Grades

            It’s important to me that I help kids understand where their grades come from.  I have access to the teachers’ grade book for each of my students, so I can review every assignment and grade with them.  Many students at 6^th grade still think that a teacher gives a letter grade based on how much they like the student.  I’ve always thought showing them the points and percentages is a valuable lesson that can help them begin to understand how much power they actually have in determining their grades.  I think Naomi still thinks grades randomly fall out of the sky into a teacher’s grade book. 

            Before mid-9 week progress reports came out I had each student stand by me at my computer and go over all their grades.  Naomi loved this time.  I think she felt very powerful getting to look at the teacher’s computer.   When she came to class the day before progress reports came out, I announced we would be looking over everyone’s grades that day.  I gave the kids a math puzzle to be working on as I called each student up individually.  When Naomi’s turn came, she announced that she had been really busy after school and didn’t have a lot of time to do homework.  I knew her family was trying to prepare for a Bat Mizvah for Naomi, so I said, “I know you’re busy.  You go to Hebrew school don’t you?”

 

Her eyes widened.  “How did you know that?” 

            “Well, your dad told me you were going to Hebrew school,” I told her.

            “I can write my name in Hebrew,” she said.  I thought of all the things she was having trouble completing at school.  I remembered my husband agonizing through two years of Hebrew in seminary and marveled that Naomi was learning Hebrew. 

            “OK, Naomi,” I said, “Show me your name in Hebrew.”

            By this time everyone had stopped working and was watching Naomi.  She had a huge grin on her face as she walked up to the whiteboard, chose a royal blue marker, and wrote her name in Hebrew, right to left.  I had forgotten that Hebrew is written right to left.  Sometimes Naomi takes my breath away.  She began giggling as she turned and proudly pointed to her name.  “That says Naomi,” she announced.

            “That’s really cool,” I said.  “Now come on over here so we can go over your grades.”  I knew some really low grades would come up on the screen, but I was in a knot about what to do about them.  Naomi very ceremoniously picked up a chair, set it down next to mine in front of the computer, and sat down.  This was serious business for her.   

            Before we started, she turned to me, smiled, and said “Shalom.” 

            Shalom.  That’s a pretty good way to start any hard discussion.

The Gift of Work

John 3:27 – A man can receive nothing, unless it has been given him from Heaven.

            I’m in the full swing of the school year now.  One way I know things are chugging along is that the first mid-9 weeks progress reports were due last week already.  One-eighth of the school year is over!  Another way I know things are moving along is that I can already clearly see the challenges that are in front of me for the year.

            If I’m tired or taking the “glass half empty” approach, I begin to think about Clarice who has done no homework and has already been absent four days.  Or I’m wondering about Roberto and how he’s lying to his parents about his work, and will only look back at you with a dark, glum smolder if you try to talk to him about it.  Naomi failed her first test even though it was modified and she was given a study guide for it that had every single item on it.  These are not new or unique problems.  They’re the typical challenges I face every year.  Every. Single. Year.  And sometimes around this time I’ll have a day when it all seems so wearisome.  Nothing new.  Just the same challenges again and again.

            Why can’t I have a year with some miracles?  On TV and in the movies, there is always a dramatic turnaround.  The teacher gets through to the student.  They see the light.  Two years later they are taking AP classes and the teacher is writing a book or teaching seminars on how it’s done.  But it doesn’t happen that way for most teachers.  It’s a day to day working of what they know is right.  Coaxing, cajoling, encouraging, scolding, praising, and reminding.  Sure five years later you see a difference.  But day to day it sometimes feel like laying the same rails and driving the same spikes over and over again.

            But I was reminded in church today that whatever we have is a gift from God.  My family, my job, my home, my health, my ability to quickly notice problems, that (pesky) ability to project many possible consequences, my experience to know which solutions will probably work best – these are all gifts from God.  Even the way my mind works – gift from God.  Work, and the weariness that it sometimes brings is a gift from God.  It gives me an opportunity to see God’s lovingkindness in the morning when I know He’ll be with me going into the day.  It’s a gift because it helps me see His faithfulness when I lay my head down at night after a long day.

            Maybe it was after a long week of work the psalmist wrote:

            It is good to give thanks to the Lord, and to sing praises to Thy name, O Most High; to declare Thy lovingkindness in the morning, and Thy faithfulness by night – Psalm 92:1-2

            So this coming week, my thanks go to Annie Johnson Flint for reminding me that when it comes to God’s grace,

                        He giveth,

                                                And giveth,

                                                                        And giveth again.

           

Teacher Evaluation

            I get evaluated this year.  Yay! (Why isn’t there an icon for sarcasm?)

            I really don’t mind.  Evaluations fall into one of two categories depending on the contract you’re working under.  The evaluation is either planned-formal or surprise.  The planned-formal requires the administrator to meet with you beforehand and you both set a date for the evaluation.  You tell the administrator what you’re objective is and what he/she should be looking for.  It’s basically a dog and pony show. 

            In contrast, the surprise evaluations are like answering the door on a Saturday you decided to sleep in and wear jammies until noon – except when you answer the door you have unexpected visitors – Surprise!  One day you’re teaching and all of a sudden the principal walks in with a clipboard.  Of course, being the wonderful teacher that I am, I’m always in the middle of a fantastic lesson.  (Where is that sarcasm icon?) 

            Under my current contract I will be putting on the dog and pony show, so no big deal.  No evaluation now or ever in my future will top the first evaluation I ever had.  It still makes me laugh.  I wrote it down in detail after it happened, and present it now for your amusement.

            My evaluation was scheduled for a class period when I was working with two fourth grade students in the Resource Room.

            Mr. Squirmy our principal (yes, of course I changed his name, but his real name was just as goofy sounding) arrived before the students and sat at the back of my room.  He was in his early 60’s, had white hair and a white mustache, was of medium height, and carried about 100 extra pounds.  When Paul and Sarah walked in, they immediately noticed the visitor.  Paul more than noticed.  When he saw the principal, his eyes widened and he gasped.  Paul’s gasp came out like a long last draw of air from a dying man!  He froze in the doorway, and I could see he was desperately searching his memory for what he had done to incur a visit from the principal. 

            “Come on in guys,” I said.  “Mr. Squirmy is just going to watch class today.”  Paul remained planted at the door, eyes wide, mouth open.  “It’s OK guys,” I reassured them, “Just come sit down.”  Sarah took Paul’s hand and pulled him over to the two desks in front.  Even though Paul was walking to the desk, he never took his eyes off the principal.

 

            We began every math class by running through a routine involving calendar, temperature, money, and skip counting.  The kids knew the drill well, and I quickly led them through the review.  Paul had a hard time staying focused, though.  He kept turning and looking back at the principal.  It didn’t help that the principal began writing things down.  It suddenly occurred to me that Paul thought the principal was assessing him. 

            “Paul,” I explained, “Mr. Squirmy is here to watch me teach you.  He’s not writing down things about you.  He’s checking to see if I’m teaching you guys the right way.  He’s writing down things I do to make sure I’m being a good teacher.”  This took a minute to sink in to Paul’s brain.  It had never occurred to him that teachers get graded too.  We continued our review, but I could tell that Paul was still trying to process the idea that the principal was watching me and not him.

            Paul eventually stopped turning around and settled into the review.  We all forgot about the elephant in the room and concentrated on skip counting until we heard a strange sound.  Watching someone working with just two students can apparently get pretty boring.  We had just begun skip counting by sevens when we heard the low rumble of someone snoring.  I looked to the back of the room and noticed Mr. Squirmy’s head was slumped down on his chest.  With each intake of air, his head and shoulders would rise, and we heard a low motor sound from the back of his throat.  As he exhaled, the sound changed to a higher whizzing from the front of his nose.  They didn’t teach us about this in teacher’s college, I thought.

 

            Both Paul and Sarah were awestruck by the idea of the principal sleeping at the back of the room during their math class.  They kept turning around as they counted, looking at the sleeping walrus, and then pivoting back to me, searching for the correct response to it all. 

“Seven, fourteen,” they chanted looking back, “twenty-one, twenty-eight” looking at me,  “Thirty-five, forty-two,” looking back, “Forty-nine, fifty-six,” looking at me. 

I slowly put my finger up to my lips and signaled, “Shhhhh.”  They understood shushing and being quiet.  They immediately switched to a whisper.

“Sixty-three, seventy,” they hissed.  We continued skip counting eights and nines in whispers.  The kids were eventually assured that their softer voices would not wake the giant, and they stopped looking back every second or third count.  We worked the entire math lesson in whispers.  It was odd how the whispering kept them both more focused than usual. 

            About thirty minutes into the class the rhythmic buzzing from the back abruptly changed to several small snorts.    I glanced back and noticed the principal suddenly sitting up, searching around, and eventually looking at me.   I discretely ignored him and continued working with the kids, but changed my whispering to a normal voice.  Without even acknowledging the change, both Paul and Sarah began speaking in normal tones. 

            I finished the math lesson and gave both kids the problems they were to take home to work on their own.  Paul was particularly pleased that no trouble or scolding had come his way.  “See you tomorrow,” I called as they walked to the door.  Paul, however, paused.  He had important business to handle first. He turned, bravely walked to the back of the room, and stood stiffly in front of the principal.

            “I think Mrs. Jones is a good teacher, and you should give her at least a B,” he fearlessly declared.  The principal looked at me.  I tilted my head and smiled smugly back at him.  Paul, having done his duty, turned and strode out of the room.

            No other words were exchanged between the principal and me.  He gathered his papers, mumbled something about having a lot of other evaluations to get to, and left the room. 

A week later I received my written appraisal.  Paul wanted to know what grade I got, and I was happy to tell him I got an A.

9/11

            For several years after September 11, I would have my students write out what they remember about that day.  I explained to them that someday their children and grandchildren would want to know about it, and it was important that they write down every little thing they remember about that day.  I stopped doing that assignment in 2007 when I realized all I was getting back from the kids was what they saw on TV specials about 9/11.  Their accounts did not contain any personal tidbits of what teachers said, or how their parents reacted.  The fact was – the kids were too young when it happened to remember anything about that day. 

            As I have been watching the specials on TV today, it occurred to me that I have never written down what I remember about 9/11.  I remember like it happened yesterday, but until now, I’ve never written it down.

            I was teaching 7^th and 8^th Communications Arts, Science, and Math in a small, rural 1A school.  If it sounds odd that I taught so many different classes, you should know that teachers in 1A schools might have small classes, but they usually have 6 or 7 different preps.  Every hour I taught a different grade or different subject.

            I arrived at school early because it was the Tuesday morning after the monthly School Board meeting the night before.  We always had a brief faculty meeting in the library before school and the principal/superintendent would go over what happened in the Board meeting.  There were only about 20 teachers in the K-12 faculty and I noticed that two teachers, a husband and wife, were not at the meeting.  They had a large family to get ready for school and it was not unusual for them to arrive at the last minute, laughing about some last minute family disaster that happened as they were leaving.  The faculty meeting was over and we were getting up to go to our classes, when all of a sudden the late-teacher husband stuck his head in the door and exclaimed, “Aren’t you guys watching what is going on?  Turn on the TV.” 

            I was worried about 7^th graders walking into my empty room and getting into mischief so I continued heading to my class, but behind me I heard Dennis talking about a plane and a building.  The bell was ringing to start school and I did find kids milling around in my classroom.  They had band first period, so I scooted them out and began writing the assignments on the board.  About ten minutes later I walked back up to the library.  The TV was on and several teachers and high school students were watching. 

            I knew it was something big and my first reaction was that I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t going on.  By this time the second plane had hit.  All I could do was look at the buildings, knowing they were full of people, and wondering how many were dying.  We were thousands of miles from where it was happening, but I felt sick to my stomach.

            The bell for the second period rang and I knew kids would be filling my room quickly, so I went back down to my classroom.  I could tell that the kids knew nothing of what was going on.  It didn’t feel right for me to change their world.  I remember thinking that I would stretch their quiet, normal world 55 minutes longer.  What was going on outside would not make its way into my 7^th grade classroom.  We had class as usual, but I don’t remember what the lesson was about.

            When the 8^th graders came in the next period, again I could tell they knew nothing about the news, so I gave them 55 more minutes of a normal world.  I knew it would all change for them next period because they had a class in the library.  The TV had been on up there since the faculty meeting.

            I normally taught a small 9^th grade Applied Math class fourth period, but my students never came.  I walked down to the computer lab which had been their last class and found them glued to the TV.  As I walked in, the computer teacher turned around and said, “The buildings have just collapsed.  We just saw it all happen!”  Again, I had this terrible feeling of the world outside falling apart, and I didn’t want to see it happen.

            I walked up to the library to see what was happening with the 7^th and 8^th graders.  When I got up there, the TV was off, and they were all quietly working at tables.  I walked up to the teacher with a questioning look.  She whispered that the principal came in and turned the TV off before the kids got here.  I remember how all the kids in the room were watching me whispering with the teacher.  It didn’t register until later that the kids were picking up that something was very wrong, but no one was talking.

            I ate lunch in my room, but did go on the computer.  I started reading the news, but was finding it overwhelming.  I belonged to a teacher idea share group on yahoo covering middle school science, so I decided to go there.  The posts were about teaching metric conversion.  When I checked the posts the next day, a teacher from New York had written that she couldn’t believe people were posting about lessons still.  She had watched the skyline change and knew that some of her students had lost a parent or a loved one in the towers.   I just checked the posts’ library as I’m writing this, and ten years later her post is still there – a little piece of history.

            When the kids came back after lunch they were different, quiet.  I started my lesson again but one of the boys raised his hand.

            “What’s happening, Mrs. Jones?  No one will tell us.”

            It was over. 

            I slowly told them what I knew.  Planes.  Buildings.  The Pentagon.  The plane in Pennsylvania.

            “How many people died?”

            “I don’t know.  A lot.”

            I told the kids this was an important day.  Things had changed.  I told them they were going to be all right.  They were safe.  No one was going to hurt them.  Our school, our town, our state was safe.  But things had changed and a lot of people had died.

            I don’t remember anything else at school after that.  I went home and sat in front of the TV watching until late in the evening.

            The next day the kids told me how their PE teacher 8^th period had taken them outside so they could see a perfectly blue sky with no airplane trails in it.  Our town was directly beneath a main east-west path for planes and at any time you could look up and see five or six white airplane trails in the sky.  But not on the afternoon of 9/11.

            I remember the assembly a week later when all the teachers sang “God Bless America” for the students.  I remember watching a teacher I didn’t like, tear up as she sang.    

            Looking back I think by not acknowledging what was going on that morning, I was trying to shield myself as well as the kids from what had happened.  Sometimes I wish I had grabbed a TV and sat and watched it along with the rest of the school.  You know - watched history happen.  I had no direction at all from the administration at the school of what to do that day, and nothing would have happened if I had suspended teaching and sat and watched TV with my students.  Maybe I should have. 

            But sometimes I like to think I gave my students three more hours than they would have had, of a world with no terrorists.  

Kaedra

The Communication Arts class is meeting in the library for the entire week learning to do research.  Today the librarian gave a presentation on The Great Wall of China.  To help the kids learn about different research sites, they were given a list of questions about China and three sites they were to go to, to find the answers.  This was going to be an impossible assignment for Kaedra.

            Kaedra struggles more than any other student I worked with.  She’s in all the sixth grade general education classes, but it seems like so much of the material is beyond what she can comprehension.  She has difficulty grasping anything that is not concrete.  Schoolwork to her is  continuously looking for the right sentence to copy from the book or board.  I know by ninth grade she might be in a completely separate program that focuses more on vocational skills, but that amount of pull-out program isn’t yet appropriate for Kaedra.  She continually surprises everyone around her by what she is learning.  Even though her standardized scores are very low, they are always higher than anyone expects.

Just as the kids started their research assignment today, Kaedra was called to go to speech therapy.  It’s always a juggling act figuring out how to schedule therapy times.  No matter when you schedule it, students miss things.  Part of my job is to minimize the disruption.  I knew it would take a full period for Kaedra to do even half of the questions, so after she left I just filled in the answers to most of them, but left one question open in each section.  That way she would get to use each of the three research sites.  There was just ten minutes of class left when Kaedra came back.  She had quietly slipped in and was standing next to me.

“What should I do, Mrs. Jones?” she whispered up at me.  Even though Kaedra is almost two years older than her classmates, she is physically the smallest student in sixth grade.  She usually speaks in a whisper.  She has a hard time maintaining any eye contact and usually appears to be looking at something on the ground five feet behind you when she talks to you.

“Come on over to this computer and log on,” I said.  “We still have time to do three questions.”

Kaedra sat down at the computer and logged on with her username and password.  That’s always a lot to remember, and she was biting her tongue as it came out of the side of her mouth.  This is her typical pose when she is concentrating on something. 

I hate it when she gets behind and really wanted for her to get this finished before the end of the period, so she could start with everyone else tomorrow.  As soon as she was on the internet, to hurry things along I took the mouse and quickly clicked through the half dozen steps to get her to the page I wanted her to see.

“Question number six asks how many people live in China,” I said to her.  “See this number here?   That’s the number of people in China.  Write that answer in for number six.”  There were ten digits that Kaedra had to copy, and it took quite a while because she kept losing her place.  Finally I began dictating the digits along with the commas.  I kept looking up at the clock, knowing the bell was going to ring soon.  To keep things moving I quickly went through four back clicks and three forward clicks to the next site.

“Question eleven asks for the capital of China,” I said.  “Right here is the name of the capital.  That’s what you write for number eleven.”  Beijing is not a familiar word for Kaedra, but she quickly copied it.  Three minutes of class were left and we had one more question to go.  “Phooey on going to the next site,” I thought.  The answer to the last question was right on the web page I had up.

“Kaedra, the answer to number fourteen is also on this page,” I said, pointing to the heading “Monetary Unit”.  “Number fourteen asks what the monetary unit in China is.”  I pointed to the word “Yuan,” on the screen.  This was another totally foreign word for Kaedra.  I kept my finger next to “Yuan” as I said, “For number fourteen write what the monetary unit is.”

Kaedra must have sensed my urgency because I could see her eyes widen as she worked hard to write.  I kept watching the clock.  Kaedra was biting her tongue again.  Just as she finished, the bell rang. 

“Good job!” I said.  “We finished the questions on time.”  Kaedra was beaming as she handed her paper to me.  I knew she was feeling good about getting her work done.  Speech therapy and a completed worksheet all in one class period.  “I’ll give this to the librarian for you,” I said smiling as I took her paper. 

Kaedra skipped to the door.  Sixth graders don’t usually skip, but I knew she felt good about what she had accomplished.  I was feeling pretty good too.  I’m racing against the clock with kids all the time.  It seems like everyone is always whipping past my students, and they’re never able to keep up.  But not today.  We battled the clock, and we won! I thought as I looked down over her worksheet. 

Next to question fourteen asking what the monetary unit of China was, Kaedra had carefully written “What the monetary unit is.”

The Word

            My Sunday School class is starting a study in the book of John.  The Gospel of John begins by describing Christ as “the Word.”  It’s fascinating how a scripture that I’ve known since I was 5 years old can suddenly have new meaning for me after so many years.

            As a child I remember memorizing the different names for Christ, and “the Word” was one more name.  Why would John emphasize Christ as “the Word?” 

            When I first began teaching students with special needs I secretly thought that if they couldn’t produce the words for an essay test, it was most likely they didn’t study for it.  The students would swear up and down that they had studied and they knew what the teacher was talking about – they just couldn’t remember the words.  I would smile and tell them we would work harder with the study guide next time.  Inside I could not fathom someone knowing something and not having the words to describe it.  If you knew it, you knew the words.

            Then middle age hit!  Suddenly I’d be talking with someone, describing something very important to me, and suddenly I couldn’t pull up a word I wanted.  Sometimes I even know the letter it starts with, but can’t think of the word.  This malady started with people’s names, but has now spread out to any word.  Everyone I know my age is fighting this new ailment.  We have the thoughts.  I can even picture them in my head.  But for the life of me, sometimes I can’t remember the word I want. 

            The condition is called aphasia, and it doesn’t just happen to old people.  The daughter of a dear friend of mine developed AVI - arteriovenous malformation.  In a nutshell it’s when blood vessels in your brain go crazy and grow all sorts of extra clusters between veins and arteries.  Doctors must first “glue off” the extra vessels and then remove them in surgery.  During the treatment for Katherine, the “glue” got loose and cut off a part of the brain it wasn’t supposed to.  It left her with aphasia – an inability to call up words for communication.  Katherine is still there.  She has all the thoughts and feelings we have, and she works hard to communicate them – but without words.

            So what?  Katherine’s husband and parents know what she is communicating.  My students insist they know the material.  What does it matter if we can’t pull the words up? 

            It does matter if we are going to clearly communicate to someone else.  Katherine can communicate, but she would be the first to tell you how hard it is, and how much people who are not close to her are missing.  Words are what we have.  We can’t be Mr. Spock and place our hands on someone else’s head and telecommunicate the idea to them.  Words are the way we communicate.

            I am still amazed when I teach early reading, how complex the human brain is and how we truly must be “wired” for words.  Kids learn to read so quickly.  Because I work with students who often have learning disabilities, I must break down the process of teaching reading into all its smaller parts to figure out what part of “reading” is not clicking for a student.   As you are reading this entry, your brain is carrying out a process where it is simultaneously doing an astonishing number of things.  And that brain process is something a 4 or 5 year old’s brain can figure out sometimes with no formal training.  These children put the process together sitting in their mom’s lap, watching and listening to an ABC book being read.  Our brains really are wired for words.

            Why did John, Jesus’ closest friend on earth, refer to Christ as the Word?  Christ communicates to us who God is in a way we can understand.  Jesus is God’s word to us about everything God wants us to know of Him.

            “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.”  John 1:14

Blank

Naomi spends much of her day with a blank, detached look on her face.  It isn’t the typical “off in dreamland” look that students with ADD often have.  Naomi’s face looks totally blank, as though she is sleeping with her eyes open.

            I’ve had her work on the computer because, well, let’s face it, kids find computers more interesting than teachers these days.  I love using thatquiz.com because it has several levels of money problems.  Short quizzes are arranged in levels of difficulty and use real pictures of coins to help students practice counting the money.  I sat close to Naomi as she worked to help her through problems she would get stuck on.

            During one of my explanations I noticed her lapse into her “blank-face” look.  “Naomi.”  No response.  (Louder)  “Naomi!  Are you paying attention? You look like you’re falling asleep.”

            She came out of her “blankness.”  “This is how I look when I don’t understand,” she said

.

            “I see you looking like that a lot,” I told her.

            “Yeah.  I know,” she replied.