Excerpted from a GT English 9 student's journal that prompted her to write about where she wants to be in ten years:
I see my self as a graduate from the Naule accadome as a nurse, or a graduate from Harverd as a Lawyer.
5.30.2008
5.29.2008
Queen for the Day
Students received their yearbooks today. I expected to sign a few seniors' yearbooks at the senior picnic this afternoon—I signed perhaps three or four last year—but I was unprepared for the number of students who demanded my autograph. Four sought me out in my classroom en route to the courtyard where the picnic was being held; once I arrived at the picnic, I was literally surrounded by students who wanted me to sign their yearbooks. For an hour and a half, I chatted with students (past and present) and wrote endearing passages in winding patterns in their yearbooks.
Excited by my popularity, I told my husband about it when I returned home. He said, "you probably wrote something different for every one of them." He was right: I did. The notes I wrote to students contained inside jokes, an assessment of the student's strengths, and a specific wish about their future endeavors—all written in an informal tone. I have known these students at least since August (many longer than that), and thus I wrote with an air of familiarity.
I'm embarrassed to admit how much I loved being popular in a group of eighteen year-olds. I always say that if I wanted to be popular, I wouldn't have become a high school English teacher.
Really, it's not the concept of popularity that is important to me, but that I made an impression in these students' lives. This is the time of year when my toil seems to have come to fruition: yes, I have been hard on them all year, but nonetheless they love me for it. The trick is remembering this sentiment come August.
Excited by my popularity, I told my husband about it when I returned home. He said, "you probably wrote something different for every one of them." He was right: I did. The notes I wrote to students contained inside jokes, an assessment of the student's strengths, and a specific wish about their future endeavors—all written in an informal tone. I have known these students at least since August (many longer than that), and thus I wrote with an air of familiarity.
I'm embarrassed to admit how much I loved being popular in a group of eighteen year-olds. I always say that if I wanted to be popular, I wouldn't have become a high school English teacher.
Really, it's not the concept of popularity that is important to me, but that I made an impression in these students' lives. This is the time of year when my toil seems to have come to fruition: yes, I have been hard on them all year, but nonetheless they love me for it. The trick is remembering this sentiment come August.
An Unexpected Allusion
On my commute home this afternoon, the song "How Could You Want Him (When You Know You Could Have Me)?" came on my iPod. I have heard this song many, many times, but somehow until today have failed to notice the following lines:
I'm quite contented to take my chances
Against the Guildensterns and Rosenkrantzes
It's a matter of Cain and Abel
And I can feel your knee beneath the table
I was impressed that an alternative rock group would make an allusion to Hamlet...and that I had never noticed it before. (Indeed, the fact that I had just read Hamlet probably has something to do with it.) In addition to the blatant reference to two characters from the play (Guildenstern and Rosencrantz), Hamlet himself makes reference to the Biblical tale of Cain and Abel (just as Claudius, Hamlet's uncle, slew Hamlet's father to take possession of the throne and queen). I also like that "I can feel your knee beneath the table" has a whisper of the sexual repression simmering between Hamlet and Ophelia. Kudos, Spin Doctors. Kudos.
I'm quite contented to take my chances
Against the Guildensterns and Rosenkrantzes
It's a matter of Cain and Abel
And I can feel your knee beneath the table
I was impressed that an alternative rock group would make an allusion to Hamlet...and that I had never noticed it before. (Indeed, the fact that I had just read Hamlet probably has something to do with it.) In addition to the blatant reference to two characters from the play (Guildenstern and Rosencrantz), Hamlet himself makes reference to the Biblical tale of Cain and Abel (just as Claudius, Hamlet's uncle, slew Hamlet's father to take possession of the throne and queen). I also like that "I can feel your knee beneath the table" has a whisper of the sexual repression simmering between Hamlet and Ophelia. Kudos, Spin Doctors. Kudos.
Dénouement: The Final Chapter to 'The Gatekeeper'
Late Tuesday night I realized that Brandi had not brought me her make-up work. I emailed Miss Sit-On-It-And-Twist asking (literally) what was up. I heard nothing.
On Wednesday the principal came to my room—a rare occurrence—to find out what had become of her. I said I had heard nothing. Upon checking my school mailbox, however, I found a stack of work from her. I was incredulous: after all this, the girl didn't even have the gall to bring it to me face-to-face? (I had been in my room NOT teaching all morning.) I relayed this information to the principal and asked him to send her to me if he saw her before I did.
Sure enough, Brandi paraded into my room this morning. There were other seniors already in my classroom who had come to ask me to sign their yearbooks; Brandi jovially chatted with her friend while I finished my autographs. Once the others had moved on, her friend took the same cue and left.
Brandi immediately apologized for not having brought her work in on Tuesday. I expressed my concern not that the work was late—er, later—but that she had dropped it in my box when I could be easily found. Again the jocular demeanor faded and she said, "I put it in your box because I didn't want to tell you why I didn't bring it on Tuesday."
I replied, "but you'll tell me now?"
Brandi said she had to walk from the Community College—where she takes afternoon classes to get a jump on credits—back to our high school because she was stranded without a ride. The two schools are in different zip codes.
I of course told her that she could have called the school and someone (even myself) would have picked her up. Or called a cab. Or something.
I suppose you're wondering how Brandi fared? With the work she submitted, her average came to 59.5%, which, rounded to 60%, is the lowest possible passing grade.
Brandi thanked me—sincerely, I hope—and said she'd see me at graduation. That I will.
On Wednesday the principal came to my room—a rare occurrence—to find out what had become of her. I said I had heard nothing. Upon checking my school mailbox, however, I found a stack of work from her. I was incredulous: after all this, the girl didn't even have the gall to bring it to me face-to-face? (I had been in my room NOT teaching all morning.) I relayed this information to the principal and asked him to send her to me if he saw her before I did.
Sure enough, Brandi paraded into my room this morning. There were other seniors already in my classroom who had come to ask me to sign their yearbooks; Brandi jovially chatted with her friend while I finished my autographs. Once the others had moved on, her friend took the same cue and left.
Brandi immediately apologized for not having brought her work in on Tuesday. I expressed my concern not that the work was late—er, later—but that she had dropped it in my box when I could be easily found. Again the jocular demeanor faded and she said, "I put it in your box because I didn't want to tell you why I didn't bring it on Tuesday."
I replied, "but you'll tell me now?"
Brandi said she had to walk from the Community College—where she takes afternoon classes to get a jump on credits—back to our high school because she was stranded without a ride. The two schools are in different zip codes.
I of course told her that she could have called the school and someone (even myself) would have picked her up. Or called a cab. Or something.
I suppose you're wondering how Brandi fared? With the work she submitted, her average came to 59.5%, which, rounded to 60%, is the lowest possible passing grade.
Brandi thanked me—sincerely, I hope—and said she'd see me at graduation. That I will.
5.25.2008
Small Victory No. 4
As one of their journal entries, I ask my GT English 9 students to consider why some people believe To Kill a Mockingbird to be objectionable, why the NAACP declares it is "unfit" for students, and whether they think ninth grade students should read it. This is one African-American student's response.
I believe that some people may find TKAM objectionable because of the views expressed by the characters in the novel. They consider black people as inferior and there is a constant use of the word "nigger" throughout the novel. The NAACP would most likely find it unfit for students for that reason, and because it is a way of demeaning blacks and may teach children that it is okay to use the word whenever they feel like it. I believe that TKAM is fit for people of all ages, and especially for ninth graders because it expresses a way of viewing how unfair discriminations against blacks in the past were. So by ninth graders understanding this it leads them not to want to be as blind from racism that their ancestors were. TKAM is a novel that expresses the views on quite a few different types of discrimination. By reading it, hopefully ninth graders can benefit by understanding that these discriminations were fueled by all of the jokes and fear and anger that people expressed towards a group of people, or a type of people. If a student can understand this and realize that it is wrong, then maybe there is hope that in the future there will be much fewer discriminations and racisms in the world. Since the children are the future of the world, and if they are educated on the harmful effects and unfair outcomes of unnecessary discriminations, then they will educate their offspring and so on, causing the amount of racism and segregation in the world to decrease drastically through time. Of course, this is only a hope for the future, but if it were even to affect one person in their views on racism, then that is still a step in the right direction.
I believe that some people may find TKAM objectionable because of the views expressed by the characters in the novel. They consider black people as inferior and there is a constant use of the word "nigger" throughout the novel. The NAACP would most likely find it unfit for students for that reason, and because it is a way of demeaning blacks and may teach children that it is okay to use the word whenever they feel like it. I believe that TKAM is fit for people of all ages, and especially for ninth graders because it expresses a way of viewing how unfair discriminations against blacks in the past were. So by ninth graders understanding this it leads them not to want to be as blind from racism that their ancestors were. TKAM is a novel that expresses the views on quite a few different types of discrimination. By reading it, hopefully ninth graders can benefit by understanding that these discriminations were fueled by all of the jokes and fear and anger that people expressed towards a group of people, or a type of people. If a student can understand this and realize that it is wrong, then maybe there is hope that in the future there will be much fewer discriminations and racisms in the world. Since the children are the future of the world, and if they are educated on the harmful effects and unfair outcomes of unnecessary discriminations, then they will educate their offspring and so on, causing the amount of racism and segregation in the world to decrease drastically through time. Of course, this is only a hope for the future, but if it were even to affect one person in their views on racism, then that is still a step in the right direction.
School Appropriate/Work Appropriate
Just in case we needed to contact one another between Friday and Tuesday, Brandi and I exchanged emails. As she jotted hers down on a Post-It, she said, "it's not really school-appropriate."
I looked down at the Post-It: sitonitandtwist@____.com.
I advised her that before she applied to any jobs, she may want to register an email account that resembled her name.
I looked down at the Post-It: sitonitandtwist@____.com.
I advised her that before she applied to any jobs, she may want to register an email account that resembled her name.
5.23.2008
Only Human: An Addendum to 'The Gatekeeper'
This morning I found a note in my mailbox from Brandi asking me to call her on her cell phone.
I waited until noon—how late do high school students sleep?—and dialed her up. She said she was heading over to school and that she would stop by my room to talk to me.
About fifteen minutes later, Brandi walked through the door. She's an attractive young lady: about 5'8", slender, always dressed in the latest fashions—sure jailbait for some unsuspecting guy in a bar. Once she sat down next to me, however, I saw the facade starting to crack. Her arms were mottled green and purple and she was trying her utmost not to cry in front of me.
When asked why she hadn't come talk to me sooner—this whole mess could have been avoided with some communication—she said through runny mascara that she was embarrassed, that she had to be a certain person for her peers, and she didn't want to let anyone know what was going on.
I soon realized that yesterday's judgment was premature as I had greatly underestimated the problems Brandi had at home. She said she had all of the work done, but her mother has had it in her possession; "Now," she said, "Mom's home and clean, so I can get to my backpack and give you my work."
I found myself telling Brandi that she could bring me the work on Tuesday, and I could grade it while she was still here so she would know her new grade right away.
Through tears she thanked me profusely, told me she loved me, and scurried out of the room.
My first reflection on this is one of self-loathing: I folded faster than superman on laundry day. Over a few tears. I'm the Gatekeeper, and I caved...just like that.
After speaking about this with a beloved colleague, my father, and finally my husband, I know now that if Brandi fails, it will actually be a detriment to the rest of her life. With a high school diploma, she will be able to register for classes at the Community College in the fall; from there she can finish the coursework to become an RN. Without a high school diploma, she will be unable to break free of the abusive lifestyle with which she has had to live for sometime now.
On Tuesday Brandi will bring me her missing work, and she will pass and graduate.
See Dénouement
I waited until noon—how late do high school students sleep?—and dialed her up. She said she was heading over to school and that she would stop by my room to talk to me.
About fifteen minutes later, Brandi walked through the door. She's an attractive young lady: about 5'8", slender, always dressed in the latest fashions—sure jailbait for some unsuspecting guy in a bar. Once she sat down next to me, however, I saw the facade starting to crack. Her arms were mottled green and purple and she was trying her utmost not to cry in front of me.
When asked why she hadn't come talk to me sooner—this whole mess could have been avoided with some communication—she said through runny mascara that she was embarrassed, that she had to be a certain person for her peers, and she didn't want to let anyone know what was going on.
I soon realized that yesterday's judgment was premature as I had greatly underestimated the problems Brandi had at home. She said she had all of the work done, but her mother has had it in her possession; "Now," she said, "Mom's home and clean, so I can get to my backpack and give you my work."
I found myself telling Brandi that she could bring me the work on Tuesday, and I could grade it while she was still here so she would know her new grade right away.
Through tears she thanked me profusely, told me she loved me, and scurried out of the room.
My first reflection on this is one of self-loathing: I folded faster than superman on laundry day. Over a few tears. I'm the Gatekeeper, and I caved...just like that.
After speaking about this with a beloved colleague, my father, and finally my husband, I know now that if Brandi fails, it will actually be a detriment to the rest of her life. With a high school diploma, she will be able to register for classes at the Community College in the fall; from there she can finish the coursework to become an RN. Without a high school diploma, she will be unable to break free of the abusive lifestyle with which she has had to live for sometime now.
On Tuesday Brandi will bring me her missing work, and she will pass and graduate.
See Dénouement
5.22.2008
The Gatekeeper
As a teacher of the only course seniors need to graduate, I proudly refer to myself as the Gatekeeper. I love the idea of holding this power in my hands; plus, it sounds cool (even if it does elicit an occasional "keymaster" joke). Today, however, I found that being the Gatekeeper isn't as great as I like to believe it is.
This year I only have two (of eighty) seniors who have failed for the year. One is Joe, who earned Es for all four quarters and failed the final. He's quite intelligent, but he feels that homework and classwork are optional.
The other senior who failed is Brandi. At the beginning of the year, she showed promise: she proclaimed her passion for helping others and told me about her parallel enrollment at the community college to begin her training to become a registered nurse. Throughout high school she had also been a part of the Allied Health program at the Vocational Tech school that partners with our high school.
At the beginning of second quarter, however, Brandi seemed to be overtaken with a case of senioritis: she missed seven class periods (out of the approximately twenty times our class meets during a quarter with block scheduling). Third quarter, she failed with a low E.
I made it clear to her that she needed to pass fourth quarter to be eligible for graduation, but things only got worse. She did not open Lord of the Flies once during the unit—inside or outside of class—and rarely even brought a backpack to school. When I made some half-joking comment about her consistent unpreparedness, Brandi threw her hands in the air and said, "I don't know where my backpack is!"
This sounds pretty bad, but it's not unusual; many students somehow manage to forget to bring a backpack, binder, writing utensil, etc. on a quasi-regular basis. How students can forget the only thing they need to bring with them is beyond me.
But back to Brandi: not only did she consistently attend class unprepared, but she did very little while she was there. If she was there. (Her poor attendance continued through the fourth quarter.) She didn't submit the last few remaining assignments of the year, sealing her quarter and final grades as an E.
Despite Brandi's abject failure, she amazed me by putting sincere effort into her final exam, on which she earned a C. Although this should mathematically average to a D for the year, the Three Es rule mandates that Brandi earn an E for the year.
Clearly Brandi did not earn a passing grade in my class and therefore cannot graduate.
However.
Today my principal stopped in my room and asked me to swing by his office for a few minutes. He told me he had spoken to Brandi and learned a little backstory. Apparently her father is severely, physically abusive. After beating her for perhaps months, he finally threw Brandi out of the house; she has been rotating through friends' couches for the last several weeks. As for her "lost" backpack, allegedly her mother stole it; the principal suspects it is to sabotage Brandi's chance at graduating, attending college, and breaking free from the lower-class, blue collar life that is all her family knows.
I like to joke with my students (seniors especially) that I do not have a heart; if it's there, it's hollow. Today I wish this were the case. Thrice the principal repeated that he is asking me no favors and that he will back my decision, whatever it may be. On his conference table were Brandi's last two assignments; I agreed to score them and enter them into the gradebook.
Brandi earned an A on both assignments, and her average jumped up significantly—from 34% to 46%. But 46% is still too low.
I brought my principal a fresh copy of Brandi's grade report and a copy of her attendance card that marked her plethora of absences. I then told him that Brandi had not earned a passing grade in my class and has not earned the right to graduate. Really, she didn't.
I have written a number of posts about students who will graduate despite their inability or foolish behavior; condemning Brandi to summer school (or year five or a GED) feels almost as dirty. I realize, of course, that I am not compromising my moral guidelines, just as I expect my superiors to do. Even so, I cannot help but wonder what will become of Brandi as I shut the door, turn the lock, and return the key to my pocket.
See Addendum
5.21.2008
Typecasting
One of the major concepts I teach in both English 12 and GT English 9 is the archetypal approach to literature. Although I find it fascinating to trace similar ideas through time, cultures, and literary works, I had never seriously considered how archetypes affect our lives.
Piqued by a momentary curiosity to read about Celtic Mythology, I stumbled upon information about the Morrígan, a Celtic battle goddess who was believed to be comprised of three parts, Nemhain, Macha, and Badb. Instantly a number of triads came to mind: besides the Holy Trinity, there are the brothers Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades who rule the earth, sea, and underworld in Greek Mythology; in terms of psychology, there are groups of threes including Freud's tripartite psyche; the Greeks proclaimed that ethos, pathos, and logos are the three rhetorical appeals that work together to make a sound argument. Jeez, archetypes are everywhere.
Silly me, I should have seen this sooner. Tomorrow I will teach one of my favorite lessons: my GT English 9 students will read the remaining chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird for tomorrow, and we will discuss the archetype of loss of innocence. In addition to discussing the characters in Harper Lee's brilliant novel, class discussion will also call students' attention to other works we have read this year, including A Separate Peace and Lord of the Flies; we will then read an excerpt from the Bible about the original loss of innocence: eating from the tree of knowledge.
What I love most about literature is that although it is fiction, it is real. Archetypes don't magically appear in literature from all cultures and time periods; they reflect the same basic experiences most humans encounter during their lives. One of the things I love most about To Kill a Mockingbird is the narrative: it is so easy for students (and me) to relate to Scout as a narrator. Class discussion often diverts from the literary analysis to personal connections and experiences—everyone knows of a "creepy" house in their neighborhood; everyone has a love-hate relationship with a sibling or cousin; everyone has experienced discrimination. This is what makes Mockingbird such a timeless novel: forty-eight years after its publication, it still tells the tale of childhood and the loss of innocence.
Independent of To Kill a Mockingbird, I relate to many of my students' experiences through my own memories of high school and college. My young age—I'm twenty-five, a scant eight years older than my seniors—can be an advantage when I'm trying to relate to America's youth. Yesterday one of my senior boys (men!) was telling me that now that he is eighteen, he finds himself fighting with his father less often. Acting as a sage, I told him it is common for teenage boys to enter an (almost-Oedipal) power struggle with their fathers that eventually fizzles once the adolescents approach their twenties. As I said it, I recalled my husband's account of conflict with his father (with whom he now has an excellent relationship) and how my twenty-one year old brother is now on much more amicable terms with our father. This is not an amazing coincidence; this is the normal course of a relationship with many teenage boys and their fathers.
The difficult part about teaching archetypes is that they exist in students' lives. (Indeed, I have only recently learned this myself.) Many teenagers believe their situations to be unique, which often leads to trite and clichéd poetry. But they are not unique at all: we have heard it all before. The beauty of it, however, is finding a new way to tell a tale that touches readers with its timelessness.
I can't wait to teach archetypes tomorrow.
Piqued by a momentary curiosity to read about Celtic Mythology, I stumbled upon information about the Morrígan, a Celtic battle goddess who was believed to be comprised of three parts, Nemhain, Macha, and Badb. Instantly a number of triads came to mind: besides the Holy Trinity, there are the brothers Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades who rule the earth, sea, and underworld in Greek Mythology; in terms of psychology, there are groups of threes including Freud's tripartite psyche; the Greeks proclaimed that ethos, pathos, and logos are the three rhetorical appeals that work together to make a sound argument. Jeez, archetypes are everywhere.
Silly me, I should have seen this sooner. Tomorrow I will teach one of my favorite lessons: my GT English 9 students will read the remaining chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird for tomorrow, and we will discuss the archetype of loss of innocence. In addition to discussing the characters in Harper Lee's brilliant novel, class discussion will also call students' attention to other works we have read this year, including A Separate Peace and Lord of the Flies; we will then read an excerpt from the Bible about the original loss of innocence: eating from the tree of knowledge.
What I love most about literature is that although it is fiction, it is real. Archetypes don't magically appear in literature from all cultures and time periods; they reflect the same basic experiences most humans encounter during their lives. One of the things I love most about To Kill a Mockingbird is the narrative: it is so easy for students (and me) to relate to Scout as a narrator. Class discussion often diverts from the literary analysis to personal connections and experiences—everyone knows of a "creepy" house in their neighborhood; everyone has a love-hate relationship with a sibling or cousin; everyone has experienced discrimination. This is what makes Mockingbird such a timeless novel: forty-eight years after its publication, it still tells the tale of childhood and the loss of innocence.
Independent of To Kill a Mockingbird, I relate to many of my students' experiences through my own memories of high school and college. My young age—I'm twenty-five, a scant eight years older than my seniors—can be an advantage when I'm trying to relate to America's youth. Yesterday one of my senior boys (men!) was telling me that now that he is eighteen, he finds himself fighting with his father less often. Acting as a sage, I told him it is common for teenage boys to enter an (almost-Oedipal) power struggle with their fathers that eventually fizzles once the adolescents approach their twenties. As I said it, I recalled my husband's account of conflict with his father (with whom he now has an excellent relationship) and how my twenty-one year old brother is now on much more amicable terms with our father. This is not an amazing coincidence; this is the normal course of a relationship with many teenage boys and their fathers.
The difficult part about teaching archetypes is that they exist in students' lives. (Indeed, I have only recently learned this myself.) Many teenagers believe their situations to be unique, which often leads to trite and clichéd poetry. But they are not unique at all: we have heard it all before. The beauty of it, however, is finding a new way to tell a tale that touches readers with its timelessness.
I can't wait to teach archetypes tomorrow.
5.16.2008
Disillusionment
"Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy."
-William Golding, Lord of the Flies
I'm something of a cynic. I know, it may be hard to believe, but it's true. Just when I believe that I can become no more cynical than I was the day before, I become continually disillusioned by the world in which I live—and the district in which I teach.
Let's recall Kyle, the walking nightmare who essentially plagiarized an essay and needed to pass his final exam to graduate. (See Playing the Percentages.) Just as he sort of plagiarized his essay, he sort of cheated on his exam; that is, he copied off of a neighbor, but changed a few answers. I am unsure why I am incredulous that he would pull this again (after cheating on the midterm and his Macbeth unit exam), but I am still appalled.
But more than being incredulous and appalled, I was filled with a sense of dread. I realize the implications of accusing Kyle of cheating: 1) Kyle not graduating, 2) my being called a liar because I do not have 100% proof, and 3) parents raising hell with the administration and superintendents' offices. I took a deep breath and sought out the assistant principal.
Sam, our AP, doesn't like this kid any more than I do, nor does he believe in passing kids along if they don't deserve it; however, he told me point blank that I was "fighting a losing battle." He cited incidents in the recent past when the area superintendent caved on another issue with this very student. He insisted I would not win; I should ignore this incidence of academic dishonesty.
Until I inconveniently noticed Kyle had cheated, I was feeling pretty good about my job: I seem to have gotten through to Neal on some level, and I had just shamelessly proclaimed my awesomeness on this blog by posting parents' and students' comments to me. Knowing that I would not have the support of my superiors was a hollow feeling: I too would have to fold in the interest of self-preservation. I felt sick.
As I drove home that afternoon, I realized that I was disgusted not by the events that transpired, but at my own naïveté—I was a fool to believe that earning a high school diploma is about education and not about politics.
-William Golding, Lord of the Flies
I'm something of a cynic. I know, it may be hard to believe, but it's true. Just when I believe that I can become no more cynical than I was the day before, I become continually disillusioned by the world in which I live—and the district in which I teach.
Let's recall Kyle, the walking nightmare who essentially plagiarized an essay and needed to pass his final exam to graduate. (See Playing the Percentages.) Just as he sort of plagiarized his essay, he sort of cheated on his exam; that is, he copied off of a neighbor, but changed a few answers. I am unsure why I am incredulous that he would pull this again (after cheating on the midterm and his Macbeth unit exam), but I am still appalled.
But more than being incredulous and appalled, I was filled with a sense of dread. I realize the implications of accusing Kyle of cheating: 1) Kyle not graduating, 2) my being called a liar because I do not have 100% proof, and 3) parents raising hell with the administration and superintendents' offices. I took a deep breath and sought out the assistant principal.
Sam, our AP, doesn't like this kid any more than I do, nor does he believe in passing kids along if they don't deserve it; however, he told me point blank that I was "fighting a losing battle." He cited incidents in the recent past when the area superintendent caved on another issue with this very student. He insisted I would not win; I should ignore this incidence of academic dishonesty.
Until I inconveniently noticed Kyle had cheated, I was feeling pretty good about my job: I seem to have gotten through to Neal on some level, and I had just shamelessly proclaimed my awesomeness on this blog by posting parents' and students' comments to me. Knowing that I would not have the support of my superiors was a hollow feeling: I too would have to fold in the interest of self-preservation. I felt sick.
As I drove home that afternoon, I realized that I was disgusted not by the events that transpired, but at my own naïveté—I was a fool to believe that earning a high school diploma is about education and not about politics.
Celebrating Mediocrity
Remember Neal? (See Playing the Percentages.) Because Neal cheated on his Lord of the Flies essay—twice—he only managed to scrape by fourth quarter with a low D. The only way he could pass the course and graduate is if he somehow were the recipient of another miracle that would also allow him to pass the final exam.
Before we proceed, let's have some more background on Neal. He is at the close of his fifth year of high school; he lost a year somewhere in the earlier grades and is taking English 12 for original credit. Neal has a legitimate learning disability and has had an IEP since early Elementary school. Unfortunately, he is one of many who have used an IEP as a crutch, and thus his writing and reading comprehension skills are profoundly limited. What's more, Neal has a debilitating fear of failure: he has developed a defense mechanism that reassures himself that if he doesn't really try, then he doesn't really fail.
Neal has somehow managed to float through twelve—er, thirteen—years of school before he actually needed to work toward anything. For one reason or another, teachers have passed him along, possibly in fear of having to reteach this truly annoying human being for another year.
Then he got to English 12.
As I have discussed in an earlier post, Neal did little but serve as a distraction in my class for two quarters. He snapped out of this funk sometime during third quarter and put forth enough effort to barely pass. (That is, if you call 60% passing, which our district does.) I must say that he has put forth a sincere effort since he resolved himself to graduate...until, of course, he decided to plagiarize a major fourth quarter assignment.
So it's all come down to Neal's final exam. He is a notoriously bad test taker; he hasn't come close to passing an English exam all year. I expected the "Old Neal" to show up the day of the exam: enter the room with a defeatist attitude, whimsically bubble answers, and write a few barely-coherent sentences for an essay.
But the Old Neal didn't show up that day. He went to the library for small group testing; he receives extended time on assessments when necessary. The Special Ed department chair later told me that Neal spent a period and a half—about two hours—taking the multiple choice section of his exam. When I got to his essay in the stack, it was a page and a half long—considerably more lengthy than anything else he has written for me all year. Once the exam was graded, I calculated the score: with the County's curve, Neal earned a D.
This may seem anticlimactic; is a D (curved!) really a great achievement? To Neal, however, this is more than he had hoped to achieve: he tried his best, and he did not fail.
Although I stand by my credo that every student needs to have a knowledge of great works of literature, this is really my secondary purpose. Neal may not be able to have more than a literal comprehension of a text, but he successfully completed a character-building exercise. I hope in the future he remembers that cheating will get him nowhere, second chances should not to be taken for granted, and honest effort will yield positive results. I celebrate Neal's achievement with him; he didn't fail as my student, and I like to believe that I didn't fail as his teacher.
Before we proceed, let's have some more background on Neal. He is at the close of his fifth year of high school; he lost a year somewhere in the earlier grades and is taking English 12 for original credit. Neal has a legitimate learning disability and has had an IEP since early Elementary school. Unfortunately, he is one of many who have used an IEP as a crutch, and thus his writing and reading comprehension skills are profoundly limited. What's more, Neal has a debilitating fear of failure: he has developed a defense mechanism that reassures himself that if he doesn't really try, then he doesn't really fail.
Neal has somehow managed to float through twelve—er, thirteen—years of school before he actually needed to work toward anything. For one reason or another, teachers have passed him along, possibly in fear of having to reteach this truly annoying human being for another year.
Then he got to English 12.
As I have discussed in an earlier post, Neal did little but serve as a distraction in my class for two quarters. He snapped out of this funk sometime during third quarter and put forth enough effort to barely pass. (That is, if you call 60% passing, which our district does.) I must say that he has put forth a sincere effort since he resolved himself to graduate...until, of course, he decided to plagiarize a major fourth quarter assignment.
So it's all come down to Neal's final exam. He is a notoriously bad test taker; he hasn't come close to passing an English exam all year. I expected the "Old Neal" to show up the day of the exam: enter the room with a defeatist attitude, whimsically bubble answers, and write a few barely-coherent sentences for an essay.
But the Old Neal didn't show up that day. He went to the library for small group testing; he receives extended time on assessments when necessary. The Special Ed department chair later told me that Neal spent a period and a half—about two hours—taking the multiple choice section of his exam. When I got to his essay in the stack, it was a page and a half long—considerably more lengthy than anything else he has written for me all year. Once the exam was graded, I calculated the score: with the County's curve, Neal earned a D.
This may seem anticlimactic; is a D (curved!) really a great achievement? To Neal, however, this is more than he had hoped to achieve: he tried his best, and he did not fail.
Although I stand by my credo that every student needs to have a knowledge of great works of literature, this is really my secondary purpose. Neal may not be able to have more than a literal comprehension of a text, but he successfully completed a character-building exercise. I hope in the future he remembers that cheating will get him nowhere, second chances should not to be taken for granted, and honest effort will yield positive results. I celebrate Neal's achievement with him; he didn't fail as my student, and I like to believe that I didn't fail as his teacher.
5.14.2008
Oh, Baby
Sometimes when I am upset with the behavior or performance of my students, I refer to them as my "little bastards." This may seem cold-hearted and insensitive, but I have come to find out that it's actually true.
One day in my Gifted and Talented English 9 class, somehow the term bastard came up. One student proclaimed, "I'm a bastard." There was a brief pause—do I acknowledge such a thing? The pause was only momentary because a number of them announced that they were born before their parents' marriage (if they were married at all); one girl even proudly stated that she was a flower girl in her parents' wedding. It was difficult for me to hide my incredulity when one asked me, "Mrs. Casey, you were born before your parents were married, right?"
Not only are these students bastards, but many of them choose to perpetuate the cycle. I teach 80 seniors, 30 of whom are female. Right now four of them are pregnant. This also does not count the other students who had children before they reached their senior year of high school. (I am also unaware of any abortions that may have occurred.) So to my knowledge over 13% of my female seniors are pregnant.
Clearly, merely teaching abstinence or contraceptive methods is not effective in this population. Because many of them probably do not use any kind of protection, it is our duty as a society to provide contraception for them. Just as students who do not have access to municipal water sources are given fluoride supplements in school, we should provide Depo Provera shots for all female students thirteen years or older. Many taxpayers may balk at the cost, but it will be well worth the investment. Preventing teenage pregnancy will not only reduce the number of tax dollars needed in programs like WIC, but it will also greatly benefit society as a whole: this can help eliminate the generations of birth out of wedlock that so often leads to generational poverty.
It is important we end the cycle of teenage pregnancies. Education is no match for human instinct; therefore, we must temporarily sterilize mother nature in order to help so many teenagers with the difficulty of preventing unwanted pregnancies.
One day in my Gifted and Talented English 9 class, somehow the term bastard came up. One student proclaimed, "I'm a bastard." There was a brief pause—do I acknowledge such a thing? The pause was only momentary because a number of them announced that they were born before their parents' marriage (if they were married at all); one girl even proudly stated that she was a flower girl in her parents' wedding. It was difficult for me to hide my incredulity when one asked me, "Mrs. Casey, you were born before your parents were married, right?"
Not only are these students bastards, but many of them choose to perpetuate the cycle. I teach 80 seniors, 30 of whom are female. Right now four of them are pregnant. This also does not count the other students who had children before they reached their senior year of high school. (I am also unaware of any abortions that may have occurred.) So to my knowledge over 13% of my female seniors are pregnant.
Clearly, merely teaching abstinence or contraceptive methods is not effective in this population. Because many of them probably do not use any kind of protection, it is our duty as a society to provide contraception for them. Just as students who do not have access to municipal water sources are given fluoride supplements in school, we should provide Depo Provera shots for all female students thirteen years or older. Many taxpayers may balk at the cost, but it will be well worth the investment. Preventing teenage pregnancy will not only reduce the number of tax dollars needed in programs like WIC, but it will also greatly benefit society as a whole: this can help eliminate the generations of birth out of wedlock that so often leads to generational poverty.
It is important we end the cycle of teenage pregnancies. Education is no match for human instinct; therefore, we must temporarily sterilize mother nature in order to help so many teenagers with the difficulty of preventing unwanted pregnancies.
When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won
The following is to remind myself why I get out of bed in the morning.
Excerpted from emails from parents:
You really have nothing to thank me for, both me and Chris need to be thankful. You are going above and beyond what can be expected. I know Chris is not your only student in your class, I just hope he is aware of this. THANKS.
From the parent of a particularly vehement student: I wanted to let you know that while I was helping Justin clean his room this weekend, I came across a drawer full of his English assignments with your comments. I questioned Justin on why he was keeping them and his response amazed me. Apparently, he values your opinion on his writing.
Excerpted from the journal entries of graduating seniors:
I'm thankful for you taking the time to put up with our class. I know it was tough but you did it and you have my respect and admiration. You did a very nice job teaching us and your style of teaching really helped the information sink in and it kind of enthused us to do our work. Thank you for being the best English teacher I have had. I'm only speaking the truth (not trying to suck up). -Mike
You've been a really good teacher this year. It's been fun to be in your class. I've learned a lot about vocabulary especially from the drills everyday. They're a pain but they help. You shouldn't change anything when teaching your students next year. I thought you did everything really good and were really helpful. -James
I learned the most throughout high school in this English class and you are the one teacher I feel has pushed me to work hard. And I love that you never let the pressure off and now I know I can work under that pressure. Thank you. -Kara
Another memorable moment of mine would be meeting Mrs. Casey. She is the best English teacher ever. I wish I could have had her all 4 years. -EJ
Thank you for all your time and effort this year. I don't think I could do this without you. I now see I might graduate because you always turned me into the office when I copped class so I could come the next time. Thank you for e-mailing my parents and telling them I was failing so I could keep the pressure on and get that D and then the C. Your class was a blast. I love being so outspoken in there. Sorry If I bugged you at some time. -Paul
Excerpted from emails from parents:
You really have nothing to thank me for, both me and Chris need to be thankful. You are going above and beyond what can be expected. I know Chris is not your only student in your class, I just hope he is aware of this. THANKS.
From the parent of a particularly vehement student: I wanted to let you know that while I was helping Justin clean his room this weekend, I came across a drawer full of his English assignments with your comments. I questioned Justin on why he was keeping them and his response amazed me. Apparently, he values your opinion on his writing.
Excerpted from the journal entries of graduating seniors:
I'm thankful for you taking the time to put up with our class. I know it was tough but you did it and you have my respect and admiration. You did a very nice job teaching us and your style of teaching really helped the information sink in and it kind of enthused us to do our work. Thank you for being the best English teacher I have had. I'm only speaking the truth (not trying to suck up). -Mike
You've been a really good teacher this year. It's been fun to be in your class. I've learned a lot about vocabulary especially from the drills everyday. They're a pain but they help. You shouldn't change anything when teaching your students next year. I thought you did everything really good and were really helpful. -James
I learned the most throughout high school in this English class and you are the one teacher I feel has pushed me to work hard. And I love that you never let the pressure off and now I know I can work under that pressure. Thank you. -Kara
Another memorable moment of mine would be meeting Mrs. Casey. She is the best English teacher ever. I wish I could have had her all 4 years. -EJ
Thank you for all your time and effort this year. I don't think I could do this without you. I now see I might graduate because you always turned me into the office when I copped class so I could come the next time. Thank you for e-mailing my parents and telling them I was failing so I could keep the pressure on and get that D and then the C. Your class was a blast. I love being so outspoken in there. Sorry If I bugged you at some time. -Paul
5.12.2008
Know Thyself
The following is from a senior's journal response to a prompt asking him to assess his strengths and weaknesses in the course.
looking back from english class this year I would have to say that some of my strength and weakness would have to be that I goten a lot betting in writting pappers like the paper that we just did with lord of the flies also I would have to say I gotton a lot betting in comerhension.
looking back from english class this year I would have to say that some of my strength and weakness would have to be that I goten a lot betting in writting pappers like the paper that we just did with lord of the flies also I would have to say I gotton a lot betting in comerhension.
5.06.2008
Playing the Percentages
In the community where I teach, walking the stage at graduation is one of the proudest moments in a student's life. Not only is it important for the student, but the family celebrates this simple act. There is a strange dichotomy in the community: possessing the high school diploma has a high value, yet students and parents do not necessarily believe that it is important for the recipient to earn it.
Seniors have only six school days left, and I am kept busy with scoring the last few assignments before grades close. Recently I have been confronted with two dilemmas involving seniors and graduation.
Neal is a 19 year old IEP student who did almost nothing in my class for two quarters. Third quarter he somehow pulled a D; he needs a C fourth quarter to be eligible for graduation. He had that C until he submitted his Lord of the Flies paper: a student who can barely write a coherent sentence suddenly had the ability to craft sentences using words outside of his vocabulary. Within moments I found these same sentences on Spark Notes. Standard policy: zero on paper, notify parents. Done and done.
The next day I received a passive-aggressive email from Neal's mom that basically asked for a handout. After consulting with administration, my department chair, and the special ed department, I decided (against my better judgment) to allow Neal to resubmit the paper with late penalty.
When I sat down to score Neal's second essay, I could not believe what I read: Neal plagiarized this paper from another section of the Spark Notes website. I sent a short, blunt email to both of his parents stating this and that the zero will stand. My husband asserts that there is no way that the parents can argue, but I'm not so sure. Any logical person will conclude that if Neal fails English for fourth quarter, it is really his own doing. A parent fixated on her son graduating, however, may not think so clearly.
Next there is Kyle. Kyle is reasonably intelligent but lazy. He also needs to pass fourth quarter with a C to not have to pass the final exam. Immediately after reading (and responding to) Neal's plagiarized essay, I read Kyle's, which was strikingly similar. Kyle, however, was smart enough to cheat "better": he consulted Spark Notes, but paraphrased the ideas so that they sounded like they were written by a high school senior. This is still clearly cheating: the ideas weren't Kyle's, he did not attribute them to another source, and the assignment was a garbled, unfocused piece of trash.
Before I circled a big fat zero at the bottom of his page, I needed to carefully consider the ramifications of my actions. If Kyle's essay is a zero, then he fails fourth quarter and automatically fails for the year. This means he doesn't walk across the stage. This means that his parents, who have been labeled as Walking Nightmares by administration and teachers alike, will wage war against me.
My knee-jerk reaction for cheating—always—is an automatic zero. It's clearly unacceptable. However, Kyle's eligibility for graduation literally hinges on this one essay. Objectively, I think the motherf*cker doesn't deserve to graduate if he is stupid enough to pull such a stunt the week before his final exam. In this community, however, the teacher is often held more accountable than the student in these cases.
To get some moral grounding, I called my colleague/mentor/friend who has also taught this student and is familiar with his family situation. Together we figured out that if Kyle's essay grade is 38%, he will have a 60% for the quarter, and his graduation will come down to his ability to pass the final exam. On his rubric I made a note stating that it is clear that the ideas are not his own and that those 38 points are a gift; I also wrote that it is his responsibility to be sure he passes English so I could see him graduate in June. Smiley super perky teacher note! :)
As I recount the events of this evening, I am sickened with my own "best judgment" to compromise my moral values and award Kyle those scant 38 points when clearly he has earned none. My manipulation of points and a rubric (that is supposed to be objective) is despicable, and this represents everything that I loathe in my profession. Yet I have succumbed to it anyway. Although I still have many ideals about teaching and education, I realize now that even the best of us fall short of these on a regular basis.
It is more than likely that I will watch Neal and Kyle walk across the stage on graduation night and reach for their diplomas; their parents will beam with pride, and I will smile and clap for these students as though they had accomplished it themselves.
Follow-up Blog on Neal: Celebrating Mediocrity
Seniors have only six school days left, and I am kept busy with scoring the last few assignments before grades close. Recently I have been confronted with two dilemmas involving seniors and graduation.
Neal is a 19 year old IEP student who did almost nothing in my class for two quarters. Third quarter he somehow pulled a D; he needs a C fourth quarter to be eligible for graduation. He had that C until he submitted his Lord of the Flies paper: a student who can barely write a coherent sentence suddenly had the ability to craft sentences using words outside of his vocabulary. Within moments I found these same sentences on Spark Notes. Standard policy: zero on paper, notify parents. Done and done.
The next day I received a passive-aggressive email from Neal's mom that basically asked for a handout. After consulting with administration, my department chair, and the special ed department, I decided (against my better judgment) to allow Neal to resubmit the paper with late penalty.
When I sat down to score Neal's second essay, I could not believe what I read: Neal plagiarized this paper from another section of the Spark Notes website. I sent a short, blunt email to both of his parents stating this and that the zero will stand. My husband asserts that there is no way that the parents can argue, but I'm not so sure. Any logical person will conclude that if Neal fails English for fourth quarter, it is really his own doing. A parent fixated on her son graduating, however, may not think so clearly.
Next there is Kyle. Kyle is reasonably intelligent but lazy. He also needs to pass fourth quarter with a C to not have to pass the final exam. Immediately after reading (and responding to) Neal's plagiarized essay, I read Kyle's, which was strikingly similar. Kyle, however, was smart enough to cheat "better": he consulted Spark Notes, but paraphrased the ideas so that they sounded like they were written by a high school senior. This is still clearly cheating: the ideas weren't Kyle's, he did not attribute them to another source, and the assignment was a garbled, unfocused piece of trash.
Before I circled a big fat zero at the bottom of his page, I needed to carefully consider the ramifications of my actions. If Kyle's essay is a zero, then he fails fourth quarter and automatically fails for the year. This means he doesn't walk across the stage. This means that his parents, who have been labeled as Walking Nightmares by administration and teachers alike, will wage war against me.
My knee-jerk reaction for cheating—always—is an automatic zero. It's clearly unacceptable. However, Kyle's eligibility for graduation literally hinges on this one essay. Objectively, I think the motherf*cker doesn't deserve to graduate if he is stupid enough to pull such a stunt the week before his final exam. In this community, however, the teacher is often held more accountable than the student in these cases.
To get some moral grounding, I called my colleague/mentor/friend who has also taught this student and is familiar with his family situation. Together we figured out that if Kyle's essay grade is 38%, he will have a 60% for the quarter, and his graduation will come down to his ability to pass the final exam. On his rubric I made a note stating that it is clear that the ideas are not his own and that those 38 points are a gift; I also wrote that it is his responsibility to be sure he passes English so I could see him graduate in June. Smiley super perky teacher note! :)
As I recount the events of this evening, I am sickened with my own "best judgment" to compromise my moral values and award Kyle those scant 38 points when clearly he has earned none. My manipulation of points and a rubric (that is supposed to be objective) is despicable, and this represents everything that I loathe in my profession. Yet I have succumbed to it anyway. Although I still have many ideals about teaching and education, I realize now that even the best of us fall short of these on a regular basis.
It is more than likely that I will watch Neal and Kyle walk across the stage on graduation night and reach for their diplomas; their parents will beam with pride, and I will smile and clap for these students as though they had accomplished it themselves.
Follow-up Blog on Neal: Celebrating Mediocrity
Hard Timed Writing
I recently gave my English 12 students a timed writing asking them to explain Dickens' purpose for writing Hard Times and judge how well it fulfills his purpose. I really shouldn't be surprised at how often I have read this response:
Dickens wrote Hard Times to show what a hard time it was.
Dickens wrote Hard Times to show what a hard time it was.
5.05.2008
Small Victory No. 3
Excerpted from a Gifted and Talented English 9 research paper discussing the dispute surrounding Huck Finn and arguing why the novel should be taught in schools:
The NAACP believes that the exposure to the word nigger will damage black children's self-esteem. Although, song lyrics of many popular songs contain the same word; parents and the NAACP do not challenge them. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn only uses the word because it was a part of history and was the common dialect of the South during the time period in which the novel was written and takes place. If anything the exposure to the word should help students have an idea of American history.
The NAACP believes that the exposure to the word nigger will damage black children's self-esteem. Although, song lyrics of many popular songs contain the same word; parents and the NAACP do not challenge them. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn only uses the word because it was a part of history and was the common dialect of the South during the time period in which the novel was written and takes place. If anything the exposure to the word should help students have an idea of American history.
5.04.2008
Small Victory No. 2
The following is an excerpt from a standard 9 free response journal. The author, DJ, is one of the kids that comes from the outskirts of our school zone; in fact, if he lived a block over, he would probably attend the neighboring (rougher) high school.
There are two teachers that have my respect. You (Mrs. Casey) and Mr. K. And the respect I give these teachers I receive back. These teachers are always true to their self and never try to be someone else around certain students or teachers.
There are two teachers that have my respect. You (Mrs. Casey) and Mr. K. And the respect I give these teachers I receive back. These teachers are always true to their self and never try to be someone else around certain students or teachers.
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