It occurred to me as I graded my seniors' Lord of the Flies theme essays that I'm not really an English teacher.
When I was in high school—or even in middle school—I wrote essays regularly for English and Social Studies classes. I recall having shorter (1-2 page) essays on a nightly basis, with some longer essays as major assignments due perhaps every week or two.
Although I feel like I am now forever grading as a teacher, very little of it is what I imagined would be a part of a normal English teacher's job description. My normal grading stack includes journal entries (scored based on ideas, not mechanics) and classwork assignments (mostly graded for completion because students will otherwise not attempt the work). Really it is my gifted and talented ninth grade students who write essays, and even those occur once, maybe twice per quarter.
At what point did the standards for a high school diploma become so low that graduating seniors consider a 2-3 page paper a major assignment? When did the job description for an English teacher include babysitting and assigning points for busy work?
Scoring essays is by no means fun; it usually proves to be a daunting task. This is usually because the students' essays are so laden with errors: typographical errors, syntactical errors, organizational errors; many of these essays, if they contain a thesis statement, have one that is incomplete or incoherent. We as teachers may assign fewer essays because the students don't do them or because the quality is so poor, but what we really should be doing is assigning more essays and more major projects so that students will gain the proficiency they need to truly earn that high school diploma. Then we could truly call ourselves English Teachers.
4.28.2008
4.26.2008
All eyes and no sight
I have begun teaching a unit on Romeo and Juliet to my Standard 9 students. We spend a few days on pre-reading material: biographical info on Shakespeare, dissecting language, etc. We spent the 80-minute class period on Monday stomping the rhythm of iambic pentameter* before reading a Shakespearean sonnet. Although the lesson wasn't everything I had dreamed, my dysfunctional standard class actually seemed to understand meter and the sonnet.
On Friday we began class with a feud (using only Shakespearean insults, of course) before reading the Prologue. Not all students notice that it is a sonnet, so I usually lead them to it.
"So, the Prologue has fourteen lines, is written in iambic pentameter, and has a very particular rhyme scheme, so it is a..." With upturned palms, I signaled a collective response from the class; instead, my prompt was received by slouched shoulders, glazed-over expressions, and even a few speckles of drool on the corners of mouths.
"...sonnet," I finished.
*I can't take credit for the idea of stomping iambic pentameter. See the lesson at the Folger Shakespeare Library Website.
On Friday we began class with a feud (using only Shakespearean insults, of course) before reading the Prologue. Not all students notice that it is a sonnet, so I usually lead them to it.
"So, the Prologue has fourteen lines, is written in iambic pentameter, and has a very particular rhyme scheme, so it is a..." With upturned palms, I signaled a collective response from the class; instead, my prompt was received by slouched shoulders, glazed-over expressions, and even a few speckles of drool on the corners of mouths.
"...sonnet," I finished.
*I can't take credit for the idea of stomping iambic pentameter. See the lesson at the Folger Shakespeare Library Website.
4.23.2008
Small Victory No. 1
My advanced ninth grade students are currently working on their research papers. I have written a forty-five page research paper manual and a detailed calendar of deadlines to keep them informed and on track. Their initial reaction to the novel-like packet was one of fear: What could be in there? Other students responded with anger: Why do we have do all this work?!
Their outlines were due on Friday. I required them to submit a detailed outline, complete with thesis statement, topic sentences, all specific evidence for each paragraph, and MLA-style internal citations. Upon entering the classroom on Friday, the students inundated me with complaints about the amount of time and energy that went into their outlines. And for what? they wondered.
Now that we are at the rough draft stage of the process, they have a new outlook on things. The same students who cried about their outlines now realized why I had required to write them in such detail. One student said, "I hated doing the outline, but writing the rough draft was so easy. Now I see why you've been telling us how important outlining is. I'm going to do this for all of my papers from now on."
Their outlines were due on Friday. I required them to submit a detailed outline, complete with thesis statement, topic sentences, all specific evidence for each paragraph, and MLA-style internal citations. Upon entering the classroom on Friday, the students inundated me with complaints about the amount of time and energy that went into their outlines. And for what? they wondered.
Now that we are at the rough draft stage of the process, they have a new outlook on things. The same students who cried about their outlines now realized why I had required to write them in such detail. One student said, "I hated doing the outline, but writing the rough draft was so easy. Now I see why you've been telling us how important outlining is. I'm going to do this for all of my papers from now on."
4.18.2008
Handicapping Students with Special Needs
In order to help students with special needs (learning disabilities, emotional disturbances, etc.) be successful academically, many of these students are given an Individualized Education Plan (IEP) that constructs goals and methods to help that child succeed. One common accommodation is the use of small group testing: students with this accommodation go to the library with the special educator to take the same test as their classmates. The distinction is these students can have directions and/or test questions read aloud to them, or they may even receive additional time if needed.
The concept of an IEP is a sound one: it levels the proverbial playing field and gives students with special needs a greater opportunity to do well. The system fails, however, when we do not allow these students to release their crutch and stand on their own two legs.
There is a special educator at our school who is committed to ensuring students get good grades on their English 12 exams. This is all well and good until it is apparent that it is not the students who are taking these exams.
Based on my experiences with this special educator over the last three years, it seems that if he does not outright tell the students the answers, he leads them there blatantly. Even the students' perception of him tells me my hypothesis is correct. The general education students have also learned that Mr. Brooks will give them answers, and therefore will not have to think for themselves.
Today my English 12 class had a grammar exam. Shortly after our warm-up exercise, I began distributing the test. One of my special education students became worried when he did not see Mr. Brooks in the room yet and asked if he could go to the library by himself (!) and wait for Mr. Brooks there. (Obviously not.) I apologized and encouraged the student to try his best on the exam.
After a few minutes, the same student asked if I could tell him a grammar rule that would clearly lead him to several answers on the test. He had the tone of a student who is accustomed to receiving such aid. I shook my head and apologized again—I could no longer answer such a question once the exam was distributed.
As I finished saying this, Mr. Brooks entered the classroom, and the special education students quickly collected their exam papers and writing utensils and scurried out of the room.
I do find it a strange coincidence that the student with special needs who could not remember a basic grammatical rule somehow had the highest score on the test.
I do believe that Mr. Brooks has the best of intentions: help these students do well on the test so they can graduate, boost their self-esteems, etc. It is clear, however, that he is not doing these students any favors; they have been conditioned to use the special educator—and their IEPs—as a crutch, and therefore have limited their own academic growth. Although Mr. Brooks is clearly at fault here, he is not the only one responsible: these seniors did not learn to behave this way since August; they have been learning this since the first time they had been branded special ed.
The purpose, once again, of an IEP is to give students with special needs a chance to succeed in the same academic setting as the general education students and to receive the same high school diploma. If we do not provide the same quality of education for these special education students, then we should not give them the same diploma or send them into the same work force. We owe it to these students to hold them to the same standards as the general ed students, yet use their accommodations to scaffold their education—the way the IEP was intended.
The concept of an IEP is a sound one: it levels the proverbial playing field and gives students with special needs a greater opportunity to do well. The system fails, however, when we do not allow these students to release their crutch and stand on their own two legs.
There is a special educator at our school who is committed to ensuring students get good grades on their English 12 exams. This is all well and good until it is apparent that it is not the students who are taking these exams.
Based on my experiences with this special educator over the last three years, it seems that if he does not outright tell the students the answers, he leads them there blatantly. Even the students' perception of him tells me my hypothesis is correct. The general education students have also learned that Mr. Brooks will give them answers, and therefore will not have to think for themselves.
Today my English 12 class had a grammar exam. Shortly after our warm-up exercise, I began distributing the test. One of my special education students became worried when he did not see Mr. Brooks in the room yet and asked if he could go to the library by himself (!) and wait for Mr. Brooks there. (Obviously not.) I apologized and encouraged the student to try his best on the exam.
After a few minutes, the same student asked if I could tell him a grammar rule that would clearly lead him to several answers on the test. He had the tone of a student who is accustomed to receiving such aid. I shook my head and apologized again—I could no longer answer such a question once the exam was distributed.
As I finished saying this, Mr. Brooks entered the classroom, and the special education students quickly collected their exam papers and writing utensils and scurried out of the room.
I do find it a strange coincidence that the student with special needs who could not remember a basic grammatical rule somehow had the highest score on the test.
I do believe that Mr. Brooks has the best of intentions: help these students do well on the test so they can graduate, boost their self-esteems, etc. It is clear, however, that he is not doing these students any favors; they have been conditioned to use the special educator—and their IEPs—as a crutch, and therefore have limited their own academic growth. Although Mr. Brooks is clearly at fault here, he is not the only one responsible: these seniors did not learn to behave this way since August; they have been learning this since the first time they had been branded special ed.
The purpose, once again, of an IEP is to give students with special needs a chance to succeed in the same academic setting as the general education students and to receive the same high school diploma. If we do not provide the same quality of education for these special education students, then we should not give them the same diploma or send them into the same work force. We owe it to these students to hold them to the same standards as the general ed students, yet use their accommodations to scaffold their education—the way the IEP was intended.
4.17.2008
Veto
As a teacher of English 12—the only course required for graduation during senior year—I am something of a gatekeeper: any student who fails my class will not walk on graduation day and will have to repeat the course over the summer or during the following academic year.
Although I have this mighty gatekeeper status, there are still students who escape my clutches—those who should not receive a high school diploma, yet do.
I humbly propose that each teacher be given a veto stamp that will deny a student his diploma. First off, stamps are oh-so satisfying...Stamp! You FAIL!
Secondly, there are some students who can barely read or write, yet somehow are passed through the system until they are out of it...and we as a society are inundated with droves of imbeciles who cannot think for themselves. This is clearly a detriment to society.
For example, I have for you the response to a one-question reading quiz on Lord of the Flies. This response was written by a graduating senior:
The Boat was the Island we on fire.
Really, you don't even need to know what the question was because this response doesn't make a lick of sense. A student with such limited mental and written ability should not be allowed to graduate from high school; in fact, it's student like this who have helped devalue the high school diploma.
Veto.
Although I have this mighty gatekeeper status, there are still students who escape my clutches—those who should not receive a high school diploma, yet do.
I humbly propose that each teacher be given a veto stamp that will deny a student his diploma. First off, stamps are oh-so satisfying...Stamp! You FAIL!
Secondly, there are some students who can barely read or write, yet somehow are passed through the system until they are out of it...and we as a society are inundated with droves of imbeciles who cannot think for themselves. This is clearly a detriment to society.
For example, I have for you the response to a one-question reading quiz on Lord of the Flies. This response was written by a graduating senior:
The Boat was the Island we on fire.
Really, you don't even need to know what the question was because this response doesn't make a lick of sense. A student with such limited mental and written ability should not be allowed to graduate from high school; in fact, it's student like this who have helped devalue the high school diploma.
Veto.
4.14.2008
Scapegoat for Dinner AGAIN?!
Another student attacks her teacher in Baltimore City. Who is responsible for the attack? The teacher, of course.
This article is another example of how teachers have become a scapegoat for that which ails society. A high school sophomore—a student who should be old enough to know right from wrong—commits a violent act, and it is the victim who is held responsible.
Teachers are by no means perfect; most of us are even human. It is not, however, fair to assign sole responsibility to the teacher who leaves her workplace in an ambulance.
Let's step back for a moment and consider who else may be responsible:
The student. I cannot think of a reason why a rational person would deem it acceptable to assault an adult—especially a person of authority. The student needs to be held accountable for her actions; in fact, it is probably the lack of accountability to this point that has led her down this path.
The parents. Besides a brief mention of the responsibility of the "community," the article does not mention the role of the parents. Where are they? What are they teaching their child? What is their reaction to their daughter inflicting physical harm on a teacher?
It is, of course, important for teachers to be prepared to work with students of various cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds; this is true not only for instruction, but for conflict mediation as well. Professional development on conflict mediation is worthwhile for teachers, but this type of training does not excuse parents of their responsibility of raising their own children.
This article is another example of how teachers have become a scapegoat for that which ails society. A high school sophomore—a student who should be old enough to know right from wrong—commits a violent act, and it is the victim who is held responsible.
Teachers are by no means perfect; most of us are even human. It is not, however, fair to assign sole responsibility to the teacher who leaves her workplace in an ambulance.
Let's step back for a moment and consider who else may be responsible:
The student. I cannot think of a reason why a rational person would deem it acceptable to assault an adult—especially a person of authority. The student needs to be held accountable for her actions; in fact, it is probably the lack of accountability to this point that has led her down this path.
The parents. Besides a brief mention of the responsibility of the "community," the article does not mention the role of the parents. Where are they? What are they teaching their child? What is their reaction to their daughter inflicting physical harm on a teacher?
It is, of course, important for teachers to be prepared to work with students of various cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds; this is true not only for instruction, but for conflict mediation as well. Professional development on conflict mediation is worthwhile for teachers, but this type of training does not excuse parents of their responsibility of raising their own children.
4.12.2008
The Id Comes Alive
We are reading Lord of the Flies in English 12, often discussing Freud's theory of the tripartite psyche. Today we were recalling what we knew about each part of the psyche before focusing on the id.
One student who had missed the initial lesson on the psyche was determined to understand each of its components. When our class reiterated that the id represents the drive for hunger, pleasure, and aggression, this student asked, "So it's like when you get an erection when you sleep?"
Read Anything Good Lately?
Some food for thought:
On average, Americans ages 15 to 24 spend almost two hours a day watching TV, and only seven minutes of their daily leisure time on reading.
Reading scores for American adults of almost all education levels have deteriorated, notably among the best-educated groups. From 1992 to 2003, the percentage of adults with graduate school experience who were rated proficient in prose reading dropped by 10 points, a 20 percent rate of decline.
In 2002, only 52 percent of Americans ages 18 to 24, the college years, read a book voluntarily, down from 59 percent in 1992.
The number of adults with bachelor's degrees and "proficient in reading prose" dropped from 40 percent in 1992 to 31 percent in 2003.
Excerpted from "Study: Americans Reading A Lot Less" (note the incredibly vanilla title)
Sink or Float: The Three-E Dilemma
Jake is failing. His first three quarter grades, if added together, are shy of one hundred percent. Even so, he visits me almost daily to get an update on the status of his grade—has it managed to creep up to 60%, the district's lowest passing grade?
In all fairness, Jake's average this quarter is substantially better than the first two: his grades have been 22%, 25%, and now 52%. It would seem to the outsider that there is no mathematical way that he could pass English 12 for the year; however, county grading policy assigns quality points based on a letter grade, not percentage. If Jake earns a D this quarter and a C next quarter, he won't even need to pass the final exam to walk across the stage on June third.
If, however, Jake's 52% stays firmly rooted in E-range, then he will automatically fail for the year. Despite any high grades he may earn in fourth quarter and on the final that would mathematically (by county standards) earn him a passing grade for the year, he has already failed. How do teachers motivate a student to do his work—and act like a respectable human being—if he is merely biding his time until the end of the year, when he will attend summer school?
This is where the teacher encounters the three-E dilemma: do I assign this kid an E, which he clearly deserves, thus causing seven weeks of turmoil (and guilt for denying a senior his graduation "right"), or do I "float" him up to a D?
I consulted my department chair, mostly to ensure that I would have her support if I my actions resulted in an uproar from Jake's parents. My DC advised me to float him—and make it painstakingly clear that there would be no more favors in fourth quarter. As I pencil in the D-bubble on my grade scan, I wonder if I am actually doing Jake a favor at all. There is a decent chance that Jake will continue warming a chair in English, not doing much work, and will fail anyway. If, however, Jake takes this bit of generosity and truly applies himself fourth quarter to earn that C, then yes, there is a chance he will learn to take advantage of such opportunities.
My greatest concern is not whether Jake fails or graduates, but of the community as a whole: students have come to expect these bits of generosity from teachers, which explains why they respond belligerently when it is denied. We have created a culture of concessions: students with 68% (and numerous missing assignments) expect that, out of the kindness of our hearts, we teachers will see that it is close enough to a C and float it. I hear what students say about me (and call me) when I refuse to float their grades, and I truly do believe that it is out of the kindness of my heart that the grade stands. More than literature, more than language, I try to teach these students the skills and the mentality that will allow them to survive life after high school. On an almost-daily basis, I simultaneously question my own judgment for doing what I believe is right and damn the system that put me in the situation to question myself.
For this quarter, Jake will float.
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