirmed around in the other guy's arms and started laying into him in no uncertain terms! Somehow, and I don't know if I can claim credit for it, they separated and as I was sending the 'victim' to the other side of the room out of the way, the first boy spotted a 4 foot long penshelf from the whiteboard, dislodged in the scuffle, lying on the floor. Before you could say 'Bedevere's your uncle', he had scooped it up and proceeded to charge across the room wielding it, lance like, at the other pupil!!! I don't know what he would have done if I hadn't leaped on him but suffice to say a number of students scattered wildly as he approached.

I ended up cuddling him from behind and pinning his arms while I tried to encourage him to calm down. When I eventually let him go he gathered up his things and allowed me to shepherd him down to the Office. It took some time afterwards to debrief the class which I think we did successfully. There were some interesting comments amongst the predictable lack of empathy from many teenagers.

When a specific group of pupils complained that this lad shouldn't be in the school because he was 'unpredicatble' and could hurt people, another, gorgeous young kid spoke up. He has a non-English speaking background and with his 'practical' grasp of English announced to the class
"But he only attacks people who 'piss him off'." Out of the mouths of babes.

The 'specific group' who were complaining were the ones who deliberately wind this kid up, waiting for a reaction. Well, they certainly got it that day. I am happy to report that the 'victim' who of course turned out to be the perpetrator (he'd thrown something belonging to the Asperger's boy onto the top of a high locker) was also suspended until this morning.

But sheesh. I'm not sure I signed up for this gig. My next professional development course had better be assault response training!!

Best go and write an exam. Why not?

In Which I Am Forced To Confront My Cynicism

Following from my despair at the lack of initiative of the younger generation and my affront at the dumbing down of the curriculum, I received some interesting responses to my horror at the idea of trivial internet based assessment tasks for Shakespeare.

Jill (a pre school teacher) from Twipply Skwood said this:

Actually I'll bet the Romeo and Juliet myspace pages could produce some interesting stuff. You know, they'd have to do the blog entries and bios and interests and all that. They could think up what to substitute for certain categories - like there wouldn't have been any movies for them to have for favorite movies, so what would they put in that area? They would have to make a page for the parents so R&J would have "friends". It might be a kind of neat project - like maybe whoever was done with their regular work ahead of time could do it for extra credit or something. :-) :-) :-)

A Free Man (a University lecturer) said this:
I know you disagree, but I think that the latter idea is a really good one. You have to get kids interested, engaged and if you use their choice of media to do so, they'll be more interested. Do you remember the Leonardo DiCaprio/Clair Danes Romeo & Juliet? Got a whole generation interested in Shakespeare, but it certainly didn't deviate that much from the intent of the author. You could do the same thing with modern social media. Although MySpace is a bit dated, Facebook would be the way to go. The more I think of it, the better idea I think it is. The kids would have to read the play in order to do a decent job. They may not read it in a traditional classroom setting.

And Just Jessie (a brilliant home school-er with two super intelligent, creative boys) said this:
Okay, I think they're on the right track, they just need more depth. The avatar thing could be cool if they flesh it out more. Make them draw their own and put them in period clothing and in a scene from the play. You know, sort of make them think it through. Could be a good thing.

Due to the fact that they are all qualified professionals (although I think they are all also Gen-Xers) I considered their ideas very carefully.

Yes, they have merit.

I mean, how different is an avatar from the 'Wanted' posters we did for characters in novels back in primary school? The implications of transferring life in Elizabethan England (or Verona in this case) to MySpace or Facebook is loaded with opportunities for humour, originality and creativity.
With a bit of research.

And this is where I come up against it.

A Freeman: You said that setting this project would encourage them to read the play in order to do a decent job. You assume that they even CARE about doing a decent job! And let me tell you, nothing will make them read that play if they do not want to. Hell, even when you read it to them it does not dent their e-clad psyches. (Thank heavens for Baz Luhrman I say.)

Jill: You suggested setting it as an extension project or for extra credit. Unfortunately we have enough trouble getting them to hand up even the most basic of projects let alone doing something for extra credit.
The Y Generation are all about 'that'll do' , 'good enough' and 'maximum result for minimum effort'.

Jessie: 'Sort of make them think it through'? You have hit the nail on the head. They have no desire to think anything through and the nature of this assignment encourages this.

Look, as an older person with life experience; a familiarity with Shakespeare; a love of spoof and plenty of exposure to irony and satire in a range of genres; I can think of so many things to bring to this project. Unfortunately the pupils we teach have very few of these attributes.

I think it would be an excellent extension project for an advanced group; a group with skills. My concern is that as English teachers we should be developing skills and skills will not develop spontaneously and without practice.

The problem with giving this type of task to the mainstream of students is that it encourages superficiality. Myspace does not have a spellchecker or a requirement for anything written there to make ANY sense at all. I know. I have seen some of the pages belonging to my daughter's friends. Hell. I have seen my daughter's page! Avatars, like wanted posters, are a primary school activity. They require a student to understand only the most basic qualities of a character and do not encourage exploration of motivation or personality traits which drive a character to make certain choices.

I know technology and the use of familiar, popular cultural tools can motivate kids but we risk sublimating the wealth of history and literature available to our species by moving down the road of 'least resistance'. Use technology where you can to get your message across but do not allow it to replace the original form of the message altogether. Use technology as a vehicle for expression but not as a way to avoid having anything to express.

If you want to add a 'pop' flair, ask them to construct a series of email exchanges between the lovers in the language of the day! At least then they will need to familiarise themselves with the text, construct a narrative of sorts and formulate grammatically correct sentences. Without txtspk.

I would like to set a task for student teachers. Analyse the 'Create a Myspace Page' task and list the elements of the english curriculum that it either teaches or assesses. What steps would pupils need to take to complete the task adequately? eg research skills, reading the play, analysing, summarising. Do they have the skills to take these steps? If not, how would you structure the task to ensure that they were supported in developing these skills?

On a less cynical note, for pupils with learning difficulties, a task like this could remove the fear of the written word and provide a comfortable context in which to experiment with ideas.

Thanks for the thought provoking comments folks.

It's Happening In English Classes Too

On the back of my post regarding the evolution of maths teaching, a friend who teaches English reported a conversation which occured in a faculty meeting last week.

Young, enthusiastic Gen X teacher: So, I've been thinking. With Shakespeare, as an assessment piece, we could get them to make an avatar of either Romeo or Juliet.

Second young, enthusiastic Gen X teacher: Yeah! OR we could get them to design a
My Space page as if they were Romeo or Juliet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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At dinner as we were discussing this, Himself said "Well, it's a different world..."

Only if we LET it be my dear. ONLY if we let it......................

The Evolution of Maths Teaching

Maths Question 1970

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.00. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit?

Maths Question 1980

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.00. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price, or $80.00. What is his profit?

Maths Question 1990

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.00. His cost of production is $80.00. Did he make a profit?

Maths Question 2000

A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100.00. His cost of production is $80.00 and his profit is $20.00. Your assignment: underline the number 20.

Maths Question 2009

A logger cuts down a beautiful tree because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our planet. He does this so that he can make $20.00. Do you think this is any way to make a living? Topic for class discussion after answering the question: How did the birds and animals feel as the logger cut down their homes? (There are no wrong answers).
************************************************************************************



*Thanks Mum for sending me that one!!

....Are Doomed To Repeat It.....

Boy 1: "Yeah, but like why do we have to learn things like Ancient Rome and stuff? When are we ever going to use that? I mean unless you're going to be a museum curator or a historian or something and like, that's not very likely is it?"

Boy 2 (M)"Yeah Mrs A, we should be learning stuff about TODAY. About the issues that are happening now, that will affect us in the future, why can't we learn about THAT??"

Thusly went part of a conversation between students and teacher in a Geography lesson on Friday afternoon.

This one Geography lesson a week has been the bane of my existence this year. It is the 'worst' Year 10 class; straight after lunch on a Friday; they're not really my class, I simply babysit them once a week for their extremely talented and popular male teacher who has another class at that time and we differ in our expectations of what they should actually do in a single Geography lesson on a Friday afternoon. They think they should do nothing. I disagree.

As you can imagine, a significant portion of the boys in the class (and a significant proportion of the class are boys) see this lesson as an opportunity to have a little fun with the teacher. At the beginning of the year, the bell would go at 1.40pm and by 2.00pm I had maybe 2/3 of the class present. The rest (we shall call them 'The Reprobates'*) would straggle in, sans books, pencils and work ethic and proceed to clatter loudly though the room to the back row, prop their chairs up against the back wall and put their feet up. When quizzed on their lateness they would look me straight in the eye and say, "We were looking for our books in our lockers." The fact that they were all wet through from an obvious water fight in the toilets was neither here nor there.

After a few weeks of detentions where they had to write out the importance of coming to class on time, I had cured most of their lateness but rubbed their 'attitude' up into a veritable static storm of resentment. They crackled as they entered the room.

I further endeared myself to them by beginning to escort them to their next lesson as it became evident that they used the 45 sec walk from one classroom to another to visit the toilet, locker, drinking fountain, squabble, water fight or disappear off into the bowels of the school never to return. The end of last term saw an escalation in the resentment as I gave several detentions for reading manga comics in class and talking during 'silent time' (don't ask, it's a school tradition).

The manga comics incident was one of those headshaking moments. I noticed, as the rest of the class were discussing the current Australian water crisis, a young man in the front row, head down, absorbed in his reading. He wasn't even trying to hide it. When asked to hand over the book he was outraged.
"But it's not mine! He (points) lent it to me."

Later, as others were answering written questions I tackled him on the issue.
"What makes you think that it is in any way acceptable to be sitting in class reading a comic?"
"Well, I didn't have my textbook or my exercise book so I couldn't do any work, so I might as well."

Aaaaaanyway, I digress (now there's a surprise). To some degree it was a difficult class for the kids too as I was not their regular teacher and relied upon him to give me the work for them to complete. He usually did this about 30secs before I walked into the classroom so I was left playing catch-up and could not always answer all their questions, not that The Reprobates had any intention of asking any, well not intelligent ones anyway. Their questions usually had ulterior motives like trying to trick me into saying something that would get me into trouble with the ultra conservative Christian School Board.

In the second to last week of term their teacher was on a course and had not left me any work (horror) so I visited the Library and found an animated film about life in space after the Earth had been destroyed; Titan AE or something. Do you think The Reprobates could manage to let me get it up and running without incident? Of course not. Granted they probably didn't know what the film was and may have assumed an old frump like me was going to force them to watch a documentary on endangered marsupials in the Amazon, but their deliberate group singing over the top of my introduction tried my otherwise sunny countenance and I sent one of them outside.

Once the rest had shut up and were watching the film I went out to see my little friend and discuss his behaviour. He was arrogant and rude in the extreme and rather than engage in a fruitless power struggle I suggested he just go straight to the Focus Room. He was irate!

"You can't send me to the Focus Room! You haven't given me a warning yet! School rules say you have to warn me, move me and THEN send me out! You didn't even warn me or move me!"

"I think you've had enough warning already mate," I reasoned," You've had three terms worth of warnings, you know what is expected of you."

"Ah! But every lesson should be a fresh start. We get our warnings all over again every lesson."

"But you don't give me a fresh start every lesson."

This slowed him for a moment.

"Yes, but you're the teacher, you should lead by example."

"M, I have tried time and time again to give you a fresh start. I speak to you civilly in the yard. I ask how you're going and you cut me dead."

"But there's a line between being a teacher and a friend you know."

"I'm not trying to be your friend. I am trying to be pleasant and civil but you boys, when you come into this class carry every detention you've ever received with you. You walk in the door in attack mode and you never give me a fresh start. Why should I give you one?"

There was a momentary silence.

"Well, I'm sorry about that."

Pardon? Did I hear him correctly? Did he just apologise????

"That's alright M. If you can sit out here quietly for a moment I'll see if I can let you back in the classroom."

**********************************************************************
He was indeed able to re-enter the classroom and although I am not saying he is a radically changed young man, he has at least given the whole thing some thought. This was evidenced by this week's lesson and the conversation with which I opened the post.

This week I had given up any hope of getting any work out of them. They had the list of revision questions to attempt and I had made it clear that I was available to help if they needed me but I was b******d if I was going to knock myself out on a Friday afternoon on the week before exams. I sat with a group of kids looking at the questions, trying to decide what a 'scattergraph' was, when M and his two friends called to me across the aisle with their question about History.

To begin with, it was difficult to ascertain whether they were simply being malicious, having a 'go' at a subject they know I teach, but I decided to try the 'fresh start' principle and engage in the discussion rather than attempting to steer them back onto Geography questions they had no intention of completing.

Firstly, I felt it necessary to point out that if they wanted a subject which dealt with current issues, things that would affect their future, then Geography is it. After all, the current topic is Environmental Issues!
They kind of acknowledged this but pushed it aside as they continued on with their rant against History.

"I mean, what's the point of learning about Ancient Egypt?"

"I thought most kids liked learning about ancient Egypt?"

"Well, yeah, that was quite interesting BUT other History topics, what use are they?"

"Hmm, you mentioned Ancient Rome. What happened to it? Why did it collapse? It got too big didn't it? And what is happening to our world economy today? It's got so large and interdependent that if one large economy falters it affects us all. We're seeing that now."
(I know this is a pretty loose interpretation but I was going for impact here)

"Yes, yes, yes, but we should be looking to predict things about the future. I mean, why aren't we talking about Mumbai?"

"Well, do you know the History of Mumbai? Of India? Do you know what the attackers are protesting about?

Back and forward we went. He led himself into it. "The reason you are able to 'make predictions' about things," I suggested, " is because you have seen things happen in the past and you have learned from them. That is History!"

The conversation then ran from 9/11 to North Korea to East Timor to the Middle East. I pointed out to them that if they wanted to talk about these things they had to be in possession of the facts ie history; if only to ensure that they are pleasant and intelligent dinner table companions!!

"So knowing all this stuff is just about social life really?" asked M.

"That, and impressing an employer you are a well educated, well rounded individual."

" I still don't see why we have to learn things that we're not going to use!"

"Well, " I foolishly began," that's a very 15 year old point of view. You really don't have any idea just yet what you will use in life or work in the future. "

M looked at me attentively and was obviously considering this proposition. His mate however couldn't leave it alone.

"Are you saying we're childish???? At least we don't wear bright pink mickey mouse ipods. That's like what an eight year old does!!!!!!!!!!!" The other two looked at him as if he were mad.

I couldn't decide whether I was disappointed that he was still on his previous 'get the teacher agenda' or pleased that the other two weren't. I decided to go for humour.

"Oh! Ow, ow!" I feigned extreme pain," Cuts deep mate! Touche."

This time all three of them were looking at me.
"What the hell is 'touche'?"

*sigh* I guess I've still got a long way to go in the teenage boy/teacher relationship stakes.



*Reprobate: I have just checked the definition of this favoured word and found it to mean, as I intended, an 'unprincipled person'; but more co-incidentally, in Christian Theology(archaic) it apparently means 'predestined for damnation'!!!!!! My, my.

Image Credits

roman coin

globe

tin of paint

Out of the Mouths of Babes

This morning I woke up after a terrible nightmare in which the pupils had ganged up on me.

I have been feeling very demoralised with student attitudes of late. There is this constant power struggle going on in the classroom and I for one don't even want to play the game.

Some of the bright lads in my History class wage this constant war of oneupmanship; the 'Get One Over On The Teacher' game. This involves; jumping on me if I accidentally trip over a word, loudly pointing out typos or inconsistencies in worksheet questions; challenging me over pedantic definitions (is a pilot a soldier since he kills people and goes to war? is Scotland a country?) etc etc etc

So it was with a dark heart, still brushing the cobwebs of the dream off my shoulders that I fronted my Year 10 Maths class today. Adding inconvenience to my black mood was the fact that we have classroom changes due to Year 11 exams. This means I have to cart all my equipment, calculators, tables folders, whiteboard markers, OHPs etc across the school to another room where I find I have brought the wrong set of folders or forgotten to bring the rulers and pencils. (after all, why would the kids bring them????)

For some reason, I think because only a few made it to school on time today and the classroom was comfortingly empty, we started having a discussion about life, exams, future study options and the like. The conversation got around to hating school and of course hating teachers. Teachers are stupid/mean/unreasonable etc. Names were named.

One particular colleague came in for a bit of a hammering with descriptions of her inflexibility and hardline manner. This is always difficult and I in no way encourage this kind of discussion of the staff but they were most insistent in this case and in the midst of my protests and attempts to change the subject, one of my most problematic pupils announced..

"No, but Mrs A, she's not like you. We know you care about us. With you, even when we've had a big argument or something, you go home over the weekend and calm down and when we see you again it's like a fresh start. You don't hold it against us. But with her, she doesn't forget and next time you see her she's still mad with you...."

Now, if the Lord could have sent me any gift today, any assurance that something I was doing was getting through to them, it could not have been any more perfect than this statement from this pupil.

I managed to steer the topic off my unfortunate colleague and onto the power of prayer and how much of it is needed to wipe the slate clean every weekend and bring me back to these kids, optimistic and accepting. We went on to do some revision on the Virtual Road Trip which some of them remembered and could almost complete independently. All in all it was a most satisfactory and tranquil lesson. The answer to prayer really.

Of course, the year 9s after lunch were revolting and it was back to reality but for a brief moment there it was all worthwhile.

Maybe I Should become A Bouncer

Good grief. This is the second time in two months I have had to break up a fight using actual physical intervention.

Two lads flew past me in the yard at recess, one flung himself on top of the other and two more heaped on top, fists flying. This was no playful rumble and it took quite a bit of my strength to haul two of them off. I think another student also helped but it all happened so fast.....

Good job I'm fiesty eh? Don't mess with Mrs A, I say!!!!! Of course, if any of them had turned on me I would have been in big trouble as they are all feet taller. Still, I do have my trusty karate training to assist me in warding off blows. Wonder what their parents would think if I dropped one of them with a well aimed backfist to the nose?

Best not I guess.

I think I'm rambling now....

Oh, A Free Man? Remember you asked why you shouldn't go into secondary teaching?

On a positive note (yes, there is one), the lesson on Tom Lehrer and his cold war humour went very well. I should have had more faith, after all, these are kids who enjoy The Chaser's War on Eveything and Saturday Night Live. They particularly liked the comment made in a preamble to one of the songs (I had fogotten about it....bad teacher!) which goes:

"I have a friend who wrote a book recently, a whimsical tale of a necrophiliac who fulfilled his life's ambition by becoming Coroner. (mild laughter)
The rest of you can look it up when you get home."

This was the cause of much mirth and raucous guffawing from about 50% of the class. The rest of them will have to look it up when they get home........

When The Air Becomes Uranious/Uraneous?

As a child, I was introduced to the Periodic Table of Elements by my academic father through the genius of Tom Lehrer.

With this as a taster I was led to the delights of 'The Masochism Tango' and around such joys as 'The Vatican Rag'. By the tender age of 17 I knew the vast majority of the brilliant man's works, off by heart.

This term, my history class have begun to explore The Cold War and it has brought to mind the fact that this part of history and I are intimately connected.

Apart from the delicious comedy of Don Adams in 'Get Smart', I remember as a child the excitement of 'atomic power'; the Thunderbirds with their atomic engines and being transfixed by the beauty of my father's National Geographic magazines, showing sensational shots of the breathtaking mushroom clouds over Bikini Atoll. On TV, Disney showed a model of nuclear fission using ping pong balls and mousetraps and at Disneyland we 'Journeyed To Inner Space', into the spaces between atoms themselves where electrons buzzed past our heads and the sense of wonder overtook me.

Later of course I was one of the many children/young adults who had nightmares about nuclear war. I used to dream that I was in a car trying to outdrive the cloud of fallout. These 'stress' dreams continued into university and the early 80s before petering out in favour of being onstage and not knowing my lines.

While at Uni I took part in, what we thought at the time ,was a very clever and witty stage show/cabaret called 'The 1980 Floorshow'. It was around the time of the election which brought Ronald Rayguns to the Presidential podium and we mocked the Americans for their choice, sporting 'Youth for Regan' armbands and singing 'Tomorrow Belongs to Me'. A good deal of the show was written around the songs of Tom Lehrer, notably 'So Long Mom, I'm off To Drop The Bomb', billed by its author as 'pre-war nostalgia' because there wasn't going to be anyone left after the next war to be nostalgic.

Now, as I lead my class through the history of the post-nuclear age I am toying with the idea of introducing them to some of these songs. I have downloaded them and printed out lyrics but in the back of my mind lurks a small troll of doubt. What if they don't find them funny?

I mean, they were old when we heard them but they were still relevant to the political landscape. We were all Python nerds and academics who loved the plays on words, the wild rhymes ("you can do anything you want if, you have cleard it with the pontiff") and the whimsical music hall tunes. What will the children of today's cynical, 'in your face', generation think of them? I mean, no one writes clever songs anymore. There's no 'suggestion' or innuendo in today's music; today the singer tells us exactly what he will do with that ho' when he gets various parts of his anatomy on her. Why would kids appreciate the ironic slant of "We will all go together when we go"?

So I am torn. Today, they watched a video which showed an incredible US 'educational film' called 'Duck and Cover'. It was so bizarre with families sheltering under a picnic tablecloth as the 'bomb' went off; the kids were in hysterics.; but they were laughing 'at' the film. Can I risk my beloved and deliberately funny Tom Lehrer being held up to the merciless scrutiny of Year 10?

As a delicious addendum to this, I discovered a website which quotes the original inspiration for the song 'So Long Mom'. It is, apparently, a popular World WarTwo song entitled:

GOODBYE, MAMA (I'M OFF TO YOKOHAMA)
by J. Fred Coots

Goodbye mama
I'm off to Yokohama
For the red, white, and blue
My country and you.
Goodbye mama
I'm off to Yokohama
Just to teach all those Japs
The Yanks are no saps
A million fightin' sons-of-Uncle Sam, if you please
Will soon have all those Japs right down on their Japa-knees
So goodbye mama
I'm off to Yokohama
For my country, my flag, and you.

Say Goodbye to mama.
You're off to Yokohama.
So be brave and be strong,
You won't be gone long.
Say bye-bye mama,
The land of Yama-Yama,
Until April, I guess,
Will be your address.
On Christmas Eve when dad and I are trimming the tree,
You'll do your share of trimming out on land and on sea.
Say goodbye to mama,
You're off to Yokohama,
For your country, your flag and me.

Goodbye mama,
I'm off to Yokohama
For the red, white, and blue,
My country and you.
Goodbye mama,
I'm off to Yokohama
Just to teach all those Japs
The Yanks are no saps.
A million fightin' sons-of-Uncle Sam, if you please
Will soon have all those Japs right down on their Japa-knees.
Goodbye mama,
I'm off to Yokohama,
For my country, my flag, and you.

I thought you'd like that one dad.

Alles Ist Besser Als Mathe

The German Fairytale thing was yesterday. In a stroke of brilliance and luck I had discovered that there were two performances: lessons 3 and 4. I negotiated with the amenable (and talented) German department to bring my small group in the second lesson, thus giving me time to administer the mini test that I need for report writing (coming soon to this computer). They would work hard for 35mins and have a fun second lesson followed by some well earned cake.

That was the plan.

Of course all the other maths classes told them we were going in lesson 3 so after recess I had to go and extract them from the rabbling hordes assembling outside the recital room. After marching them back to the classroom, we then engaged in 10 minutes worth of argument.

Firstly I had to convince them that we WERE going to the play (after all I am JUST the sort of teacher who deliberately prevents them from having fun), they would just need to wait for the next lesson. Actually, I found it quite interesting that they assumed they were being prevented from going altogether. Some sort of Freudian guilty complex perhaps? I'm still not sure if that's a good thing because it means they are acknowledging their current poor behaviour, or a bad thing because it once more indicates their poor self image.

THEN came the argument that all their friends were going in this lesson and it would be no fun going with the next group (whoever they were) cos they didn't have anyone to talk to. After pointing out the obvious fact that one does not need to 'talk' to anyone through a play there were more protests about the unfairness of it all. Of course I went down the usual parent/teacher road which was 'if you don't stop complaining we won't be going AT ALL'........aaaand eventually we settled to our test.

The bell went. Not one of the them moved.
Miss 'I have nothing better to do with my time than argue with you' looked up from the front row and said,
"We don't have to rush. It'll take ages for the others to get there and get organised," and bent her head back down to her test.
Mr 'I can't do anything and stop asking me and hit the back wall and swear at everyone', looked up and said,
"Do we have to go to this thing? Can't we just finish the test?"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For the record, the plays were very cute: Frau Holle and Konig Drosselbart(I think). I'm not sure how much the kids followed as they were unfamiliar stories but the German cake afterwards was GREAT!!!!!

And today is a pupil free day*happy sigh*



image credit

Stand Aside: Low Quality Verbal Flushing Imminent

I don't know where I first heard the term 'brain dump'. It may have been my first husband's army reserve jargon or one of those cynical 'in joke' expressions people working in the same department use. It certainly emerged around the time that IT was becoming a major part of the education coalface, back in the days of Dinosaur Discovery and Granny's Garden when we all used real floppy discs, discs that were floppy, and had to back up systems nightly. I think it was related to the dumping of unneccessary data in order to increase speed and efficiency. Perhaps nowadays a defrag would be the most useful parallel.

A brain dump most frequently occured on Friday nights after school, at the local pub . When we worked in the bush, the local pub was the meeting place and the one across the road from the school offered all teachers their first beer free on a Friday. Thus followed many more far from free beers and a brain dump. These could be painful, and messy.

I actually met my first husband during a brain dump at the local pub. He worked at the primary school in the regional centre and I drove in, like a bat out of hell, on Friday afternoons to get away from the tiny hamlet some 80km out in the donga where I spent the week rubbing shoulders with people like this.

Not that they were all like that of course but there were enough products of overly friendly inter-family relations to make it essential to vacate the area on a Friday afternoon.

But back to brain dumps.

Today I feel a bit like the chap here. My head is being pulled in a number of directions by a number of issues.

There's the general aggro of working in Support Classrooms compounded with the lack of continuity and resulting chaos that is afforded by my having days 'off' to attend courses. This has happened twice in the last two weeks and renders the following two lessons alopaecia inducing as pupils wallow in the luxuries of misdirection and missing work.

Today one of them brazenly announced,

"Well, you can't expect us to do work when a relief teacher's here! "

Strangely, I also can't expect them to

* arrive on time

* bring a pen, pencil or ruler

* bring a book

* visit the bathroom prior to class

* speak to me or any of their classmates in a civil manner.

Then there is the business of arranging assessments for pupils within the school: phonecalls, schedules, distribution of information and collection of same. Fill in this form please. How often does the pupil pick his nose or attack other pupils in the course of an afternoon. Record the frequency of interactions with other class members.

Then there is E. For any of you who remember her from the post I did before I deleted it for anonymity purposes, you may remember that she is hard work. High maintenance would not cover it. Today she holed herself up in a classroom where I was giving pupils homework support at lunchtime (yes, lunchtime...I have no need for relaxation.....didn't you know that?) and refused to leave when the bell went. Wouldn't go to class, wouldn't go and discuss it with anyone else.....Ended up I had to go up to the office and fetch someone to coax her out as I had a lesson to babysit oops I mean teach. *sheesh*

Now I have to document all this. >:-( Just what I need.

So I guess this little blogging sojourn is a bit of a brain dump for me at the moment. I guess it's better for me than gin.

Don't mind me folks. I'll be fine in the morning.

Powerful Stuff

One of the things I love about holidays is the opportunity to do some of the things I don't have time for during term time.

In the first week of my holiday I have encountered two things which have touched me deeply. This post is about the first: a movie called 'The Freedom Writers'.

For those unfamiliar with the film, it is the true story of a 'first year out' high school teacher in 1994 California post Rodney King and the ensuing race riots. Hilary Swank plays the idealistic Erin Gruwell who is faced daily with a class of 14-15 year olds who have been labelled 'at risk' and 'unteachable' by the rest of the academic staff.

For these kids, school was irrelevant. They lived with the constant spectre of gang warfare and racial violence. They came from homes where domestic violence and poverty were common place and where high school graduation was akin to flying pigs. Everyone had written them off.

Of course, as you can imagine, Erin Gruwell managed to turn it all around and, after working for four years with the class, most graduated and some went on to college. They published a book called 'The Freedom Writers' Diary' in deference to the sixties civil rights movement 'The Freedom Riders' and eventually formed a foundation to promote the use of innovative teaching methods in schools throughout the USA. Again, as I'm sure most of you can imagine, this film strikes many chords for me: disinterested, unteachable pupils, a teacher who makes a difference. Except that currently of course, I have not made a difference.

So, what did this film say to me?

Firstly, and rather uncharitably, I felt pretty damn snitchy because Erin Gruwell is an English teacher and my mean and bitter soul says, 'oh yea, well it's easy for an English teacher to be relevant. Try touching their souls with Maths!!!!', and to some degree this is justified. However, it is also a cop-out. What Erin did was meet the kids 'where they were'. She validated their experiences and created a supportive classroom environment where they felt accepted and safe. She gave them voices and she provided opportunities for relevant curriculum.
I wonder whether I do this.

The other aspect of the film which really had an impact upon me was the attitude of the other members of staff at the school. Erin Gruwell had to use her own money to buy books for her class because her Dept Head would not allow her to waste 'valuable' school texts on her bunch of miscreants. The rationale was that the books would be 'too hard' and that the kids would destroy them with graffiti etc anyway. When she asked for funding to take them on excursions she was told it was a waste of time and money. As a result she funded the first excursions herself and the kids raised the money for others. They also raised money to bring people like Miep Gies to the school, from Europe!!! When, after two years, Erin asked to take the class through into their final years of high school she met with massive resistance from senior staff. She was told she didn't have the seniority or the right to teach senior grades. She was told that if these students went on and failed in other teachers' classes, it was HER fault, not theirs. She was told that her methods were impractical and inefficient and did not meet the needs of the majority of students. Far from being impressed at her achievements with the pupils, the management were resentful!
Fortunately the local Board of Education disagreed with them and the rest is history.

All of this forces me to reflect upon my own attitudes, pride and, dare I say it, prejudice as a teacher. Whom do I align myself with here? When I think of all the whinging I've been doing of late, with respect to my classes, I feel ashamed. Am I like the teacher who thinks everything is 'too hard' for my class and in the process dumbs it down so much that they become disengaged? Do I want to 'blame the kids' for their inability to learn rather than taking on board my own pedagogical weaknesses?

I don't have any answers yet. I am still wrestling with the issues this film 'brought up' for me. Recently, people I love have been suggesting that I should 'give up' teaching the Special Ed kids. 'What do you get out of it?' I have been asked. 'You don't seem to get any satisfaction.'
Sadly, this is true. But is it necessary for me to get satisfaction out of this job? Is that what I'm there for? When I think about why I do it, the answer that pops into my head is that it's like a puzzle I need to solve.

I want to find a way to make numeracy relevant to these kids. I want to do this because I know it will eventually empower them. Sure, modern society provides a myriad of scaffolds and support structures which mean we don't have to be able to add up, read an analog gauge, count back change; but this is illusory. To get stuff done in life you have to have a concept of number, space and measurement: to figure out the best value credit card, to choose the phone plan best suited to your needs, to enlarge a pattern because you've put on weight, to figure out how much fertilizer to mix with water in the watering can.....to get a job which pays above the minimum wage.

Right now I feel like Annie Sullivan in The Miracle Worker. I can teach the kids to parrot methods but there is no generalisation. There is no connection between the process they use and the real life situation it applies to. Like Annie Sullivan I am waiting for the moment when the pupils one by one put their metaphorical hands under the water pump and make the connection.

"Oh Mrs A, is that why we've been doing x?"
"That's like when we did y!"
"Mrs A, Mrs A, this tape measure is just full of decimals and fractions!"

There are many differences between the situation of Erin Gruwell and that of my classes. Notably, the Freedom Writers were not specifically kids with Special Needs, apart from their social and emotional needs and a lifetime of avoiding study. My kids do not get shot at on a daily basis. My management team are supportive and flexible and they respect my opinion! Oh and did I mention that she teaches ENGLISH!!!!!!!!!?? :-D

But I have been challenged to put aside my stereotypes. To try and find ways to meet these kids 'where they are'. To stop whinging and get on with the job of finding ways to engage them.

I made a step today but I'll tell you about that later. For now, go and watch the movie which is a truly inspirational experience and then keep me in your prayers!

Edited: Headbang said this

"But is it necessary for me to get satisfaction out of this job?"

That's Al-anonic thinking at work. Doing good and making yourself miserable need not go hand in hand. I'm not a trained teacher, but my understanding is that the emotional environment of the classroom is as important as the structure of the materials when it comes to engaging students. If you feel no satisfaction, it may, indeed, show up in the class results. More important, perhaps, than any clever new pedagogical sleight of hand.

I feel the need to clarify. When I say I am not getting 'satisfaction' out of the job, I don't really mean that I resent being there or dislike the pupils. I am really rather fond of all of them. What I mean is that I am trying all sorts of things to get concepts 'through' to them and so far nothing is working. This leaves me feeling frustrated but not about to 'give up'. I mean headbang, do you give up on the Cryptic Crossword just because it is a tough one this week?
[ btw: whether or not headbang actually does the Cryptic Crossword I neither know nor care, it is a metaphor! and that was an exclamation mark. because I'm like that]
I suspect however that you may be right in that my own frustration is a clear message to the kids that they are, once more, 'not getting it'. This reinforces their belief in themselves as failures and so the cycle continues. Mind you, I do plenty of affirming and encouraging but I guess that sounds lame against the emotional gutscape of simmering frustration.What is needed is a change of attitude! As well as curriculum. More on this later. Meanwhile, here are the fraction bridges I promised (still awaiting the last one......) and here is my display board. As of the second to last week of term I have had to move rooms to make way for a new computer lab so I will have to spend some time this holiday 'doing up' the new space. Actually, that move could have contributed to the stress of the final two weeks of school now I think of it............