Measuring the Machine

I was caffeinated and feeling satisfied with the general direction of my life as I drove my commute home today.  This combination usually leads in-depth and meandering trains of thought, followed by self-congratulation for my latest clever conclusion about the world and the meaning of life.

During an NPR story comparing steel towns Gary, Indiana, and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the mention of unemployment rates triggered a mental trip to dig out the box labeled "Ruminations on the Economy," which is currently stored under a teetering stack of tubs and crates labeled "Christmas Gift Ideas" and "Next Semester's Lesson Plan Changes."

Of course the economy is top priority for many during these bleak times... but I suspect I take a different tack than many Americans when it comes to economic analysis.  Perhaps part of it is that I haven't personally been very effected by the economic depression, perhaps part of it is ignorance.

Whatever is to blame, I have to admit I don't view our economic downturn as a bad thing if it helps us refine and reform our ideas about what it means to have a healthy economy.

I could go into a whole explanation of why I think that our economy is based on a false sense of wealth and unrealistic expectations of ever-increasing consumerism... But I'm trying to recreate my train of thought, and it had already moved on to another idea: the concept of how we measure our economy, and why, and whether we should or should not stick with those particular scales.

I've never thought that GDP is a very foolproof way to measure an economy, especially since it leaves out large segments of what makes a country tick, economically.   For example, it was a big disappointment when I learned that all of my earnest schemes for money-making before the age of 16 were by definition insignificant as they fall into the category of the "informal economy."  And here I thought I was contributing.

I understand the importance of economic measures to our capitalist way of life, and I understand why America places so much weight on its paper trail of imports, outputs, and numerical growth patterns, but I protest those measures as ideal quantifiers of overall function of the country.  We leave out (and distort) so much when we define economic health so narrowly!

Thanks to my boredom with I-70, and my tendency towards narcissism, I began to brainstorm how I would structure the measure of national well-being if I was running the world.  I also came up with a few more units of measure that are, in my personal opinion, of the greatest importance in assessing the effectiveness of my personal economic function and welfare.

1. Chapstick Accessibility.  Does anyone else agree that it's hard to concentrate on anything when your lips are chapped?  Does anyone else struggle with the perennial loss-of-lipbalm malady, which seems to strike at the worst, most-chapped chapters of your day to day life?

At the moment, I might have partially solved this problem by A) building up my back-up chapstick supply, and B) designating one chapstick to each of several permanent strategic posts. By combining these two factors in some complicated formula, I could depict a cross-section of access to and effective use of material resources, as well as ingenuity of economic design.  Yes, all that from my ability to locate my tub of DCT when I need it most.

2. Prevalence of Random Acts of Kindness.  I find that if my stress-level is high, I tend not to be as aware of or empathetic to the little needs and wishes of those around me.  My stress-level varies inversely as my capability of sending thank you notes, opening doors, smiling at strangers, and doing the dirty dishes left in the teachers' lounge sink at work.  Today I did all four, so I'm scoring high on this particular measure.

Essentially, in my personal economy, a way to measure how well I am functioning is by measuring how much I am able to contribute positively to others' economies.... Hmmmmm food for thought.  

3.  Percent of Desk Showing.  Granted, some people like a cluttered desk.  But in the mini-economy of my life, open clear space is a sign of staying ahead of paperwork, minimized potential for loss of student assignments (a personal paranoia, thanks to bad experiences with a particular high school English teacher), and efficient and productive use of planning time at school.

In other workspaces, counter tops, ironing boards, and inboxes may be substituted for the "desk;" however, it should be noted that art and crafting workspaces should not be measured by this scale.

4.  Pages Read Before Falling Asleep.  I've developed a frustrating barrier to my impossibly-ambitious reading goals: books put me to sleep.  I love reading, but I have resorted to a little competition with myself about how many pages I can get through while lying in bed on my back (we have to have constants here)... before dropping the book on my face.

Less than one paragraph is a very bad sign.  On <1P days I have 99.9% need for sleep and recovery above all other pursuits, and minimum capability of interest in anything other than what is essential for surviving the next day at work.  Some days, when I have work under control, and I haven't been out too late at a Scholars' Bowl competition, and I had < 3 beers over the course of the evening, I conquer upwards of 5 pages of nonfiction enrichment!!  It means I'm functionally healthily, efficiently, and enabled to begin the next day's tasks with a jump start.  That's when I know things are going really well.

If your life was an economy, how would you measure your output and well-being?  What indicators would you add to this list?

Giving Thanks; Getting Priorities Straight

At a church retreat a few weeks ago, the focus of our worship sessions was on "rest." Specifically, rest in the Sabbath sense.  Our pastor mentioned that a lot of teachers she knows use Sunday at church to compare how much work they would need to do that Sunday, in order to prepare for the coming week.

"Now, the sin of remembering the Sabbath and keeping it holy is on the same list of ten sins that includes murder, adultery, idolatry... We would think it horrible to sit around comparing how good we were at committing any of the other sins on this list... How many people we murdered, for example... So why is it considered a positive thing to have worked the most on the Sabbath?"

Thanks, Joanna.  Point taken.  But now I feel guilty whenever I need to do some work on Sunday to prepare for teaching.

I decided that maybe I should redefine my personal Sabbath as beginning Saturday morning and ending approximately Sunday at noon (preferably with a celebratory feast at the Sunday buffet at India Palace).

It seems like usually my resting happens best when I am furthest removed from the school setting.  Time-wise and distance-wise, that occurs on Saturday... By Sunday afternoon, I am usually mentally reconfiguring, resetting my demeanor and hardening my endurance for another week at school.

This week was a great week for rest.  That point of furthest distance and optimum rest occurred sometime Friday evening, surrounded by my extended family, during a Tupperware/soup-and-salad/impromptu-deer-hunt-party in Liberty, Kansas.

By Saturday afternoon I was feeling very refreshed and very thankful for a loving and interesting family, a successful Thanksgiving, and a gym membership that starts today.

I was prepared to head back to real life, but maybe not real life as usual.  After some interesting and helpful conversations with family members this weekend, I'm coming back with some new resolutions.  I know it's not the normal time for these, but maybe by January 1st, I can consider it my one-month check-up to see how I'm doing.

Besides, I like making lists and goals, and I think they are appropriate just about any time that the mood strikes.


Resolved: 
I will find someone to help out with Scholars' Bowl and take some of the time-pressure off my plate.  Someone who is willing to take it over next year because I will not be continuing in my role as one-and-only coach. 


I will make a conscious effort to pursue my interest in agricultural policy, through studying up on agricultural history in Kansas and the midwest, and conducting a little informal research through conversations with farmers across the political spectrum.  

I will devote more of my "working" attention to my teaching itself, rather than to my extra-curricular activities, as teaching and learning are my priorities in this job.  

Theoretically I will enjoy life more... And because I'll be happier I will enjoy teaching more, and my students and I will enjoy each other more...

That's the plan at least.  Every day, in every way, things are getting better and better.  Right?

P.S. My sister is in Egypt.  She has much more interesting subject matter than I do.  Everyone should read it: http://rachelcfriesen.blogspot.com/

Desperate Times

There's a rumor going around that September and October are the most depressing months of the school year for both the kids and the teachers.  The so-called "honeymoon period" is over and there is just a long stretch of months ahead, with no end in sight.

For most of our kids this is when they realize that not turning in assignments actually does affect your grades, which unfortunately coincides with the due-date for Quarter grades.   I keep repeating to myself the wise saying that I first read on the door of a professor's office at Bethel:  "Failure to plan ahead on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part."

Well, it would be nice if it would stop right there but... that philosophy still doesn't protect you from the added details of responding to emails and phone calls from parents desperate for their children's make-up work, grading last-minute make-up tests, printing off grade sheets so kids can know what they're missing, and organizing resources to make up for time missed.

Today one of my homeroom kids found me in my classroom after school.  I stopped what I was doing, pulled up the gradebook on my computer, printed off the gradesheet she was looking for, and walked with her down to the office, where the one printer in the building lives; all the while listening to her version of the story:

"My teacher just blew me off when I asked what I missed from class when I was gone.  It would have taken her two seconds to tell me but she didn't want to talk about it. And then she wouldn't give me my grade sheet either.  She didn't look like she was doing anything, she just said 'not now.' I don't understand why my teachers won't give me make-up work if I'm going to the effort of asking for it."

Hm.  I couldn't think of anything to say that would induce the empathy and patience necessary to understand this situation, High schoolers aren't particularly well-know for empathy and patience to begin with.

I can't help but identify with the unnamed teacher... After a class period is over, it might as well be miles behind me because I'm needing to run a balancing act of the details for the upcoming classes, all five of them.  If you ask me about history during a German class period, or vis versa, the chances are exponentially greater that I will not even remember what we were talking about during the class period in question... Not only that but now my train of thought has been derailed.

This year I have been doing a better job keeping a running tab on who is missing what, and how to put my hands on the resources they need the odd moments that they choose to ask me for them.  But keeping absentee kids up to speed is still one of the most frustrating aspects of teaching.

I read a poem that I think of on days like today.  The fact that I wish I could say this to my kids probably just highlights my not-so-latent anger about my role as a teacher...

But, well, I wouldn't say this to them, because I'm pretty sure it wouldn't really make they point I would hope for.  They would just think I was another cryptic teacher refusing to give them what they need to succeed.  I will just have to satisfy myself by posting it here.

Did I Miss Anything?

Tom Wayman

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

     Everything. I gave an exam worth
     40 percent of the grade for this term
     and assigned some reading due today
     on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
     worth 50 percent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

     Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
     a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
     or other heavenly being appeared
     and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
     to attain divine wisdom in this life and
     the hereafter
     This is the last time the class will meet
     before we disperse to bring the good news to all people
          on earth.

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

     Everything. Contained in this classroom
     is a microcosm of human experience
     assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
     This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
          gathered

     but it was one place

     And you weren’t here

From Did I Miss Anything? Selected Poems 1973-1993, 1993

Harbour Publishing

On a less cynical note, this really is a rough time of year for kids and my school is currently dealing with the backlash from a recent student's suicide.  It's scary how many real disasters are right under the surface of the day-to-day functions in my classroom. I need social worker's training to do this job...

Personal Development

Dedicated to Ben C., who, like me, could use some time honing his social skills.  

Monday and Tuesday were two full days of professional development presentations. I can't say I had an extremely good attitude about it. My fear was that after the two days I would not only feel overloaded with new strategies and expectations, but also feel so criticized and defensive that I wouldn't let myself get anything positive out of the time spent.

Some of my fears came true, but the first presenter was able to disarm some of my uptightness.  He successfully posed some thought-provoking questions and stories that addressed some of those perennial teacher hang-ups about professional development (this guy was gooooood).

Between jotting notes about summarization strategies, I pondered what exactly it is that is so threatening about those professional development days. What aspect of all of those helpful suggestions feels the most criticizing and gets at my deepest insecurities about teaching?

I think at the bottom of it, for me, may be the inherent personality conflict. One of the hardest things about starting the school year has been the extreme personality and demeanor change that I have to go through in order to stand in front of a classroom, not to mention successfully direct the behavior and emotions of 30 students.

According to most presenters, trainers, and teaching self-help materials, as well as my own short experience, the best teacher is someone who is outgoing, enthusiastic, extremely friendly, and willing to humble themselves to be silly and entertaining.

A very few lucky teachers actually do have that personality; many teachers are capable of pulling that off, but would feel fake and frustrated the whole time. That's me. I can do it, but I've had to admit a hard truth: at this point, I have to be highly caffeinated to do it well. Sigh...

On the other hand... hrrrmmmmmmmmm... maybe I am just in the middle of a process of learning some more advanced and challenging social skills. Maybe outgoing people just do have more beneficial, healthier, and effective social skills.

 Maybe being a teacher is forcing a few of us to practice and learn skills that everyone really should learn--how to be engaging, welcoming, enthusiastic, and positive.

I had another reason to reflect on that thought after spending last weekend in a setting where highly academic language was the norm, and my conversations were at times uncomfortable, competitive, and frustrating as I tried to relate to people whose main "personality" traits were aloofness and condescension.

Although part of me was jealous of their freedom to act however they want, to not be obligated to project a certain personality type, part of me felt embarrassment and pity for them. It's sad to see someone handicapping themselves by ingraining negative social skills as if that's the only way they are able to act.  I don't always WANT to adapt myself to different personality traits when the need arises, but at least teaching is showing me that I CAN.

I found myself making a mental checklist of the social skills that I'm personally working on.  I decided to share it based on my new-found opinion that everyone should perhaps at some point be expected to practice these in order to be functioning members of society... not just Academia:

I will find something I can affirm in the person I'm interacting with. Really, it won't kill me.

I will act like I'm excited to see people. I will remember them, call them by name. I will try to find out something about them before I accidentally offend them by opening my own mouth too soon or too much.

I will remember that it takes more talent and is more admirable to make myself understandable to anyone than to add complicated vocabulary to my speech.

People listen better when I am entertaining and funny. By definition, people who act disinterested, bored, and aloof are neither entertaining, nor funny. So even if I have trouble with entertaining and funny, at the very least I will try not to be disinterested, bored, and aloof.

Last but not least (my students remind me of this one every minute of my day): No matter how smart I am, I probably won't make any friends by trying to prove my intelligence and accomplishments. And I probably can't convince them anyway. Instead, people will appreciate me much more (maybe even respect me one day...?) if I figure out a way to help them realize their own intelligence.

So there.  And now I leave my soapbox, and go back to enjoying this beautiful fall evening. To soften up my message a bit, I decided to add a kitten to my blog post:

Have a nice day.

Let's not keep score...

This week I was considering keeping a time-card to record the amount of time that I spend on being a teacher... just to see, you know?

But then--Is my daily commute part of the equation? Do I include the three mornings this week I woke up around 4:00 mentally troubleshooting potential assignments?

And then--what was I hoping to accomplish by quantifying my schedule? I apprehensively followed this train of thought down to its murky core, and I found a bitter and frustration-flavored desire to collect evidence against my current profession.

There's no doubt: Teachers are feeling downtrodden and abused this year, possibly even more than last year, possibly even more than ever. Personally I have much to be grateful for regarding this year compared to last. Second year of teaching is truly a relief from my panic-stricken first months. And I can't quantify my appreciation for teaching all five classes in one room!

But like every teacher I talk to, I have my own list of building frustrations (I'll try to keep it short, here, though--it's not really the point of my post):

--Budget constraints prevented me from becoming full-time by teaching one more history class, but did not prevent hiring a new basketball coach with a full time schedule of history classes.

--Administrative changes lead to top-down mandates of ever-changing procedures, jargon, and expectations. Lots of new paperwork, meetings, and anxieties.

--Current contract negotiations suggest a potential reduction in plan time by 50%, due to apparent perceptions that teachers do not need or use their plan periods efficiently.

--My end-of-the-day class is 32 (ahem) "energetic" sophomores strong. Talk about a set up for classroom management failure.

--Five different classes to prep for keeps me in a constant state of frenetic materials-gathering and grading, which extends long past official work hours.

Is there a point to complaining, though? My issues have no official outlet and no possibility of being addressed and assuaged. Not only that, but these are just the eternal complaints of educators. And what job, after all, doesn't come with myriad frustrations and trials?

However: I have a sense of justice that tells me I have a right to frustration, and more specifically, that I have a right to store up these issues for my ongoing evaluation of whether or how long I will stay in education.

On the other hand...

Living in the litter of my quickly-accumulating frustrations doesn't do good things for any part of my life--my personality, my teaching, my energy, my friends, and my mental state suffer as a result of letting these monsters settle in too closely around my consciousness.

Not only that, but my spiritual conscience tells me this is not the right way to live with my professional complaints. I believe Christians are given to tools for (and should model) an endurance for the frustrations inherent in the process of doing Good Work. As an educator, I want to channel Jesus' philosophy of living by being an example of peace, mindfulness, and grace for my students and coworkers.

It's a quandary, no? I find myself in the awkward attempt to hold in balance this right to my frustrations, while rising above those same frustrating details that distract me from my real business of living fully and well within my work.

Every moment brings a new battle to keep the most healthy outlook; to apply that outlook to my outward attitude and relationships. It might be the most difficult mental task I have ever had to do. I think it might be best not to keep score on how many of those battles I win, and just say that staying in the game is the point.

As for my potential time-card... well, I don't need to go out collecting evidence, frustrations do a good job of finding me on their own. Instead, I'm gratefully taking my first totally selfish personal day to spend a little extra time on some musical and social therapy at the Walnut Valley Bluegrass Festival this weekend.

Battle Royale: Miriam vs. Scope and Sequence

I have my good friend Joel Linscheid to thank for the progress I'm currently making for lesson planning for my U.S. history classes. I was at a sort of stand-still, or maybe running in circles... There's no limit to the number of books to read, documentaries to watch, lesson plans to peruse, teachers' testimonies to be inspired by... But when it comes to the question of what I will be doing during minute 67 of class session 5, and minute 84 of class session 18, and why I will be doing those specific activities at those specific times, the decisions to be made are many and overwhelming.

I had already made many aborted attempts to tackle that problem when Joel, discussing the jazz history class he'll teach this fall, mentioned in passing, "Really, the least I should do is have an outline made up of what I want them to know by the end of the semester."

YES!!!

My education textbooks have led me astray with all of their "graphic organizer" red herrings. They have provided me with a multitude of lesson planning formats, but none quite so excellent and effective, for me, as an outline.

I didn't always grasp the beauty of outlines. One of my most vivid memories from my elementary school education involved a homework assignment of making an outline. I had asked Mom for help with my homework, which never went smoothly. If I was at the point of asking for help, I was usually ready to throw a fit as well. Since I didn't understand the assignment, I assumed that either the assignment was unfair or incredibly pointless (lack of ability on my part was, according to me, out of the question).

I let loose on Mom with a tirade about the idiocy of this so-called "outline," which I had never heard of and assumed to be a torture device invented by my teacher. The instructions for the assignment seemed vague and random. What was this with the ABCs and 123s and Roman numerals? Who even uses Roman numerals, anyway? What exactly was I trying to do here?

Mom was always very patient with me (I even noticed that fact when I was in the mood to be very unreasonable, although I don't think I ever thanked her for it). As my whining rant trailed off, she used a soothing tone to help me understand that the purpose of the outline is to help you organize information in a shortened form, that the ABCs and numbers don't matter as much as understanding how the information fits together in each part of a story or speech.

With admiration in her voice, she he told me the story of a college friend who could simultaneously listen to a lecture and write out his notes in a concise outline format... an inspiring example, indeed.

It took me a long moment and several attempts at explanation for the meaning of this information to sink in. You know, I think it might have been the first time I realized that education's intent was not to challenge me with a series of obnoxious hoops to jump through, but to give me a set of legitimately useful tools for life. The outline and I have been friendly partners ever since.

The outline gives me a tool to overcome the root of my lesson planning problem, which may be the same problem that I have deciding what to parts of my life write about in my blog. Do I choose to write about the people in my life? Do I restrict my essays to challenging questions of values and beliefs? Do I focus on the abstractions of political and social consciousness, or the concrete day-to-day tasks on which I spend my time?

How do I justify allowing car repairs and outlines to occupy the same page that once discussed water rights in Israel-Palestine?

The same kinds of questions have haunted recent generations of historians, myself included. From whose perspective should we study history? Which information should be accepted as standard, need-to-know facts? Who do students need to know about, and which of their actions made up "real" history? Who and what gets emphasized, and who and what will be overlooked (either accidentally or intentionally) in the process? In the past, when U.S. history book information was restricted to a small set of white men and European-centered, European-style wars, these decisions were much easier to make.

Not that that wasn't legitimate history... It was just unfortunately a very small slice of what was actually in our past. The umbrella of what currently comprises "history" attempts to overarch a variety of perspectives, social and racial groups, and myriad conflicts and interactions.

I think that this is for the most part a great improvement on the study of history. But it gives textbook writers and teachers an impossible task of presenting and organizing historical information and concepts. It's a stressful quandary for someone like me who would like to think that it is possible to do all of history justice, but who tends already to have unrealistic expectations for students abilities and classroom time-use.

After much thought, reading, sketching, lists, outlines, and sticky notes... I still haven't come up with a structure for my class that I am completely happy with. In spite of the themes and chapters that I have laid out for the coming semester, I'm guessing that my history teaching will tend to be a mishmash of the mundane and the idealistic concepts, the day-to-day realities and the turning-point events, the majority parties and the underground movements of politics. I'm hoping that my students come out of it with some idea of the big picture, and aware that we've only barely brushed the surface of what there is to know about history.

At any rate, time is up. I will head to school next week clutching my outline, and pretending to be confident in my abilities to help my students achieve such an outcome.

Priceless

There's nothing like a visit to the car doctor to make me realize how vulnerable and insignificant my meager savings and I are... and to remind me just how much the objects in my life can cost me.

It was not welcome news last week when Frank informed me that my recently-developed rattles and shakes would add up to at least a $1200 fix. Thinking sadly that $1200 might make a nice down payment on a new and improved transportation device instead, I started searching local dealerships and craigslist ads. My search eventually led me to a visit with Dan at Academy Motors. I figured they must be nice and trustworthy folks because they have a cross and Jesus-fish on their sign out front.

When I told Dan what kind of budget I was shooting for (let me just hint: It turns out Bank of America doesn't even give loans THAT small), he scoffed. I've always wondered what it looks like to be scoffed at, but now I know. "Huh. WELL," he grunted, as he stuck his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes... "THAT doesn't give me anything to work with." I told him we could pretend that I had money anyway, and that I just wanted to see a few of the options available, but I let him get back to the air conditioning without wasting too much more of his time.

Imagine my relief when I took my sick Saturn to Jim in Topeka for a second opinion. He sighed but managed to turn the $900 spectre into $100 and pronounced the car more-than-roadworthy.

Now that my little red darling has a new lease on life, I'm on a campaign to fix the long list of aches and pains that have been plaguing her for years. Tuesday I will pay a junkyard $45 to give my E-brake a functioning button (no longer will I have to teach other drivers the "special trick" to parking my car). Next on the list are the clutch pedal that squeaks a blue streak in hot weather, and the flooding problem that requires me to keep a cup for bailing water under my seat...

Anyway, while Jim was fixing up my car in Topeka, I biked across town and settled in for a long day of work in my classroom--my first full day back since the end of May. It recently occurred to me that, now that I have my own room (HOOOOOORAAAAYYYYY!!! All but one of my classes in one place!!!), I can do whatever I want to improve upon the aesthetics and educational potential of my teaching space. With that end in mind, I dragged the two bedraggled and mismatched bookshelves out of the building and began slathering them with black paint.

I think there is a special kind of therapy in painting--in watching dilapidation disappear behind a new fresh start, in letting yourself just get messy and splattered with paint, and getting lost in the rhythm of the motions... But I wax poetic. At any rate, the world (and more importantly, my classroom) now has one less hospital-green shelf, and that in and of itself is a beautiful thing.

Before the end of the day I had not only improved on my shelving situation, but also rearranged and hung posters, swapped the desk and the front and the table in the back, unpacked books for lesson planning, reassembled my computer, and... somehow agreed to sew a purple velour Santa suit for the school's mentoring program. Hm. Well, five steps forward and one step back isn't bad progress, right? So I'll call that an auspicious outlook for the school year, and leave you with the rest of the equation (and a nod to whoever came up with this oh-so-quotable advertising scheme):

New engine mount bolts: $100
New tires and alignment for my car: $440
Can of black paint and paintbrush: $11
Driving to and from work with peace of mind.... and no car payments.........

Pondering History

At the beginning of the summer I promised myself that I would spend July mentally switching back into teaching thoughts. Well, it's July...

I seem to focus better when I'm in a public place like a coffee shop (maybe I think other people are watching, so I feel compelled to look busy, and thereby trick myself into actually accomplishing something?), so I spent most of this morning with an iced chai and my laptop, cruising the internet for inspiration and wisdom for my coming year of teaching.

It's not that I'm specifically planning any lessons, just attempting to organize some thoughts into a coherent philosophy and overview for the coming school year. What habits do I want to adopt? What pattern will my 90-minute class periods take on? What theories of education do I want to incorporate?

I stumbled across a collection of interviews with accomplished and experienced history teachers, and found so much wisdom there, I felt compelled to start a list of "notes to self" for next school year. Then my list ended up as a collection of quotes, because I couldn't put the ideas any better than these teachers...

"I always tell my students that I don’t care if they remember everything, but they had to know how to locate information, know how to think, and had to be organized. I feel that as long as they know how to get information, it doesn’t really matter whether they memorize a lot of stuff. I want to give students the ability to become informed decision makers and problem solvers." Maurice Butler

"I believe we have more respect for the potential of our students; we understand that each student is a potentially powerful learner." Michele Forman

"The first thing I keep in mind is the Hippocratic oath: Do no harm. It works for teachers too. Most of the history classes I had in school were awful. They were filled with lectures and textbooks and little else. I don’t want to be that kind of teacher. ...History is not a series of dead facts. It’s made up of choices made by real people in real circumstances... It’s about making explanations for the way things are today. It’s also about drawing inspiration from the past, recognizing that anything we appreciate today, anything about this country that is decent, got that way because people worked together to create it." Bill Bigelow

"One of the things I need to say here is that I don’t try to “cover” all of U.S. History...To attempt it is to guarantee that the curriculum will be a mile wide and an inch deep... A teacher has to choose: either I’m going to explore some aspects of history, explore some time periods, in real depth, and in a way that can excite students—or I’m going to make sure that my students get through that entire 1,000 page textbook." Bill Bigelow

"Another important aim of my history teaching is to puncture the myth that a country is like a family. Too often, when textbooks talk about the United States they are filled with “we” did this, and “we” did that. But who really is the “we” that is being talked about? There is a coercive element to the language that is used in a history class—and in the media more generally, for that matter—that demands that students identify with the policies of the U.S. government and of U.S. elites... However, U.S. society has always been stratified based on race, class, nationality, language, gender—and it’s bad history, bad sociology to assume a common past. ... I want students to understand that U.S. society has always been experienced very differently depending on a variety of factors—and it still is." Bill Bigelow

"...He thought my biggest problem was that I was confusing the students by discussing how different historians thought differently about issues. “This is the only history course that most of these students will ever take,” he told me, "and they need to know the facts." I disagreed. If this is the only history course students ever take, it was all the more important that they know that historians disagree over what the facts are as well as over interpretations." Orville Vernon Burton

"Please" Do "NOT" Throw the Toy Ball's Inside!!!

This summer I am volunteering 10 hours a week at a organization called the Ballard Center, which has a sister organization just down the road from my house called Penn House (I know... but it's on Pennsylvania Street).

Don't get me wrong, I am excited to be able to volunteer my time this summer.

And let me tell you, a 4-block walking commute is MUCH preferable to a 40-minute driving commute. The walk to and from Penn House alone would be worth spending time there.

But there are going to be some interesting challenges involved in volunteering.

I am working on digging up the background and history of Penn House, and it is a great example of the frustrations of organizational politics. Until 2003, Penn House and the Ballard Center were separate entities in East Lawrence that provided various community services, such as clothing and food pantries. Each of them had certain ways of doing things, and these methods (or lack thereof) have been ingrained and carried out over the decades, with varying levels of efficiency and effectiveness. The challenges of combining of the two centers, in addition to some recent turnovers in staffing, has led to some, ahem, substantial tensions.

I have to admit, I look around Penn House and see a lot of things I would run differently if I were in charge, and, of course, if there was nothing and no one in my way to changing them. The first thing I noticed were the signs--the sign duplicated on each of the doors in all capital letters announcing

PLEASE
CLOSE


THE DOOR
THE


AIR IS ON

...As well as a rampant misuse of apostrophes and "Quotation Marks" for "emphasis." Ughhhhh..... It hurts me.

But the signs are not my job, and I can only imagine whose toes would be stepped upon if they were replaced.

In fact, I think my main job description at this point is to try to find ways to be helpful without stepping on toes too much. After all, what do I know about the challenges and theories behind running this kind of an organization? I will just do my best to step lightly and keep my eyes and ears open for a while.

There are three reasons to teach...

It's a gorgeous day in Kansas--hot in the sun, cool in the shade, blue sky as far as I can see. I don't know why I have the urge to give the weather report every time I write a post. I think it's just that weather plays such a big part in my mood each day. So I guess it feels important to inform you of the weather as a introduction to how and what I'm about to write.

Today I love teaching. I love teaching because I woke up at 9:00, spent an hour reading in bed, made myself breakfast, did some laundry, worked out, showered, and walked downtown before noon. Summer is amazing.

I walked across town to the bank, and then back to a coffee shop. I sat and used my favorite new possession, a good old-fashioned fountain pen, to make tags for the guitar straps that I've been diligently weaving in my spare time over the past few months.

It took me a while to figure out a way to finish the straps so that they would actually look sort of profession and be functional, without needing to spend lots more money and time on them. But I finally had a breakthrough on the design, and now seven of them are for sale at Richard's Music Company in Lawrence. I have to admit they look pretty awesome hanging on their own littIe rack. I am really proud of them and at this point I don't even care if they sell as long as people at least see them and admire them.



(Sorry for the quality of the pictures. I had to take them on my webcam because I just misplaced my camera... which is the second brand-new camera that I have lost in the past month... Ugh. This is why I can't have nice things).

I plan to use this afternoon to go through the huge stacks of paper that I filed over the past year. I need to organize them so I can find them and reuse them for next year. It is amazing how much paper I generated this year, even though I was trying to be conscious of how many copies I used... Hmm.

Already I know that much of what I did this year I will NOT be reusing next year. As I cleaned out my classroom and glanced back through some of the tests and worksheets that I made for the first semester, I couldn't believe that I ever thought that they were a good idea. Although I tried my best to think ahead and plan lessons wisely, I really didn't have a clue.

I still maybe only have half a clue about teaching, but where I am now is a world of difference from where I was a semester ago, not to mention a year ago. It is really shocking how steep the learning curve has been, and how much more confident and competent I will feel going into next year than I did at the beginning of last August.

And here is the summary of my first year of teaching:

"It's alright that it didn't work... as long as I learn from it and improve it for next time."

Meanwhile, I have an entire summer to ponder a million ways to do that. Stay tuned.

P.S. It goes like this: There are three reasons to teach... June, July, and August.

Weary Blues

Today I had the unfortunate task of trying to convince my German 2 students to practice that most-dreaded of subjects, Adjective Endings.

If you've ever dipped a toe into the turbid lake of German grammar, you know to shudder when you hear those two words.

Adjective Endings are a sadistic combination of arbitrary memorization, complicated grammatical concepts, and logic. If you're short on skills or knowledge in any of those areas, you are just out of luck. The only way to really learn German adjective endings is by speaking to and listening to lots of native German speakers--in other words, living in Germany long enough to just know how they feel.

I spent much of my evening yesterday searching for ways to simplify and demystify the subject, but alas... I found myself minutes into the lesson, already standing in a sea of blank stares, and even glares. There was a sense of hopelessness in the classroom. How had I dared, I wondered, to spring such an obnoxious grammatical surprise on them so late in the year?

The pressure was compounded by the frustration of those who had gotten the concept the first time, and are eager to move on. It is hard not to count my failures at this time when I'm looking around trying to gauge the effects I have had this year. This is the failure I regret above all: I have failed to find ways for my advanced students to progress at their own speed, because I am kept so busy trying to find ways to trick the other students into accidentally learning some German.

And then I looked around again and couldn't figure out which blank stares were because of boredom, and which blank stares were because of confusion. I didn't know who to help, who to encourage, and who to lecture. And then I looked at the door and wanted to walk through it, and not come back.

I'm trying to keep perspective--I can look around and see that I am not the only teacher in a slump at this point in the year. With less than 10 sessions left in each class, the challenge is to try to finish strong at the very time when you just feel like throwing your hands in the air. The end of the year can't come soon enough, and yet there is so much I was supposed to have done before the end of the year that I am constantly both panicked and impatient.

And frustrated--with myself, my students, my own limited knowledge, my commute, my heavy bag of books that accompanies me everywhere I go but never seems to contain all of the paperwork that I need at any given moment.

Well, I'm going to put it to rest for the weekend and hope that a couples days' break will give me the rest I need to energetically and enthusiastically execute my last few lessons of the school year.

Gute Laune

Yesterday I had very light boots. That is a way of saying "I feel happy," plagiarized from the precocious 9-year-old narrator of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. This book is the most recent audio accompaniment to my 40-minute commute, so its metaphors have been sneaking into my consciousness and my vocabulary the past few days. I couldn't think of a better way to describe my good mood.

It started last night when I got home from work and saw the over-sized envelope stuffed into our under-sized mailbox. I knew what it was, and I had been waiting. Not even the crease across the envelope clearly marked "Important Documents: DO NOT BEND" could dampen my enthusiasm. The paper inside designated me as fully certified to teach History and Government 6-12 AND German K-12. That's right. I am now a Highly Qualified Teacher according to the State of Kansas. With that, I have done my part to move Topeka West High School toward that ever-derided and yet ever-coveted designation of having made Adequate Yearly Progress. It feels good to be official.

No doubt my good mood is also thanks to the severely beautiful spring weather. Thanks to a recent stretch of severely depressing winter weather, today was a shock to my state of mind; a good kind of shock. Tromping across my side of Lawrence in my Friday-casual outfit of Go-Charger-purple t-shirt, jeans, and yes, lightweight boots, I soaked in my surroundings. I felt the overwhelming urge to give thanks. The impending sunset threw a crisp glint over the sparkly-haired children ignoring playground equipment in favor of digging in the dirt, the neighbors walking eager winter-coated dogs, my friends drinking Pabst and grilling chicken in their front yard. We are lizards on warm rocks coming outside for the first time in months. We are trying to do at once all of the things we've been wishing and waiting for. It's been a long winter, and we're all ready to put away our heavy boots.

For everything there is a season

The snow is falling fast outside, big heavy flakes. I woke up after the sun today, for once, which is a wonderful luxurious feeling. I felt doubly grateful to know that I didn't have to drive to Topeka today when I saw the snow piling up on my car outside. I and all of the 501 district have today off, thanks to parent teacher conferences for the past two days.

Parent teacher conferences were a blessing as far as time off from teaching, and time to put lessons together for the next couple weeks. I love preparing lessons most of the time; mostly because it consists of studying and reviewing German, or gives me an excuse to pursue my own historical and cultural research interests.

I'm currently preparing a unit for my advanced German class--and this "unit" has research requirements similar to those of my senior seminar paper in college. It's a sort of review of literature, movies, and national monuments that shed light on how Germans have attempted to redefine their cultural and national identity since World War II. One of my main resources is this book, which I am happily reading straight through:

One of the mantras that people tell first-year teachers is not to reinvent the wheel. That phrase haunts me as I spend hours reading, summarizing, and putting into high-schooler-friendly form. I wonder sometimes if I'm bending over backwards for nothing.

I feel, though, that putting together my own lessons in my own way satisfies a couple of my needs that regurgitating others' lessons wouldn't meet: One is that I want to continue my own education, and this is my way of showing myself that I've learned something new or reiterated something old, sort of like self-assigned homework.

The other is finally getting to experiment with some of the psychology that I found to be the most interesting part of my education in education--thank you Rodney Frey and Paul Lewis. I tell my students regularly that they are guinea pigs in my continuing education. They're usually ok with being experimented on, because it sometimes means they get to do things like running around in the court yard with verb forms written on white boards.

One of my main energy- and time-vacuums is about to dry up as the end of the Scholars' Bowl season approaches. Last night, in an intense 12 rounds of competition, my team qualified for state tournament next Saturday! It was touch and go--Jenna was beside herself with nerves, Stuart maintained that the questions were poorly written, Cameron had lost his voice due to a cold, Brian's calculations were off, Kris was flustered by the dearth of US History questions, and Henry's lucky bow tie was crooked... but they pulled it off in the last round.

In a panic that I would find myself bored with nothing to do in the February and March evenings, I've signed up for a weaving class next week, learning to use a new kind of loom. I've also started weaving guitar straps to sell at music store around the corner from my house.

And that is the story for today. Maybe one of these times I will convince myself to write briefer messages so that I can do them more often. Bis dann!