I'm a teacher so I won't curse.
But sometimes it gets to be excessive.
Three people quit last week. We've lost four people already this year, from a staff of 20. Quick math: that's 20% of our staff. Nice. And I totally understand why.
Every morning, we start the motivation of the day by screaming at the kids til they wake up. Teachers like me find out about new policies with the students in the morning announcements at breakfast. I don't find out about the things that matter to me and I still don't know if I'm suppose to turn in my attendance online or in papercopy. I keep track of my grades independent of the program we're suppose to use because though it was promised to be up on Day 1, it's now Day 26 of instruction and it's still not up. How is it only Day 26?
I have to make it to Day 180. Then start over again and do it for a whole 'nother year.
And my kids aren't learning.
All the frustration at everyone else... it's really just frustration at myself. I guess I thought if I just showed them how to do it, they'd figure it out. But I was never cut out to do this. Sure, I can teach algebra. I'm good at algebra. But I don't even remember not knowing how to do division so NO, NO, NO I don't know how to teach DIVISION. I use the stupid example of this many candy bars divided by this many people, but 381 candybars divided by 32 people is confusing.
I'm frustrated with my life. I'm frustrated with how much I do but how little it feels like and how inadequate I feel. I'm frustrated with my limited or non-existent social life and my limited or non-existent ability to express myself in a positive way. I'm frustrated with the smile I put on every morning when I try to pretend everything's ok even though my best friends are quitting and leaving me alone in this hellhole for me to rot, for my best students to leave because they're not getting what they need because the disruptions in class keep me from teaching and because even if I could teach, what the hell would I teach them?
I'm frustrated because I feel like I'm stuck in quicksand and I'm not sure if I can escape the grading and paperwork and IEPs and lesson plans and now I'm in tears and my class comes in soon and I better wipe them away and be Ms. Brar again because if not, well then we got some real problems.
Word problems, word problems. Today I'm suppose to teach word problems. Life problems is what I want to teach. Problems with our society, problems with our schools. Problems with administrators more focused on how pretty our school looks on camera so we can get more donors instead of how we can work on keeping the kids we've got on track so we don't keep 'socially promoting' them because somehow the word SOCIAL got mixed up in education and now we've got to keep them with the other hormones that are going crazy in my classroom.
I had a kid tell me today that he had fun in my class. I couldn't even take it as a compliment. All I kept thinking was -- what the f did I just teach that he had FUN in here? Musta been not a lot.
They can't do division.
What the f am I gonna teach if they can't do division?
Why do we have Gym and Art and Reading Intervention and no MATH Intervention? Though I may not have chosen to teach math, I choose every day to believe that the subject I teach is more important that most any other subject because the subject I teach make it so people don't take advantage of you. If you can't tell if you're in debt, if you're getting ripped off, if you're capable of turning a profit, or if you can even pay for your groceries before having someone add them up for you at a counter, well ... if you can't do those things, you're in trouble. Not like, oops I forgot about photosynthesis trouble, but like hmm, can't remember if my paycheck means I made money or not trouble. And if you can't divide your paycheck among required spending for the month, well then, you're really in trouble.
They can't do division.
What the f am I gonna teach if they can't do division?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Day 1 of the New Book
So I kind off fell of the face of the planet while moving back to DC and entirely failed to update on the status of my summer school kids. This will happen soon. But not yet.
I just needed to get my thoughts down about today.
Today, I started teaching at the school I will be at for the next two years. I'm not quite sure why, but I had a lot of fun.
I spent 35 minutes in a hallway teaching one group of eighth graders how to properly line up and stand quietly before entering a classroom. I spent lunch administering 'silent lunch' detention to two students who chose to push the boundaries on the first day. I was hoarse by the end of the day from repeating the same talk about dreams, goals, expectations, and consequences. But holy shit, it was so much fun.
I never expected there to be such a difference between brand-new eighth graders and summer-after ninth graders. Chronologically, these age groups aren't that far apart. But developmentally, there seems to be a critical difference.
Maybe it's just these kids, at this school, but: I feel like they're all still motivated. There are a few that wrote some pretty negative responses on the student surveys and goal stars (i.e. Is there anything you would want to change about yourself? Most people wrote their attitude or how well they can do math. One girl wrote "the way I look.") But on the whole, there was still a plethora of doctors, lawyers, police officers, detectives, fashion designers, ball players, and even businessmen or entrepreneurs on those goal stars.
Seeing them identify that goals are about the steps we take to get to our dreams was also incredible. It kept hitting me over and over again that these kids were so incredibly insightful. They just have it. They're so effing smart.
So that part of my day was amazing. I can't say I could have asked for much better. But while cleaning up the room at the end of the day, I did find something rather disturbing. It was a post-it note from one of our activities. One of our students had drawn 57 and 58 on there with the word gangstas under one, I can't remember which, and another word (crew maybe?) under the other. He or she had filled in the 8 with a smiley face on top as a person. Most people would think nothing of it, but I choked up when I looked at it. I realized instantly that this kid was repping the neighborhood that he or she lived in. This kid was already getting caught up in the neighborhood conflicts that got one of my clients locked up for multiple decades.
I guess that's when it sunk in. I don't just say I'm doing this for the kids that got sucked into the system for the sound byte. Somewhere along the way, my answer to "Why I Teach for America" had become so automated that it barely made me blink anymore. But somewhere deep inside me, it does resonate. It still brings me to tears thinking about those lives that are lost to the judicial system each year and those seemingly meaningless lockups continue reinforcing the cycle of broken homes and unfulfilled families that ultimately feeds back into the system again.
It was like a slap in the face seeing that post-it note. I'm not here for the glory, the children's affection, def. not the money, or the martyrdom of TFA, or even the networking or other shit people try to promote. I'm here because I can't let another kid fall victim to the cycles of crime and violence that dictate the rules of these neighborhoods and cut short the dreams that these beautiful, intelligent children have. I just fucking won't.
~N.
I just needed to get my thoughts down about today.
Today, I started teaching at the school I will be at for the next two years. I'm not quite sure why, but I had a lot of fun.
I spent 35 minutes in a hallway teaching one group of eighth graders how to properly line up and stand quietly before entering a classroom. I spent lunch administering 'silent lunch' detention to two students who chose to push the boundaries on the first day. I was hoarse by the end of the day from repeating the same talk about dreams, goals, expectations, and consequences. But holy shit, it was so much fun.
I never expected there to be such a difference between brand-new eighth graders and summer-after ninth graders. Chronologically, these age groups aren't that far apart. But developmentally, there seems to be a critical difference.
Maybe it's just these kids, at this school, but: I feel like they're all still motivated. There are a few that wrote some pretty negative responses on the student surveys and goal stars (i.e. Is there anything you would want to change about yourself? Most people wrote their attitude or how well they can do math. One girl wrote "the way I look.") But on the whole, there was still a plethora of doctors, lawyers, police officers, detectives, fashion designers, ball players, and even businessmen or entrepreneurs on those goal stars.
Seeing them identify that goals are about the steps we take to get to our dreams was also incredible. It kept hitting me over and over again that these kids were so incredibly insightful. They just have it. They're so effing smart.
So that part of my day was amazing. I can't say I could have asked for much better. But while cleaning up the room at the end of the day, I did find something rather disturbing. It was a post-it note from one of our activities. One of our students had drawn 57 and 58 on there with the word gangstas under one, I can't remember which, and another word (crew maybe?) under the other. He or she had filled in the 8 with a smiley face on top as a person. Most people would think nothing of it, but I choked up when I looked at it. I realized instantly that this kid was repping the neighborhood that he or she lived in. This kid was already getting caught up in the neighborhood conflicts that got one of my clients locked up for multiple decades.
I guess that's when it sunk in. I don't just say I'm doing this for the kids that got sucked into the system for the sound byte. Somewhere along the way, my answer to "Why I Teach for America" had become so automated that it barely made me blink anymore. But somewhere deep inside me, it does resonate. It still brings me to tears thinking about those lives that are lost to the judicial system each year and those seemingly meaningless lockups continue reinforcing the cycle of broken homes and unfulfilled families that ultimately feeds back into the system again.
It was like a slap in the face seeing that post-it note. I'm not here for the glory, the children's affection, def. not the money, or the martyrdom of TFA, or even the networking or other shit people try to promote. I'm here because I can't let another kid fall victim to the cycles of crime and violence that dictate the rules of these neighborhoods and cut short the dreams that these beautiful, intelligent children have. I just fucking won't.
~N.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Small Step for Me, Giant Leap for My Kids
I'm about to admit something of great shame. I cried three times today.
As I explained to my friend Michelle, one of the most dedicated and inspiring corps members I've met here in Philly, it wouldn't have been three times except that I was so shocked at the water coming from my eyes each time and would react by snapping out of it and calling myself a wuss. And I am not a wuss.
Granted, I've been told by some rather psychologically-inclined and informed minds that this is a bad habit of rejecting my feelings or something. But really, it's about telling myself that tears do not solve problems. They make me dwell on more.
And that's kind of what happened. After grading my students' final exams, I almost lost it. Almost every student had around a 16 / 17 out of 29. Though I did not know it immediately, the class average was a 55 percent.
First I wanted to cry because I failed. I didn't lead them to new mountaintops and inspire them to love math and show them that they can succeed no matter what. Then I sobered up a little (figuratively) and realized that the class started at a 29 percent average. So while I may not have made it all the way up the mountain, I definitely dragged some asses at least half way up there.
Then I wanted to cry because I realized that due to pressures from my faculty adviser, who is the official instructor for the course, I have to pass everyone with regular attendance. Granted most students do not come close to having regular attendance, but even those who did aren't adequately prepared to move on to higher math. So what happens when I move them on?
In the last few weeks, I know I've inspired them. I see it in the way they tackle math problems instead of staring at them. I see it in the goals they tell me they have, instead of snickering when I tell them to think about the word goals. I see it in how those students with the most significant attendance problems stay an hour after class to do extra work or come into McDonald's to learn about some variables.
But the real danger about inspiring these kids is what happens if they fail now.
There's little humiliation resulting from failing when you're not trying. The real shame comes in from investing, working, trying hard, hard, harder than they have before and still not passing. I'm afraid that if they leave my class without the skills they need, the confidence they have built in math will be irreparably decimated by the rigor of the geometry or algebra II course they are not prepared for. And the danger of that is they may just shut off and decide not to try again.
That statistic about passing algebra I being one of the strongest indicators of high school graduation has been on my mind all day. The empirical evidence I've collected in the last few weeks supports my theory that confidence in algebra impacts self-worth in a ridiculous way (loose definition of ridiculous, obvi). So yeah, I cried a few times today.
Then I realized that I did all I knew how to do. So then I got mad. Mad at my advisers, mad at the schedule at Institute which precludes me from working with my kids more, mad at the rigid curriculum set out for us without clear goals, mad at the lack of diagnostic data that I had to work from, mad at the high school's disorganization in our first week, and then mad at myself for not knowing what to do from Day 1. Thankfully, I have some amazing friends who were ready and vocal in looking me in the eye and telling me that now, I was the one being ridiculous. Yes, the TFA model is flawed. But it is consistently improving and I should share my insight. And as far as my kids are concerned, they LEARNED. Maybe not everything, but a good amount as well as the beauty involved in solving a math problem on your own and feeling that sense of accomplishment.
After this talk, dinner, and a brief meeting with the DC crew, I sat down to put in grades and started to actually look at the grades my students had on their pretests (the few we were able to gather from all corners of the school). All of a sudden I realized exactly how much my kids HAD grown. Twenty-one percents turned into fifty percents. Fifty-eights turned into nineties. And perhaps most significant of all was what I then remembered seeing while I was proctoring the test.
D was one of my least invested students. He wasn't buying this crap about "big goals" or "changing your life with math." All he wanted was to sleep through class and guess his way to a decent enough grade to pass Algebra. He and I had some behavior issues before the midterm, mostly with me trying to get him to stop flirting or wake up (it was either one or the other, usually not both... though that would have been truly impressive ...). He got a 5 out of 12 on the midterm but what really intrigued me was the scratch paper my teaching partner found with his writing all over it. There were various messages about hating math, not wanting to do this, and a list of all the classes he passed ... followed by "Algebra - Failed."
I sat down with him and asked him how many he guessed on so I could figure out which ones he really needed to work on before the final.
"All of them."
"What?"
"I guessed on all of them."
"Wow. I mean, that's statistically ridiculous! I mean, just think about that! Ok, so first of all you guessed a different letter on each one. So you shouldn't even have gotten one out of each four right, which would be the probability you would normally get of picking the right answer out of four choices, right? Sorry, I'm just a little in shock right now. You're a ridiculously lucky kid."
He just stared at me like I was crazy. He cracked a small smile but didn't say a word.
"Alright. Let's do this. We're going to work on each of these objectives and make sure that next time, you don't need luck. You're going to get the right answer because you know it. Got it?"
He agreed. And yes, he's definitely been more invested lately, but he was still struggling with some of the basic concepts. But today, as I walked around the room, I stopped in front of him and caught my breath. He was squinting. His pencil was working furiously as he scrawled out equations all over his scratch paper as he searched for the value of x.
So maybe I haven't changed the world, or even one kid's life yet. But I've learned what I did wrong so I can be better for my students in DC. And I somehow got these kids to see some value in atleast trying math. My goal for the next two days is to show them that there is still worth in working harder. Let's see what happens.
~N.
and PS -- J definitely did not show up for morning sessions. But he did stay after school for about an hour yesterday to finish his practice test. Great success.
As I explained to my friend Michelle, one of the most dedicated and inspiring corps members I've met here in Philly, it wouldn't have been three times except that I was so shocked at the water coming from my eyes each time and would react by snapping out of it and calling myself a wuss. And I am not a wuss.
Granted, I've been told by some rather psychologically-inclined and informed minds that this is a bad habit of rejecting my feelings or something. But really, it's about telling myself that tears do not solve problems. They make me dwell on more.
And that's kind of what happened. After grading my students' final exams, I almost lost it. Almost every student had around a 16 / 17 out of 29. Though I did not know it immediately, the class average was a 55 percent.
First I wanted to cry because I failed. I didn't lead them to new mountaintops and inspire them to love math and show them that they can succeed no matter what. Then I sobered up a little (figuratively) and realized that the class started at a 29 percent average. So while I may not have made it all the way up the mountain, I definitely dragged some asses at least half way up there.
Then I wanted to cry because I realized that due to pressures from my faculty adviser, who is the official instructor for the course, I have to pass everyone with regular attendance. Granted most students do not come close to having regular attendance, but even those who did aren't adequately prepared to move on to higher math. So what happens when I move them on?
In the last few weeks, I know I've inspired them. I see it in the way they tackle math problems instead of staring at them. I see it in the goals they tell me they have, instead of snickering when I tell them to think about the word goals. I see it in how those students with the most significant attendance problems stay an hour after class to do extra work or come into McDonald's to learn about some variables.
But the real danger about inspiring these kids is what happens if they fail now.
There's little humiliation resulting from failing when you're not trying. The real shame comes in from investing, working, trying hard, hard, harder than they have before and still not passing. I'm afraid that if they leave my class without the skills they need, the confidence they have built in math will be irreparably decimated by the rigor of the geometry or algebra II course they are not prepared for. And the danger of that is they may just shut off and decide not to try again.
That statistic about passing algebra I being one of the strongest indicators of high school graduation has been on my mind all day. The empirical evidence I've collected in the last few weeks supports my theory that confidence in algebra impacts self-worth in a ridiculous way (loose definition of ridiculous, obvi). So yeah, I cried a few times today.
Then I realized that I did all I knew how to do. So then I got mad. Mad at my advisers, mad at the schedule at Institute which precludes me from working with my kids more, mad at the rigid curriculum set out for us without clear goals, mad at the lack of diagnostic data that I had to work from, mad at the high school's disorganization in our first week, and then mad at myself for not knowing what to do from Day 1. Thankfully, I have some amazing friends who were ready and vocal in looking me in the eye and telling me that now, I was the one being ridiculous. Yes, the TFA model is flawed. But it is consistently improving and I should share my insight. And as far as my kids are concerned, they LEARNED. Maybe not everything, but a good amount as well as the beauty involved in solving a math problem on your own and feeling that sense of accomplishment.
After this talk, dinner, and a brief meeting with the DC crew, I sat down to put in grades and started to actually look at the grades my students had on their pretests (the few we were able to gather from all corners of the school). All of a sudden I realized exactly how much my kids HAD grown. Twenty-one percents turned into fifty percents. Fifty-eights turned into nineties. And perhaps most significant of all was what I then remembered seeing while I was proctoring the test.
D was one of my least invested students. He wasn't buying this crap about "big goals" or "changing your life with math." All he wanted was to sleep through class and guess his way to a decent enough grade to pass Algebra. He and I had some behavior issues before the midterm, mostly with me trying to get him to stop flirting or wake up (it was either one or the other, usually not both... though that would have been truly impressive ...). He got a 5 out of 12 on the midterm but what really intrigued me was the scratch paper my teaching partner found with his writing all over it. There were various messages about hating math, not wanting to do this, and a list of all the classes he passed ... followed by "Algebra - Failed."
I sat down with him and asked him how many he guessed on so I could figure out which ones he really needed to work on before the final.
"All of them."
"What?"
"I guessed on all of them."
"Wow. I mean, that's statistically ridiculous! I mean, just think about that! Ok, so first of all you guessed a different letter on each one. So you shouldn't even have gotten one out of each four right, which would be the probability you would normally get of picking the right answer out of four choices, right? Sorry, I'm just a little in shock right now. You're a ridiculously lucky kid."
He just stared at me like I was crazy. He cracked a small smile but didn't say a word.
"Alright. Let's do this. We're going to work on each of these objectives and make sure that next time, you don't need luck. You're going to get the right answer because you know it. Got it?"
He agreed. And yes, he's definitely been more invested lately, but he was still struggling with some of the basic concepts. But today, as I walked around the room, I stopped in front of him and caught my breath. He was squinting. His pencil was working furiously as he scrawled out equations all over his scratch paper as he searched for the value of x.
So maybe I haven't changed the world, or even one kid's life yet. But I've learned what I did wrong so I can be better for my students in DC. And I somehow got these kids to see some value in atleast trying math. My goal for the next two days is to show them that there is still worth in working harder. Let's see what happens.
~N.
and PS -- J definitely did not show up for morning sessions. But he did stay after school for about an hour yesterday to finish his practice test. Great success.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I don't want you to think I'm a quitter
Two days til the final, and a few of our kids have entirely stopped coming to class. I won't lie - it definitely gets me down at times.
But while some have found that the additional stress stops them from coming to school or blowing off review work, others are more motivated than ever. One of my students, who continually asks about my departure to DC, told me he didn't have his packet of makeup work to get grades for the daily quizzes he missed. He asked if it would be ok to bring it in tomorrow (after the class got an extension on Friday) and I decided it was time to set him straight on what exactly the world will give him if he continues to do this.
After explaining to him that I would not allow that, and that I've already given him plenty of opportunities that he continually lets slip by, and that no, Ms. Brar cannot drive to your house tonight to pick it up (yes, he was serious), he finally pulled out the packet and admitted that he hadn't started it. I told him to work on it during our after-school review session, which he did. We knocked out the concept of changing equations from standard (Ax+By=C) form to slope-intercept (y=mx+b) form and then graphing the resulting equation. J struggled with the assessment question for a long time. He kept getting the equation right, but continuously graphed the negative slope as a positive reflection across the y-axis. I let him know that it was wrong, and still wrong, then wrong again and he kept tinkering and squinting his eyes, and staring at the equation from funny angles. After another ten minutes or so, he called me over for the vote of approval. When I told him he finally had it, his face split into the largest smile I've seen in a very long time. If I've learned nothing else from TFA, it's to seize these moments of accomplishment and praise the hell out of them so the student feels a confidence boost and wants to experience this gratification again. So I praised him. I laughed, I smiled, I gave him a high-five, and I told him I knew he could do it. It wasn't hard to do it since I was proud of him. Seeing that child smile like that BECAUSE OF MATH was seriously one of the coolest things ever. That sense of accomplishment is the only drug I ever want him addicted to.
And when it was time for myself and my co-teacher Julie to go to professional development in the afternoon, I told J to go work at the McDonald's across the street (which is basically our review office after hours) and bring back the rest of the work before I left school at the end of the day.
At 3 pm, I found him loitering the halls, ready to tell me that he had the packet. "You won't be happy though," he warned me, preparing me for the half-done packet that he presented. "It's better than not doing it at all though, right?"
I said, yeah, that was true. But he could continue working on it and get it back to me in an hour when I was leaving. That didn't seem to appeal to him, though, and I watched his face scrunch up for a second. "Ms. Brar, my mom called and I gotta go... but I don't want you to think I'm a quitter."
That caught me off guard. I knew J wasn't a quitter. He was the one who asked me if he could be president after I showed the class a clip of Obama's speech at the NAACP convention ten days ago. That Harvard comment too -- and the following argument that he had with another classmate about which one of them was going to Harvard. J never has a problem dreaming big dreams. His only problem is working towards them to make them real goals.
So I told him the only thing that came to mind. I'll look over the packet tonight to pick out where he's struggling. He has to come in tomorrow morning to work with me through his misunderstandings to set himself up to ace the final. I told him 7:30. As I turned the corner to walk back to my literacy session, I heard him tell his classmate, "Yeah I'll be here. I'll be here at 7. I'm gonna meet her at the door tomorrow morning."
Let's hope so.
~N.
But while some have found that the additional stress stops them from coming to school or blowing off review work, others are more motivated than ever. One of my students, who continually asks about my departure to DC, told me he didn't have his packet of makeup work to get grades for the daily quizzes he missed. He asked if it would be ok to bring it in tomorrow (after the class got an extension on Friday) and I decided it was time to set him straight on what exactly the world will give him if he continues to do this.
After explaining to him that I would not allow that, and that I've already given him plenty of opportunities that he continually lets slip by, and that no, Ms. Brar cannot drive to your house tonight to pick it up (yes, he was serious), he finally pulled out the packet and admitted that he hadn't started it. I told him to work on it during our after-school review session, which he did. We knocked out the concept of changing equations from standard (Ax+By=C) form to slope-intercept (y=mx+b) form and then graphing the resulting equation. J struggled with the assessment question for a long time. He kept getting the equation right, but continuously graphed the negative slope as a positive reflection across the y-axis. I let him know that it was wrong, and still wrong, then wrong again and he kept tinkering and squinting his eyes, and staring at the equation from funny angles. After another ten minutes or so, he called me over for the vote of approval. When I told him he finally had it, his face split into the largest smile I've seen in a very long time. If I've learned nothing else from TFA, it's to seize these moments of accomplishment and praise the hell out of them so the student feels a confidence boost and wants to experience this gratification again. So I praised him. I laughed, I smiled, I gave him a high-five, and I told him I knew he could do it. It wasn't hard to do it since I was proud of him. Seeing that child smile like that BECAUSE OF MATH was seriously one of the coolest things ever. That sense of accomplishment is the only drug I ever want him addicted to.
And when it was time for myself and my co-teacher Julie to go to professional development in the afternoon, I told J to go work at the McDonald's across the street (which is basically our review office after hours) and bring back the rest of the work before I left school at the end of the day.
At 3 pm, I found him loitering the halls, ready to tell me that he had the packet. "You won't be happy though," he warned me, preparing me for the half-done packet that he presented. "It's better than not doing it at all though, right?"
I said, yeah, that was true. But he could continue working on it and get it back to me in an hour when I was leaving. That didn't seem to appeal to him, though, and I watched his face scrunch up for a second. "Ms. Brar, my mom called and I gotta go... but I don't want you to think I'm a quitter."
That caught me off guard. I knew J wasn't a quitter. He was the one who asked me if he could be president after I showed the class a clip of Obama's speech at the NAACP convention ten days ago. That Harvard comment too -- and the following argument that he had with another classmate about which one of them was going to Harvard. J never has a problem dreaming big dreams. His only problem is working towards them to make them real goals.
So I told him the only thing that came to mind. I'll look over the packet tonight to pick out where he's struggling. He has to come in tomorrow morning to work with me through his misunderstandings to set himself up to ace the final. I told him 7:30. As I turned the corner to walk back to my literacy session, I heard him tell his classmate, "Yeah I'll be here. I'll be here at 7. I'm gonna meet her at the door tomorrow morning."
Let's hope so.
~N.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Three Weeks Down, One More to Go...
So I have been rather delinquent in posting any further updates throughout Institute, which is just a shame. Here's a brief recap:
Week 1: Holy Shit. Kids are loud. They don't want to be here. How can I get them to shut up so we can learn some math?
Week 2: Angels? Did they bring me angels? How did they make this 180? But wait, it's not even close to enough ... I tutored a kid at McDonald's for four hours and then he walked in 20 minutes late to his 30 minute midterm. Guess who didn't pass? Him, along with all his classmates with the exception of three students. Class average was a 45%. Decided to revamp the plan and keep going. Great success though -- one of my students said the following:
- "This class is like that movie ... 'Freedom Writers'!"
- "Ms. Brar do you have to teach in DC in the fall? If you were my teacher during the regular school year, I could go to Harvard."
Week 3: Trying to make that motivation convert to hard work. Huge mastery on Monday's lesson on factoring using the difference of two squares. All but two students got above an 80%. Most even got 100%. I believe the class average was a 91%. Then it went downhill, and quick. For Tuesday through Friday, I wasn't able to get through my lesson and there was no assessment to formally gauge their understanding of the material. This roots from my time management failures, but also because I decided that because I already know that they don't understand what I just taught, it's a better use of time to reteach than to have them fail an assessment.
Friday was exceptionally rough. This week, a student at my school was shot and killed and one of the girls in my class was out for two days getting grief counseling through the school. I explained to her on Friday that obviously there was a good reason for her not being there, but she did have to make up the lost work and we learned a lot that she'll need to catch up on. I also told her that her habit of only doing half of every assessment is really killing her grade, because I can only give her up to a 50%. I think I got to her and was even more sure when the rest of the class was goofing off second period and she turned around to tell the boys she usually flirts with to quiet down so we could learn. I could have died happy at that moment.
Next week is a challenge. Because most of the students were not in our class to receive their 'growth goals' based on these diagnostic tests they never took, we set an average growth goal for the whole class at 72%. I'm not really sure how TFA came to this number, but we realized that based off the data we DID have, our class started at a 29% understanding before summer school and achieved 45% on the midterm (though that only covered 12 objectives out of 35). It's going to be a serious struggle to get the kids over that giant gap and it doesn't help that the last few objectives are markedly more difficult than the ones they still don't understand from the first week when they were goofing off. But we're doing review sessions and everything else in our power to make this work.
Today, my partner Julie and I are holding a review session at McDonald's for our kids. I know I can make at least two of them come to it, but I really hope most of them show up, because they all need it. What kills me inside is the idea of failing these kids because my time management sucks and because that means I can't get through lessons. On Monday, I've decided that whoever wants to learn will be there and disruptions will be handled on a no-tolerance basis that I will make clear to them at the beginning of class. That's the only way I know how to get through everything and really prepare them for this exam on Wednesday.
I'm praying this works. I'm either going to be really, really happy on Wednesday afternoon -- or pitifully depressed.
~N.
Week 1: Holy Shit. Kids are loud. They don't want to be here. How can I get them to shut up so we can learn some math?
Week 2: Angels? Did they bring me angels? How did they make this 180? But wait, it's not even close to enough ... I tutored a kid at McDonald's for four hours and then he walked in 20 minutes late to his 30 minute midterm. Guess who didn't pass? Him, along with all his classmates with the exception of three students. Class average was a 45%. Decided to revamp the plan and keep going. Great success though -- one of my students said the following:
- "This class is like that movie ... 'Freedom Writers'!"
- "Ms. Brar do you have to teach in DC in the fall? If you were my teacher during the regular school year, I could go to Harvard."
Week 3: Trying to make that motivation convert to hard work. Huge mastery on Monday's lesson on factoring using the difference of two squares. All but two students got above an 80%. Most even got 100%. I believe the class average was a 91%. Then it went downhill, and quick. For Tuesday through Friday, I wasn't able to get through my lesson and there was no assessment to formally gauge their understanding of the material. This roots from my time management failures, but also because I decided that because I already know that they don't understand what I just taught, it's a better use of time to reteach than to have them fail an assessment.
Friday was exceptionally rough. This week, a student at my school was shot and killed and one of the girls in my class was out for two days getting grief counseling through the school. I explained to her on Friday that obviously there was a good reason for her not being there, but she did have to make up the lost work and we learned a lot that she'll need to catch up on. I also told her that her habit of only doing half of every assessment is really killing her grade, because I can only give her up to a 50%. I think I got to her and was even more sure when the rest of the class was goofing off second period and she turned around to tell the boys she usually flirts with to quiet down so we could learn. I could have died happy at that moment.
Next week is a challenge. Because most of the students were not in our class to receive their 'growth goals' based on these diagnostic tests they never took, we set an average growth goal for the whole class at 72%. I'm not really sure how TFA came to this number, but we realized that based off the data we DID have, our class started at a 29% understanding before summer school and achieved 45% on the midterm (though that only covered 12 objectives out of 35). It's going to be a serious struggle to get the kids over that giant gap and it doesn't help that the last few objectives are markedly more difficult than the ones they still don't understand from the first week when they were goofing off. But we're doing review sessions and everything else in our power to make this work.
Today, my partner Julie and I are holding a review session at McDonald's for our kids. I know I can make at least two of them come to it, but I really hope most of them show up, because they all need it. What kills me inside is the idea of failing these kids because my time management sucks and because that means I can't get through lessons. On Monday, I've decided that whoever wants to learn will be there and disruptions will be handled on a no-tolerance basis that I will make clear to them at the beginning of class. That's the only way I know how to get through everything and really prepare them for this exam on Wednesday.
I'm praying this works. I'm either going to be really, really happy on Wednesday afternoon -- or pitifully depressed.
~N.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Fourth of July in the Nation's Birthplace
I spent most of today rewriting my investment plan and completely scripting out my first forty minutes in front of a classroom. The investment plan is essentially equivalent to giving the 15 to 16 year olds I'll be teaching a reason to want to listen to me. I have several strategies in the plan -- here are some highlights:
1. Graduating from high school is what you need for your first step to anywhere and everywhere.
2. Algebra is integral to graduation. You need three math credits to graduate and they either include, or require Algebra as a basis.
3. Mo' achievement = mo' money.
4. Everyone can be smart. Everyone.
I currently have the lesson plan mapped out to include activities to appeal to different sensibilities. First we throw away the past when I ask them to write why they failed Algebra and we then crumple up the piece of paper and metaphorically clean the slate. Then we talk about why we're here today, with me presenting the key points listed above as reason enough to want to succeed in this class. I'm armed with charts and graphs on this one, hoping to appeal to the tough crowds swayed only by reason and logic. But the last part is my favorite. After students write down their short term and long term goals on a star, I lead them through a visualization technique to help them imagine graduating high school and taking the first step towards their personal life goals. Then they walk to the front of the class, simulating the graduation walk, and adhere their goals star to the "World of Opportunities" wall that will serve to remind them of their goals every day they walk in or out of our classroom.
I know I put a lot of thought to all of this, and I'm proud of how I fused these different ideas together and prioritized the use of differentiated techniques in my teaching to appeal to different learning styles. But I'm still not sure that's going to be enough. I'm not sure that anything I do for these kids will ever be enough to help free them from the neighborhoods they've grown up in, the stories they've heard, the bullets they've seen, or the expectations they've internalized. More than anything, all I want this summer is to help these kids realize that they are worth a hell of a lot more than the world gives them credit for today.
After planning all my investment strategies out, I was feeling pretty good and decided to go watch the fireworks with some friends in TFA. Unfortunately, I had to sit through a horrendous hour long Sheryl Crow concert which almost made me less of a patriot as I hated on her joyous rustic Americana, but I digress. As the fireworks began lighting up the sky, I was reminded again of my own potential to return to a childlike state as I ooohed and aaaahhhed like a five year old seeing the sky filled with color for the first time. Philadelphia sure knows how to put on a show, and in good spirit, began playing clips of famous speeches in American history to accompany the lights. I was up in arms excited when I heard Obama's inaugural speech, but suddenly I was brought to tears when I heard Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech. It was not an emotion of raw patriotism or even of the idealism that comes to characterize my age group and certainly my colleagues and I in Teach for America. Instead, it was the swelling of rage inside my body as I heard perhaps the most famous words of that speech:
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
I choked up at the anger I felt that although four decades have passed since that speech was delivered and America has seen the rise of African-Americans in all professional sectors and even the ascension to the White House, African-American babies still have a lesser opportunity for achievement than their lighter toned brothers and sisters across America.
My students both here in Philadelphia and back in DC will be predominantly black. I can't change the culture of the country single-handedly. Nor can I ensure my students that even if they achieve great academic success, that there won't be those constantly second-guessing them or wondering if they just got into college thanks to affirmative action policies. What I can ensure though, is that my students can walk out my doors next spring having the confidence to compete against anyone -- black, white, Latino, Asian, Indian, hybrid, or otherwise beautiful -- and seriously kick some math-ass.
It's going to happen. If there's anything that TFA has taught me so far, it's that whenever you want something, you just got to plan for it. So here's to planning world domination by my army of middle school mathematical masterminds :)
~N.
1. Graduating from high school is what you need for your first step to anywhere and everywhere.
2. Algebra is integral to graduation. You need three math credits to graduate and they either include, or require Algebra as a basis.
3. Mo' achievement = mo' money.
4. Everyone can be smart. Everyone.
I currently have the lesson plan mapped out to include activities to appeal to different sensibilities. First we throw away the past when I ask them to write why they failed Algebra and we then crumple up the piece of paper and metaphorically clean the slate. Then we talk about why we're here today, with me presenting the key points listed above as reason enough to want to succeed in this class. I'm armed with charts and graphs on this one, hoping to appeal to the tough crowds swayed only by reason and logic. But the last part is my favorite. After students write down their short term and long term goals on a star, I lead them through a visualization technique to help them imagine graduating high school and taking the first step towards their personal life goals. Then they walk to the front of the class, simulating the graduation walk, and adhere their goals star to the "World of Opportunities" wall that will serve to remind them of their goals every day they walk in or out of our classroom.
I know I put a lot of thought to all of this, and I'm proud of how I fused these different ideas together and prioritized the use of differentiated techniques in my teaching to appeal to different learning styles. But I'm still not sure that's going to be enough. I'm not sure that anything I do for these kids will ever be enough to help free them from the neighborhoods they've grown up in, the stories they've heard, the bullets they've seen, or the expectations they've internalized. More than anything, all I want this summer is to help these kids realize that they are worth a hell of a lot more than the world gives them credit for today.
After planning all my investment strategies out, I was feeling pretty good and decided to go watch the fireworks with some friends in TFA. Unfortunately, I had to sit through a horrendous hour long Sheryl Crow concert which almost made me less of a patriot as I hated on her joyous rustic Americana, but I digress. As the fireworks began lighting up the sky, I was reminded again of my own potential to return to a childlike state as I ooohed and aaaahhhed like a five year old seeing the sky filled with color for the first time. Philadelphia sure knows how to put on a show, and in good spirit, began playing clips of famous speeches in American history to accompany the lights. I was up in arms excited when I heard Obama's inaugural speech, but suddenly I was brought to tears when I heard Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech. It was not an emotion of raw patriotism or even of the idealism that comes to characterize my age group and certainly my colleagues and I in Teach for America. Instead, it was the swelling of rage inside my body as I heard perhaps the most famous words of that speech:
"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
I choked up at the anger I felt that although four decades have passed since that speech was delivered and America has seen the rise of African-Americans in all professional sectors and even the ascension to the White House, African-American babies still have a lesser opportunity for achievement than their lighter toned brothers and sisters across America.
My students both here in Philadelphia and back in DC will be predominantly black. I can't change the culture of the country single-handedly. Nor can I ensure my students that even if they achieve great academic success, that there won't be those constantly second-guessing them or wondering if they just got into college thanks to affirmative action policies. What I can ensure though, is that my students can walk out my doors next spring having the confidence to compete against anyone -- black, white, Latino, Asian, Indian, hybrid, or otherwise beautiful -- and seriously kick some math-ass.
It's going to happen. If there's anything that TFA has taught me so far, it's that whenever you want something, you just got to plan for it. So here's to planning world domination by my army of middle school mathematical masterminds :)
~N.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Monday = Someone Calls Me Ms. Brar (Hopefully)
Sleep deprivation has a funny trick. It makes you more susceptible to laughing at stupid jokes, lowering your inhibitions so you will say the things you think about people without any shame, and makes you feel like lacking showers is acceptable.
Sleep deprivation also makes you reassess your priorities and redefines your view of Maslow's hierarchy. For example, no longer do I have the luxury of engaging in conversations involving mediocre topics. Instead, any opportunity for non-required discussion revolves around either the larger problems our world faces (i.e. education issues, diversity and race relations, etc.) or is dumbed way down to a level that requires very few brain cells (i.e. which boy is looking rather attractive today and ridiculous 'your mom' jokes).
The last week at Institute, the professional training for the Teach for America program, has required just this of me. Every day I wake up in the five o' clock hour. I leave my room at six am and have finished breakfast and packed my lunch in the next thirty minutes. After a half hour bus ride, I am ready to get down to business at South Philadelphia High School, otherwise referred to as "Southern" to the communities around here. From 7:30 am to 4:15 pm, I am absorbing as much about lesson planning, behavior theory, classroom management, investment plans, and overcoming basic social awkwardness in front of a classroom as humanly possible as I sit in rooms without air conditioning surrounded by 78 of my peers praying to do the same.
At 4:30, another bus ride home drops us off at the dorms and we head to dinner at the same hour as only those Americans with AARP cards. After the one hour spent on the low-brain-cell conversations detailed above, we're back at it, writing lesson plans, meeting with our co-teachers to colloborate on everything we've learned, and working into the wee hours trying to single-handedly close the acheivement gap in our classrooms and hopefully, get some sleep before the next day.
On Monday, we see if any of this training pays off when I'm dumped in my own classroom of an unknown number of high school students who failed Algebra 1 last year. This class is sometimes the last stop for many of these students, as statistics tell us that failing Algebra 1 is among the most telling indicators of high school dropouts. My personal goal for the summer? Make sure none of my students affirms that statistic.
Tonight, I nap. I go to see some art shows. I get an evening off. But tomorrow, I'm back at it rehearsing, receiving feedback, and preparing myself for the adventure I begin in just two short days.
~N.
Sleep deprivation also makes you reassess your priorities and redefines your view of Maslow's hierarchy. For example, no longer do I have the luxury of engaging in conversations involving mediocre topics. Instead, any opportunity for non-required discussion revolves around either the larger problems our world faces (i.e. education issues, diversity and race relations, etc.) or is dumbed way down to a level that requires very few brain cells (i.e. which boy is looking rather attractive today and ridiculous 'your mom' jokes).
The last week at Institute, the professional training for the Teach for America program, has required just this of me. Every day I wake up in the five o' clock hour. I leave my room at six am and have finished breakfast and packed my lunch in the next thirty minutes. After a half hour bus ride, I am ready to get down to business at South Philadelphia High School, otherwise referred to as "Southern" to the communities around here. From 7:30 am to 4:15 pm, I am absorbing as much about lesson planning, behavior theory, classroom management, investment plans, and overcoming basic social awkwardness in front of a classroom as humanly possible as I sit in rooms without air conditioning surrounded by 78 of my peers praying to do the same.
At 4:30, another bus ride home drops us off at the dorms and we head to dinner at the same hour as only those Americans with AARP cards. After the one hour spent on the low-brain-cell conversations detailed above, we're back at it, writing lesson plans, meeting with our co-teachers to colloborate on everything we've learned, and working into the wee hours trying to single-handedly close the acheivement gap in our classrooms and hopefully, get some sleep before the next day.
On Monday, we see if any of this training pays off when I'm dumped in my own classroom of an unknown number of high school students who failed Algebra 1 last year. This class is sometimes the last stop for many of these students, as statistics tell us that failing Algebra 1 is among the most telling indicators of high school dropouts. My personal goal for the summer? Make sure none of my students affirms that statistic.
Tonight, I nap. I go to see some art shows. I get an evening off. But tomorrow, I'm back at it rehearsing, receiving feedback, and preparing myself for the adventure I begin in just two short days.
~N.
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