Bring. It. On!

In many ways, this week was unexpected, though by now I should be expecting that. Haha. …. Ok, bad joke…

Warning: long update below. Unusually eventful week… (also a bad joke)

On Monday, I had two observations, one from my principal and another from my Program Director for TFA. The first was unexpected, and the second was a source of significant anticipation. The last time he had come to observe my class was at the very beginning of the year, when I was completely frazzled over classroom management. I have always been a little too critical of my PD; I sincerely believe that he is a subpar teacher who is a little too sold on the TFA model and treats teaching like an unnatural science rather than an instinctual art. You all know me well enough to know that this is a personality with which I am bound to clash, especially when that personality is put in a position of authority over me. Regardless, however, I took his scheduled visit very seriously, and lost a great deal of sleep in the process. I dreaded the thought of being judged by someone who did not entirely leave me in wonder of his capabilities, and who has always been just as critical of me as I have been of him. I also feared the perceived moment when he would inevitably confirm my innermost trepidation: that I am indeed a terrible teacher myself.

During the visit from my principal, we were working on visualization using our poem of the week, and it was an amazing lesson. The students were engaged and excited, so we had a great time. I felt pretty good about what was going on in my classroom, and my principal made a point later in the day to share her own excitement with me about what she had observed. It was a wonderful feeling to experience some measurement of success.

When my PD came, we were working on Shurley English, particularly the Question and Answer Flow that accompanies most lessons. My students were a little rusty on the process, so the observation was a little rocky, but at no point did I feel like I had failed miserably in representing myself well as a teacher and as a TFA teacher at that. I walked away from the day feeling satisfied.

But in my debrief the next evening, my PD once again succeeded in making me feel like an inadequate, slacker teacher of whom TFA would be ashamed. My lesson lacked focus and precise objectives, so my students had proceeded without purpose. If only I would spend more time completing the TFA model for lesson planning, I would be more effective with my time, and my students would finally start to achieve. At the end of a very long day that wasn’t even close to being over yet, this PD made me plan out two lessons, which were complete with objective, key points, opening, intro to new material, guided practice, independent practice, and closing. It was tedious and degrading, to say the least.

And yet I walked away with important revelations: I could finally articulate the heart of my frustrations with my PD. It wasn’t so much that I hate the “TFA way” of doing things—in fact, I was surprisingly excited about the lesson plans I made during our session—but rather his way of presenting the TFA way. It is more than a little creepy that the people in TFA talk in the same way; both my PD and my advisor in Houston used the same phrasing and approach to meetings with me. “Angie, I am going to push you on that,” or “Now I want you to summarize for me what you have learned from this meeting,” or “How are you going to implement this in your class tomorrow?” It is exceedingly patronizing and overly professional. If anything, it makes me defensive and even belligerent. I do not respond well to this kind of relationship (is it any surprise that I came to loathe both these individuals?), which no doubt gives these TFA figures a somewhat negative impression of me. It’s ok, though. I am more than fine with that. 

So the point is this: I am finally starting to practice the TFA lesson planning strategy of my own free will. I can see its benefits, and I finally feel like I am comfortable and adapted enough to try it of my own volition. For the longest time, I struggled to conceptualize how to use this model given my discomfort in teaching in general, my obstacles with classroom management, and my stuck-ness in survival mode. I have started to flow effortlessly in my teaching role, I have my kids under control as much as any other teacher can boast, and I am enjoying myself enough to finally seek out ways to push myself even further. Things are finally starting to feel manageable and even exciting. The possibilities really open up after I make it to that stage.

What I DON’T appreciate is a person trying to persistently shove me into their definition of success. From the beginning, my PD has tried and tried and tried to mold me into the TFA way, which is a cookie-cutter approach that I have rejected from the beginning. What my PD fails to realize is that we all start at different levels in this process: some come into TFA ready to embrace the organization’s model and can immediately begin practicing the TFA strategies. Some of us, like me, come in without any conception of how to be a teacher at all, let alone the kind of teacher TFA wants us to be. And others come in who are anti-TFA from beginning to finish. We all start out differently, so the PD’s approach to each of us must necessarily take into account these different positions. I would have loved to have a PD who said, you know what? I can tell you are not ready to follow our approach to the smallest detail, so let’s focus on how we can troubleshoot your most immediate concerns, and then we can build you up to where we want you to be. When I think of this strategy, I think of the words subtle, flexible, and downright sneaky. Would this approach be more effective? I have no idea without testing it. But a part of me thinks that I would have responded much better to this kind of covert manipulation than the TFA heavy-handedness.

And I will admit that to an extent, my PD has been successful in molding me. I just wish he had treated me with more respect and a more personal touch while he did it.

On Thursday, I had an unexpectedly defensive start to the day: a parent had emailed the superintendent with a complaint about me. It will not surprise you that this parent is the same parent whose mother (my student’s grandmother) who had threatened me with bodily harm before Thanksgiving. In this case, early in the week, I had made the student in question touch his toes for a couple of minutes as a consequence for playing in the middle of my class. He had gotten into some sort of disagreement with the student who sat next to him, and they had proceeded to push a book between them, to the disruption of the entire class. It was a ridiculous waste of our learning time, and I was going to make sure they both knew it.

Thursday morning, my principal alerts me that she wants to meet with me, as soon as she can send an assistant to watch my class. In the interim, the student arrives with a note from his mother, accusing me of practicing “unethical disciplinary actions” on a child who is “functionally autistic” (he’s not) and who is incapable of paying attention (he is). She implied that she had taken action against me, since “teacher-parent rapport with you cannot be established.” As if I am the problem? Really? Who threatened whom?

I will admit that I immediately feared reprimand and further conflict with this parent, so much so that I walked to the office with every intention of back downing and giving in to the mother. But when I reached the principal, and found her office entirely empty of the disgruntled parent, I realized that I was not in the wrong. The mother did not even hang around long enough to confront me personally! She sends a note via her child, and emails the superintendent without even contacting my principal! This was not a legitimate complaint, so how could I ignore it?

My principal read me the initial email from the mother to the superintendent, and then the superintendent’s response to the complaint, which was actually impressive in its mediating tone. When it was my turn to speak, I shocked even myself in the hard line I took; I refused to back down, refuted some of the allegations, asserted the complaint was personal rather than legitimate, and pointed out that my co-teacher makes this student touch his toes all the time, but no email had gone to the superintendent over that. I stood by my disciplinary approach, and promised that I would continue to practice it in the future… until my principal had an office busting at the door hinges with angry parents. When that happened, I would consider changing my ways, but for now, I had nothing for which I need to apologize. I knew that I was putting my principal in a difficult position, but I felt liberated having done that much for myself.

Later that morning, the director in charge of special education stopped by to let me know the latest from the Central Office. She had met with my inclusion teacher, who has always been supremely complimentary of my teaching practices, and she wanted to personally reassure me that I was not at all liable for the complaint. She even rolled her eyes in reference to this parent.

Needless to say, my skin is considerably tougher after five months of teaching in the Delta. I hate confrontation, which has always been an area of weakness, but I was thrilled that I had faced the threat head-on and triumphed. I finally had the explicit support of not only my fellow teachers, but also my superintendent. Now that is something to write home about.

The best part? When I returned to my room after meeting with my principal, the assistant teacher had three of my students at the front of the room, all of them touching their toes! (None of them was the student in question, though). Exonerated? I damn well better be!

Martin Luther King, Revisited

My attempts last week to create passion and meaning from the Martin Luther King holiday had fallen flat. I was flummoxed from dealing with teenage attitude in an 8-year-old. I was devastated by my student’s shockingly low test scores. The successes of the parent-teacher conference quickly receded to the background in light of new failures and challenges. Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled to head into the new week.

But I took the time over the long weekend to complete some projects both for myself and for my classroom, and the lapsed time, as usual, did a great job to heal the hurts of the previous week. I have always told my students, “Tomorrow is a new day,” not really comprehending the meaning, but using a well-worn phrase as a motivation to improve. Now, I use it because I truly believe it—without it, I fear I would have been hindered by all the setbacks and perhaps relished the successes too much (odd, I know). Leaving the day before crossed off the calendar gives me the survival boost I need, and hopefully inspires my students to keep on trying. And this week, they tried.

I have finally figured out the secret to conducting after-school tutoring in a way that saves my sanity and proves a valuable use of an hour for the students. As soon as 2:45 hits, all pandemonium overwhelms George H. Oliver Elementary, and the students become impossible. Having to deal with these little monsters after that final bell has been one of the greatest trials, especially when my after-school kids tend to be my behavior challenges. But this week, I started using centers as a way to diversify what we cover and to hit more student needs while taking some of the pressure off me. We have started a new computer program called Kid’s College, which has turned out to be revolutionary in motivating even my lowest performers. I make sure to give each student some time on the computer while also giving them practice in math, fluency, and language arts. As the students jump eagerly from station to station, I sit back, keep the timer, and work individually as needed. All of a sudden, the worst part of my week has become my favorite. I love brainstorming new activities and lessons that I cannot feasibly pursue in a group of 27, but is perfect for working with 10, and I love the pressure-free environment to cover what interests us, not just what is tested at the end of the year. Several students had gotten into the habit of preferring another after-school teacher, but this week created such a buzz that I have to turn students away. And even better, the behavior expectations for getting to stay in my room are now extremely high. I had been planning on dropping the after-school tutoring next year, but now I think I will keep it!

The tutoring has also helped to pinpoint the discomforts I have with my teaching in general. I have never been quite satisfied or happy in the profession, but I had not managed to effectively articulate the causes. Now, I understand that I enjoy working with students less formally and in smaller groups. I want to have time to interact with the whole person, since the brain is not the only thing that desperately needs nurtured in these kids. I want their heads and their hearts in return for my own. In after-school, we get to do activities that are fun and engaging, which means I get to more directly trick my students into learning without them realizing it. I can do more when there are fewer students, and without the usual behavior conflicts, I get to relax and be myself a little bit more. Whenever I let my guard down during school, it usually backfires.

On Friday, my non-homeroom class was behind, and so I was using my Social Studies time to teach text features, a topic the other class had already covered. However, one of the first reading selections in our workbook was about Amelia Earhart, which was a perfect opportunity for me to mention phonetic spelling when trying to decipher the correct pronunciation of Earhart. Then a student had a question about the difficulty of pronouncing names, which led to a truly incredible tangent on a wide variety of topics (you know me, I LOVE tangents!). My students were thrilled that I indulged their curiosity about my own ancestry, illegal immigration, and even the rights of criminals. I got to talk about 9/11, Martin Luther King, the types of governments in other countries, why immigrants come to the United States, and the fundamental principles for which America stands. I became so passionate and so caught up in my explanations that one of my students stopped me in order to comment, “Ms. Cook, they should make you the next Martin Luther King.” The other students enthusiastically agreed. I was being unusually articulate, so I appreciated the compliment, but what energized me the most was getting to talk about all of the topics that are important to me, AND getting to say it to a truly enthralled audience of third graders. I rejoiced at their rapt expressions, and thanked the teaching gods for giving me one of those prized teaching moments that had eluded me the previous Friday. It turns out we cannot always ask for inspiration on our own schedule, but must celebrate them when they come, and then hold on to them for dear life during hard times.

The lesson paused when the front office announced, “Teachers, the principal needs your grade distributions immediately. Please stop teaching and send yours right now.” I had already submitted mine, so I excitedly sent a student to the office to convey that fact while I continued my best tangent ever. My parting comment to her was, “And tell them to leave me alone, because I am TEACHING!!” My students were in an uproar over my enthusiasm. Not two minutes later, they announced again, “We know you already sent it. You need to send it again!” I asked my students to wait patiently as I quickly completed this entirely stupid task, but the moment of true beauty had passed; my students had caught too much of my happiness and were out of control. Such moments, apparently, must always have their price. But I honestly would not trade it for anything, even if that means we are still behind heading into the new week.

The Bigger Picture

The time spent away from Mississippi and from my classroom was a welcome break and a necessary reprieve from my all-encompassing experience as a teacher. But what I did not realize is that Christmas break would also give me an opportunity to forget my expectations and my daily successes and failures, and to lose sight of the small details for the sake of the bigger picture. I was missing the proverbial forest for the trees, and this is my attempt to paint the entire landscape.

I have already celebrated my improvements, but I do not think I understood the extent until after I returned from break. My mentor wrote me the following note after observing my classroom last week: “It seems the new year is off to a great start. You seem so much more relaxed and less stressed. Your smile was simply radiant. I was so proud of the students. They were well-behaved and attentive. You see, all of your hard work is paying off.” I was beyond pleased with her vote of confidence: she is a distinguished teacher with 39 years of experience and a no-nonsense attitude. She had always been supportive and encouraging, but this was the first time that I felt I could legitimately agree with her judgment.

While practicing our spelling chant, I noticed with the greatest excitement that two of my lowest students and perpetual non-participators had finally warmed to the activity. One had always struggled to simultaneously manage both the beat (with stomping and clapping) and the spelling, so she had made a habit of tackling neither one. But as I walked about the classroom, she ignored the bodily percussion and concentrated all of her energy on the spelling list in front of her. Other students have similarly fumbled to both beat and spell, but they all made the opposite choice to keep the beat and abandon the spelling words. I was thrilled beyond words to see her bent in concentration, and I did not miss the opportunity to encourage her behavior (and thus discourage the others who found the beat more important). The second student would predictably stare off into space, and not just during the spelling words. But in this case, he was the loudest one of the bunch. And under any other circumstances, “loudest” would not be my first choice for praise!

I use Shurley English for teaching language, and it is largely an oral program, using a question and answer response for labeling the parts of speech in a given sentence. I didn’t care for it at first, since the learning curve for first introducing this style to students is intense. But having given it time to ruminate with my class, I would not choose any other system. When practicing the call and response, however, it is rather easy for students to not participate, especially when the enthusiastic ones can compensate for several voices at once. This was always the case for another of my low students, who came to me on a kindergarten reading level and saw no intrinsic value in the exercise. But now, he is the first to notice a mistake, and I cannot keep him in his seat for all of his excitement. He is a different child!

My students have largely been on their best behavior since our return, which certainly helped to ease the transition back. They have helped me remember why I am here, and they have encouraged my continued efforts. My parent-teacher conferences on Thursday is often the only time I get to see or talk with many of my parents, and I did not miss the opportunity to point out all the incredible gains their children have made. I walked away inspired and re-energized beyond anything that our two-week break could have done. And on the way home, I even contemplated—for the first time with any seriousness—the possibility of staying in this profession for longer than my two-year commitment. Shocking, I know.

But of course, such elation was short-lived, as I have since come to an impasse with one student whose attitude for one minute is enough to make me forget weeks of hard-earned progress and to convince me that teaching elementary school is the last place I want to be. She is disrespectful, rude, and aggressive. She is a bully to her fellow classmates and the epitome of under-achiever in her schoolwork. I frequently contemplate whether she might actually be truly evil (I know, do with that statement what you will). My co-teacher and I have decided that she is an 8-year-old with a high school attitude, which is quite challenging to address in this environment. What do you do to an unruly teenager? I honestly have no clue. Break her spirit? Be a friend? Call her mother? Send her to the office? I seriously will take your suggestions, should you have any. :) That situation is a work in progress, needless to say.

So how do I feel two weeks into the second semester? Difficult to say. Martin Luther King Day has made me especially aware of everything involving race in my community. I experience de facto segregation everyday; I live in the white community and teach in the black community. My landlord is a white Baptist church, which I resist attending because I find it “too white” (as I weirdly admitted to my mentor in a moment of embarrassingly impulsive and unfiltered honesty). My parents were initially skeptical (and some remain so) because I am the first white classroom teacher their children have ever had. I can never truly be a member of my chosen community—regardless of whether it is white or black—because I do not meet any of the appropriate criteria: I am white, I am educated, I am a Northerner, I am a feminist, I am liberal (or at least, relatively speaking), I do believe in integration and that these black students are capable of the same things as Northern black students or even Southern white students, and I refuse to give in to stereotypes. How many times must I hear a white person say, “Our [meaning Southern] blacks are different than your [meaning everywhere else] blacks,” or a black person say, “You’ve got to hit these black children. You can’t talk to them like you do white children.” How long can I resist such a bombardment?

Friday was the first day that I have heard even a murmur among my students about my race. One of my students chose Friday, of all days, to mention to me that some students complain about me among themselves, using the appellation, “She white. She white.” All attempts I made that day to talk about Martin Luther King and his incredible legacy fell completely flat. I have never managed to inspire one of those breakthrough, hot-button conversations about which all teachers, and especially TFA teachers, dream. And I have yet to see any of my students act with any degree of passion. And this, regardless of any other achievement, will be my biggest failing.

I am not without hope. I have only realized, in light of MLK Day, that the undertaking is far greater than I have ever really anticipated. Per my tradition, I will watch footage of “I Have a Dream” tomorrow. But for better and for worse, it will never be the same.

SNOW DAY!!!

This post, I know, is LONG overdue. I really have no excuse, because I have slowly reclaimed some time for myself outside of teaching. Perhaps I will say that I did not want to use my newfound freedom dwelling on teaching yet again.... :)

In any case, today is a SNOW DAY!!! I kid you not, we have about a quarter-inch of snow, and Clarksdale, MS has officially shut down. Currently, I am sitting at my dining room table watching the overly-cautious Mississippi drivers creep by. As someone who had to literally dig out my car from several feet of snow last winter, I find such hesitation comical. But to be fair, Clarksdale has no snow ploughs, no salt trucks, and no perceived strategies for combating the very rare snowfall. I will give them their sluggishness if they keep the snow days coming. :)

In small, almost indistinguishable increments, my teaching days are getting better. My students are learning at every point of importance: they practice the reading strategies and recognize the parts of a sentence; they remember to say thank you to the lunch ladies and know exactly what I mean when I say, "Is that the correct way to ask permission?" Whenever my students hear the words, "Shut up," they automatically respond, "We do not use those words!" When I start to write on the board, I smile at the sound of rustling paper as my students scramble to get out their notes without prompting. And most importantly to me, I have found myself enjoying some time with my students. I have smiled, I have laughed, and I have joked. I can turn my back with every confidence that when I turn back around, they will still be working silently. Silence gets their attention faster than yelling, so that when I really do yell, it makes a huge impression. My students beg me to practice spelling words with them in the lunch line, and they ask hopefully, "Are we going to have time to practice the parts of sentence before we go to Unified Arts?" More and more, they are a true joy, which makes teaching exponentially easier and more rewarding.

But since this is not a perfect world, I now have to admit the above optimism comes with a huge "but." All of the above really only applies to one class. Ironically, the one amazing class is the terrible non-homeroom class with which I perpetually struggled at the beginning of the year. Remember when I could not do a thing with these students? When my co-teacher offered to switch the schedule so that I would have her homeroom for a smaller part of the day? It doesn't seem all that long ago that I dreaded switching classes, that the worst part of the day was the middle when I had the other third grade class. Now, I can't wait to switch classes, and I do not celebrate the end of the day when I have to take my homeroom back again. While the one class has improved so substantially, the other class has gotten progressively worse. Their behavior is out of control, and it shows in the grades of even my top students. They clown constantly, they hit and steal and cheat, they are bored for all types of learning, and the bad attitudes of some would rival even the worst of American teenagers.

It all came to a head a week before Thanksgiving when the constant picking between the boys in my homeroom escalated unacceptably. My special education child got hit in the face with a rubber band, leaving a two-inch welt across his right cheekbone. It was the last twenty minutes of the day when all chaos ensues, and my principal was out of town. Even though I knew this child's own behavior was largely the cause of the rubber band incident, I was very angry with the boy who did it, and I planned to make an example out of him. I sent him to a notorious disciplinarian in the school to have him punished, but in the meantime, the parent of the "victim" showed up...early as usual. I explained the situation to her and asked her to stay for a moment longer so that I could dismiss the rest of the students. She agreed, and in the general rush of the day's end, I forgot all about it. I went about my dismissal activities until I was interrupted by an older woman, who started screaming in front of my class about the injustice of the rubber band incident. I quickly figured out that this woman was the boy's grandmother, whom I had never met or even seen before. My initial thought was, "Excellent. Let this irate woman serve as a lesson to my class." The lesson ended, however, when she turned to her grandson and screamed at him to "beat the s***" out of the boy responsible. I asked her to leave, which she did, but then her fury turned on me. Her insults rained down in front of my students, other students, other teachers, and a few members of our maintenance staff. She had to be pulled away from the situation, which ended with her yelling, "Just because you are white don't mean I won't kick your a**!"

I was completely devastated by the incident, and really wished I could pick up and abandon such a hopeless culture at that very instant. How I could teach people who really thought they could treat a teacher that way? Just because I'm white??! Seriously? To this woman, one single sentence of racism was enough to nullify every hour and every day of honest hard work I was pouring into these students, and for a little while I agreed with her. I wanted to tell her, "If you do not think that my mission to educate your grandson is worthwhile, then I would be more than happy to catch a flight home. I can go and teach in an area that actually cares!"

But by the next day, I understood the lesson that I was supposed to learn from the situation. In the aftermath, students wrote me letters of support and love. The student who had attempted to get moved out of my class the week before brought me a handwritten page from Psalm 23 ("The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…"). Another gave me a page of quotes and explanation from Martin Luther King, Jr., and several begged their fellow classmates to behave: “We HAVE to be nice to Ms. Cook today!” My day was full of other teachers, assistants, and staff members stopping by to check on me and to make sure that I was ok, and to articulate their indignation at such an incident. Without exception, each person expressed disbelief and anger towards the grandmother, and encouragement and support towards me.

Well, one notable exception: my principal has yet to talk to me about the occurrence. At first, I felt angered and betrayed by this glaring oversight, but now I understand the difficult position in which she finds herself. My school district has made it routine to relent under parental pressure, and my impression of administration so far is that most of them are predominantly motivated and directed by a persistent fear of reprimand from someone higher up, a parent, or the Mississippi Department of Education. It makes for a whole slew of people who are constantly hunching their shoulders in anticipation of that inevitable blow, and who are sadly less effective as a result.

Regardless, I have experienced an outpouring of love and encouragement that has actually made the experience worthwhile. I know that I am appreciated and accepted, and even if this grandparent never gave me the chance to show it to her, the community knows and respects what I am here to do. It is not my intention to terrorize black children just because I am white or because I am in a position of power; I have come to give these students all I have to offer. I have presented them with my head and my heart, but I cannot possibly expect all of them to accept it with gratitude and goodwill. And besides, any opportunity for me to develop a thicker skin is a welcome occurrence, albeit tremendously uncomfortable at first.

Coming back from Christmas break, a fellow TFA teacher asked me if I was excited to return to teaching, and even now I struggle to choose an answer. A sizeable part of me dislikes the daily turmoil and struggle, and I resent the persistent obstacles we face in the Delta. It is impossible for me to imagine an American sub-culture even more fundamentally opposed to my beliefs and values, or a group of people even more resistant to a quality education. Those realizations make each day a battle rather than an opportunity for progress, a chore rather than an enlightening or entertaining experience.

But I also know myself well enough to understand that I am still my own harshest critic; I have no doubt that my students and I have made significant progress. I just want them to achieve even more. And I also know that I embody the quip, “Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” I don’t quit. I don’t give in. When I signed up to do TFA, I committed to all the challenges, setbacks, surprises, and rewards such an adventure promised, even if I didn’t fully comprehend the extent at first. Even if I am not perfectly happy, even if I do not jump out of bed every morning with frenzied excitement, and even if I struggle with the concept that so much of my success depends upon the whims of 54 children, I know that I am doing the right thing for the right reasons. This is my responsibility, and I do not shy away from what has been entrusted to me. If it is a choice between forever standing on the ledge, enjoying the view and basking in the suspended weight of my duties, or jumping into the abyss, not quite knowing what to expect but taking the risk of hardship in exchange for the possibility of reward, then I will always choose to jump. I will always choose to plunge ahead rather than to wait for something better or easier to come along. This wouldn’t be worthwhile if it wasn’t also hard. The Staple’s easy button is a fallacy that is great for marketing, but a terrible idea when choosing a personal mantra.

So I suppose my answer is, yes. I am excited to return to Clarksdale and to teaching. The limbo of the Christmas holidays was nice for a while, but standing on the ledge and enjoying the weightlessness must come to an end. I must move on, and whether they like it or not, my students are going to make the journey with me.