Reflections on a First Semester Teaching

It's the end of 2011.  Fall semester?  Check.  One more to go.  So how are you first-year teacher folks hanging in there?  Saved the world yet?  Had your Stand and Deliver moments?  Are you madly in love with all of your students/parents/colleagues and this nobel profession that we call teaching?

Alright.  Fine.  I'll pull myself together, curb the hysterical laughter on my end, and stop giving you shit.  You've probably had enough to deal with this semester.  Yay, outdated textbooks!  Yay, behavior issues!  Yay, classroom management!

Right.  Ok.  I'm done.  Wait...no I'm not...

Yay, curriculum writing!  Yay, standards and benchmarks!  Yay, in-house politics!

Ok.  Now I'm done.

Yay, Budget cuts!

It's just that I've got so much to work with.  I believe a referred to the shit-show that is the first year of teaching in a previous blog post.  Go back and read it again, if you'd like.  I think you'll find it makes much more sense having now lived it for a few months.  I know for a fact that some of you are feeling the burn.  I've gotten your emails.

Dear Teach,

Thoughts on how to get a 5th grade musical performance of "Man in the Mirror" to suddenly relate to the standards for Spanish? I got assigned a musical performance next month which is a long story involving a "winter festival," a pto meeting, a concussion, and a culminating performance from the "specials" team that includes all of art, music, pe, spanish, and library.

Naturally.  Because Michael Jackson, winter festivals, Spanish, and the library-media department all go hand-in-hand.

Dear Teach,

Teach me how to be a teacher.  In one minute or less.  Go. 

Hahahahahaha.

Sarcasm.  Nice! You're well on your way.

But the doozy of the emails came from a regular reader who's getting his booty kicked.  Understandably, considering the zoo he works in.  What I love about this guy, though, (besides the fact that he's still sticking it out contrary to all logical reasoning) is that, in the spirit our our fine monkey ancestors, whenever the shit show flings poo at him, he turns around and throws it my way. 

I happily collect teaching poo.

And now, because I've probably either grossed out or offended those of you who have even bothered reading this far, I'll just shut my own piehole and leave you with:

Reflections on the First Semester of Teaching

by

A 15 year Military Vet

There's no rhyme or reason.  It's not about me or my writing.  It's just a sincere list of "Huh. Didn't realize that was in the job description" moments.

But there is one added bonus.  I gave the list to Face and told her to do with it what she would.  And she had her way with it.  In her disarmingly bizarre and confusing manner.

So peruse the list, watch the vid, and crack open a beer.  Or Chamomile tea.  Whatever tickles your tootsies.  Oh, and be forewarned.  Face's version involves pinot noir, frustrating floating numbers, mumbling and at least one awkward though unintentional close up of her chest.  Sorry about that.   I never really know what I'm going to get with her.  (Though I have learned, for future reference, that the correct answer to "Hey, is a vodka or two while filming ok?" would be "No.")

Regardless, perhaps you'll recognize similar "didn't expect that" moments.  Perhaps you won't.  But at least you can laugh at the shared insanity of our job, and be glad that you have the huevos enough to stick with a profession that not everyone can stomach.  Thanks for that.  

We need more folks like you.

Here's to a great second semester, and a kickin' new year.

Reflections on the First Semester of Teaching

by

A 15 year Military Vet

1.  A student told me her mother made her pass on the message that I had the “kindest, most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.” The mother in question dresses fifteen years too young for herself, and changes men like some women change batteries in their....oh, nevermind.

2.  A female student told her mother that she liked girls and her mother told her not to come home - to an 8th grader.

3.  A teacher started a catty rumor about my relationships with students because I had students coming to my room during lunch to get extra help.  I must have some "strange" reason for offering them help.

4.  I was given an illegal copy of a test to give to students.  The students pointed out to me that it says quite clearly DO NOT MAKE COPIES OF THIS TEST on the sides. It was one of the few things that came out clearly in the copies.

5.  I had rumors started that I am a homosexual. This was from the kids, but a teacher asked me about it. I like to wear purple, have good grooming, and my wife can attest to the fact that I am not, in fact, a homosexual.

6.  I work with  a paunchy, balding, self important English teacher, with ONE enlistment in the Army telling kids he is a black belt, sleeps one hour a night, and writes 80 page papers for a Masters class he and I both take at the same time. Oh, and he has fake seizures. Great.

7.  My school had to hold a fundraiser to buy janitorial supplies.

8.  I was emailed by a parent to tell me that I did not have the right to assign a 1000 word research paper to her daughter, because a) it wasn't fair, and b) she did not have internet access. In an EMAIL.

9.  I figured out a gang is operating in my grade and being ignored by the school.

10.  I am trying to maintain some semblance of classroom management with over 30 kids in each class, a high special education population, a coteacher for the special education population who doesn't show up, three principals, two college professors and a whole school of colleagues telling me what to do.

I could leave, go back to the medical laboratory, and make about the same amount of money. But I believe that science education needs people who have some actual science experience.

In short, this job sucks enough, would you kindly mind taking your boot off my nuts?

Mid-week Bad Jokes

Face and her mid-week bad jokes.  Horrible material, but she's just so gosh dern adorable.

SPLOT, Round #2

SPLOT #2

(continued from previous entry)

I am obnoxious.  And I really dislike being told I can’t do something.

Which is not to say that I’m a daredevil.  Not even close.  I have a highly developed sense of self-preservation and an overwhelming tendency to use the left side of my brain.  I'll offer you a standard example:

“Hey, Teach!  I’m going to TP the principal’s office.  You in?  I need you to ask for the keys, because no one trusts me.”

Thought process:

1. That’s funny as hell.
2. Principal guards key to his office like a maniac.
3. Principal never smiles.
4. I hate getting in trouble.
5. I’m respected as a competent teacher here.
6. Why am I respected as a competent teacher here?
7. Ah, right...because I keep my shenanigans to myself.
8. I walk the line.  I don’t screech across it in mini clown car wearing a gorilla suit and banging the cymbals.
9. I have a mortgage to pay.
10.   That still would be funny as hell.

“Nope.  Too yellow-bellied, friend...but here’s a list of the few folks I know for a fact have copies of the key.”

Do my quick little jig on the line, then go about my merry way.

It’s what kept me somewhat out of hot water these years.  I occasionally sit in the jacuzzi, but I have yet to incur third-degree burns.  I am, at heart, a chicken-shit.

Still, social norms annoy the piss out of me.  So do societal standards.  Nothing gives me more pleasure than watching someone question what’s “acceptable”, think it through, then do the complete opposite of what is expected.

Which, perhaps, is why I adore teenagers.  It is also what brings me back to SPLOT - the Singing Pigs Laws of Teaching.  Societal norm regarding teaching number 1#:  pretend teaching is all noble, serious hard work that should be addressed in a noble, serious, politically correct manner.

Bullshit.  And if you go all serious and noble on your students, you’re going to be screwed.  Because...

SPLOT #4:   Students will always put more effort into getting around the rules than following them.

I get it.  Oh, I totally get it.  

One achieves some sick pleasure in working the system, that just can’t be experienced by following the rules.  You disagree?  You lose.  You’re reading my blog.  You just threw the system out the window.  And if you’ve ever chuckled at what you read, you’ve undoubtedly joined the dark side.  Admit it.  Getting around the rules is fun. 

So why do teachers get our hackles up when teenagers cheat, plot, mislead or otherwise figure out how to work the system?  Honestly?

Because they’ve outsmarted us.  

Truth be told, we’re even bigger snots than they are, and when the kids beat us at our own game we get madder than hell.  But spun right, a little anger (and a little competition) can do a person good.

They’re figuring out ways to cheat your system.  So figure out ways to cheat theirs.  The number one source for information on how to do that?  The students.  Ask them.  Teenagers love, absolutely adore telling on themselves.  They’re clever enough to come up with some good ideas, cocky enough to try them, and young enough not to have a fully developed brain-to-mouth filter. All you have to do is catch them off-guard (in other words, when they’re not in immediate danger of getting in trouble,) and they’ll give you all sorts of useful information.

“Tsk, tsk,”  I fake a disappointed sigh while pretending to grade during my study hall.  “If you’re going to cheat,” I say, loudly enough that the kids sitting closest to me can hear, “at least do a reasonably passable job at it.”  I throw down my pen on a stack of papers and lean back in my chair in mock exasperation.  The students nearest me smile compassionately with brown-nosing sympathy.

“Seriously guys,” I say sincerely.  “I’m going to let you in on a little teacher secret.  I know kids cheat.  I know I don’t catch all of the cheaters.  But if you cheat so badly that you get caught, then you totally deserve it.  So at least put some effort and creativity into it and save me a headache.”  The sentiment is sincere.  If I don’t know someone’s cheating, I’ve just saved myself a lot of time.  But now I’ve totally caught my kids off-guard by acknowledging cheating and sort-of condoning it.  Time to move in for the kill. 

“The trouble is, I know I can never keep up with teenagers and their overactive minds.  Every time I think I’ve got the list of possible manners of cheating down, someone adds something new to it.   It’s freakin’ ridiculous.  Seriously - how do you people come up with these ideas?”

That should do it.  The kids usually pick up the conversation for you, enthusiastically telling the most creative ways their classmates have cheated.  I lean back, relax and take mental notes.  By the time you’re done with your ed degree (or by the time you’re through high school yourself), you should certainly know the most obvious:  writing on a hand, an arm, the desk you sit at.  Shoving papers under folders, taking pictures of test on cell phones, stealing tests out of printers, blah blah blah.  


But one kid, I discovered via my spying, actually made the equivalent of a massive cheat sheet, scanned it into his computer,  reduced it in size, printed it out and put it on his bottle of Vitamin Water with the exact same font as the real thing and neatly labeled “Vitamin Water.”  He then sat and literally drank in the glory during his entire exam.  I howled at that story.  Mostly because what that kid doesn’t realize is that by putting that much effort into cheating, he 1)  spent more time thinking about and planning for the exam than he would have had he just sat and studied and 2) By making  such a detailed cheat sheet, he probably learned all the information he needed to know anyway.

God, I love it when kids totally screw themselves over by learning.  Mr. Vitamin Water, I tip my hat to you.  Even if writing the answers on the inside brim is so 1990.

SPLOT #5:  As a teacher, you will screw up everything, yes everything, you do.

I’m not saying your won’t have shining moments of magnificence.  You are magnificent.  You’re a teacher.  You’re either magnificent or insane.  Likely a combination of insane magnificence.  Or magnificent insanity.  Or...

Whoops.  Sorry.  Back to the point.

If you do manage to do something magnificently, I can guarantee you one of two things: 1) you either screwed up whatever you did the first time and had to tweak it to achieve magnificence or 2) You accidentally achieved magnificence the first time, but in using the exact same activity in the future, will totally screw it up.

Or both.  Without fail.

In Spanish, teaching the preterite and the imperfect bites.  Big time.  It’s a concept for the past tense that doesn’t exist in English, is governed by extensive but ambiguous rules and changes depending on the mood of the speaker or some vague, untranslatable innuendo he/she wishes to make.  It’s like teaching fog.  Misty, murky, and occasionally slimy.

Ok...to be fair, it’s not really slimy.  I just liked the analogy.  But after ten years in the classroom, I finally nailed it.

I watched it approach with dread.  I sighed with annoyance.  I calculated my kids’ grades, figuring they needed to be able to cushion the inevitable lousy score they would get on this test with their standard good work on others.  I changed the assessment calendar, gave them an extra week.   I designed extra practice, held extra office hours, planned, planned, planned, described the rules twenty different ways.  I beat them over the heads with a two-by-four labeled “Understand this!”

It worked.

“A. B. B. A. B. A. A. C. B. C....” I read through my test scores skeptically.  “Something’s not right.”  I handed them off to a colleague who skimmed through them.  

“Wow,” she said.  “You’re right.  These are really solid scores.  How’d that happen?”  

One would think that since I had met my SPLOT duty of having pathetically mucked through the preterite and imperfect for the previous nine years, I might be allowed a moment of magnificence.  

Nope.  Not for long.

They did, indeed, nail the test.  And one week later when the exact same material appeared on the final exam...They bombed it.  I, however, found great peace in knowing that the immutable laws of the universe still reigned.  The preterite and the imperfect still suck.

Your lesson plans are going to go over like lead balloons.  You will suddenly forget the rules to an activity you’ve done twenty times.  Students will hate the fun stuff and adore the stuff you hate. Nothing will work every time.  Best you just deal with it now.  Builds character.  Puts hair on your chest.  Makes you learn to whistle.

I dunno...that’s all stuff my grandma used to say when I didn’t like something...

SPLOT #6: You will be smacked upside the head with cuteness at the most inopportune times.

My first hour doesn’t behave like a normal first hour.  A normal first hour in the adolescent world is sleepy, quiet, lethargic and generally disinterested in anything that doesn’t involve returning to bed.

Mine is hyperactive.  

They switch seats when I’m not looking, play physical-contact vocabulary games, talk with anyone and everyone in the room whether they’re friends or not, and do anything they can to break whatever rule it might occur to me to attempt to enforce (see SPLOT #4).  

“Señora?”

“Yes, Pablo?”

“Aw, nothing.” (Pokes neighbor in the eyeball.)

“Señora!  Señora!”

“Yes, again, Pablo?”

“Never mind.  Got it.”  (Steals neighbor’s vocab sheet.  Neighbor stabs him with pencil.  Small battle between desks.)

“Señora!  SeñoraSeñoraSeñora!”

“WHAT, Pablo?!  For the love of (insert deity of your choice), you’re making me insane!”

Pablo grins happily.

“You’re a really good teacher, Señora.  Why don’t you teach other teachers how to teach?”

Stick a fork in me folks...

You teach.  Your job will be long, hard, and painful (and if you didn’t just chuckle at the double entendre in that, I sure as hell hope you’re not teaching high school) but one, just one, of those soulfully cute, sincere as a wide-eyed puppy dog moments...

Just one of those can keep you going another couple of years.  So collect them.  Treasure them.  But dear god, don’t get used to them.  

Your time would be much better spent learning how to dodge spitballs.

SPLOT

I throw things at students.

Most commonly, whiteboard markers, stuffed animals, and erasers but I'm pretty sure I've launched food, toys, clothing and any number of other objects in their direction at one time or another.

Which means at this point, those of you without a sense of humor are getting your panties all in a wad.  "Teachers shouldn't throw things at kids!  That's abuse!  It's rude, demeaning, and I'm going to report you to the authorities/send a nasty email to your admin/threaten you with a lawsuit!"

Oh, fiddlety-fart.  Throwing things at kids in the classroom is the teacher equivalent of tossing your partner the car keys as you're both about get in the car.  Admit it.  You're too lazy to walk around the car, hand him/her the keys, walk all the way back around the car and then get in, so you opt for the much simpler option of launching them over the top.  Trouble is, sometimes you misjudge, and they land in the snow mush on the street.  Or skitter across the hood.  Or whack your partner in the head. It happens.

I've got classroom stuffed with 30 desks and chairs, gangly teenage bodies, and massive backpacks weighing a half-ton each scattering the aisles.  Navigating that mess is the educational equivalent of American Gladiator.  "Tell us now viewers!  Can Teach make it across the cold cinder block room nimbly dodging moving bodies, table legs and soda spills (that aren't even allowed in the classroom in the first place) all without smashing her face into a cold tile floor or awkwardly landing on a teenager's lap?!  Stay tuned!"  In Teacher Gladiator you get extra points if you manage the task while also giving instructions and handing out papers.  A near-death experience is backpack straps and slippery floors.

It's much safer just to throw things.

There's only one problem:

The one and only time you launch a textbook across the room (a huge no-no as they're insanely expensive) will be the one and only time a student fails to catch it, gets smashed in the mouth, busts the textbook, and begins bleeding right as your school board decides to visit your room on the "get to know education at the roots" tour.

Exaggerating?  Maybe.  But Murphy's law has a special affection for teachers,  and there do exist certain Universal Truths of the Classroom.  So we'll just neatly combine them all into one and call it The Singing Pig Laws of Teaching (SPLOT.)

SPLOT #1:  Admin will always walk in at the worst possible moment.

"All right, kids!"  I enthusiastically announce.  Today, we're doing improv!  Drop a word or phrase in one cup, a place or situation in another and that's what you're going to use for 30 second dialogues.  Ready?  GO!"

It's the style chapter.  Plaid, freckles, slender, wool, silk, necklace.  How bad could it be?

Door click.  Enter principal.  Students grab phrases from cups.

Student #1:  "Hola, Juan!  I am..." (looks down at paper) "I am not wearing pants.  And I'm in the bathroom.  I am not wearing pants in the bathroom."

Student #2:  "Oh, Juan.  That's nice.  I...um...so what...what is the problem exactly?"

Student #1:  "Pants.  I have no pants.  And paper.  No toilet paper."

Student #2:  "Toilet paper.  Right.   Oh!  You need help!  I will help you. I will take off my pants and use them to wipe your..."

Student #1 obligingly sticks his rear in the air.

"TIME!"  I shout.  "That's 30 seconds!"  Principal hasn't moved from door post.  I sigh.

"Next group...go."

Student #1:  "Buenos días, Anita."

Student #2:  "Buenos días, José."

Student #1:  "I am wearing a leather diaper.  Do you like my leather diaper?  It's a tight leather diaper.  And I am a sexy, sexy beast. Would you like to touch my tight, sexy, leather diaper?"

How, when I cannot for the life of me get them to use a dictionary on their homework, do they somehow mysteriously know "diaper," "sexy,"and "beast" the day my boss walks in?

"Whatever, Teach,"  you're thinking.  "It's a foreign language.  He doesn't even know what's going on."

Oh yes, he does.  I got the good luck to have a principal who speaks Spanish.  And even if he didn't I'm going to guess that the nipple-rubbing and ass-sticking-in-facing would give it away.   It's better, I suppose, than the days admin comes in and my children have all had lobotomies.

"Now, guys, we're going to play a game!"

Cricket chip.

"You guys, love games, right?  And you're totally prepared because we've been studying this vocab for a week!"

Drool.

"OH MY GOD, I'M ON FIRE!"  I run around in a circle, then stop, drop, and roll.

Nothing.

Door click.  Principal leaves.

"Aw, dude!  We're playing a game!  Which game, Sra.?  Sweet!"

SPLOT #2:  High school boys will always dress in drag.

 If you sense of humor-less folks didn't have the panties wadded up before this, guarantee you're feeling the wedgie now.  Sorry, my refined friends, but it's true.  Boys like girly clothes.   Perhaps not on a daily basis, but should you like to run a very simple experiment:

Recipe for Drag

1.   Fill one room with an equal combination of 14 - 18 year old males and females

2.  Add two bins of perfectly respectable yet gender stereotypical clothing

3.   Instruct to produce a brief dialogue.

4.  Let simmer 3 minutes.

The winner of our school's costume contest?  Dude dressed as Amy Winehouse.  Winner of Mr. School Spirit?  Dude dressed as Lady Gaga.   Show your school spirit day?  Dudes dress in drag.  Dress up your teacher day?  Dress dude teachers as Brittany Spears. 

I have women's size 4 dresses in my magic drag bins.  I figure that's not even an option for a growing teenage boy.  He's going to be much more comfortable in a man's old blazer, thus minimizing my classroom cross-dressing (and, hopefully, angry parent emails.  Always a plus, minimizing angry parent emails.)

"Señora..." I hear a desperate gasp from behind me.  "Help!"

The school's star basketball player has a black, strapless dress  pulled halfway down his chest where it has become definitively and impressively stuck.  His arms flail above his head while the dress's elastic band slowly constricts around his chest, suffocating him.

"For crying out loud, Colin," I say grabbing the dress and yanking upwards.  (Note to self:  not in the job description - yanking dresses off adolescent boys) "You might think twice before attempting to pull something the size of your bicep over your head."

"NO!"

"What?"  I pause, confused, black dress halfway covering student's face.

"Not off.  Help me pull it on!"

I like to think that I am simply following a long line of acting greats.  Shakespeare's actors were all men.   Even Juliet.  The hottie with the family jewels.  Following Shakespeare, naturally, comes Monty Python, who knew the value of falsetto and men in women's clothing.  And really.  No really.  There is nothing better on this earth than British men and drag.  Except, perhaps, Spam.  (Gratuitous Monty Python clip of the day - here. Inexplicable Asian subtitles = added bonus.  Thank me later.)  I am only leading my students down the path to future theater greatness.

But if you're a little confused, no worries.  "You teach Spanish, Teach!  But your blog moved from throwing things at students to drag, drooling, Monty Python, and...?  What are you doing to the young minds of America?!"

Well, to answer your question...I'm just trying to keep up with them.

SPLOT #3 At least three times a day, you will have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.  

Nope, pantie-wadders.  No way.  Don't even think that I'm talking about content mastery.  I can rattle on about the rules to past tense, accent placement and tricks for memorizing vocab until you shout uncle!  Or, pardon me, rather... ¡tío!  But I have carried on many a daily conversation where I'm pretty sure someone's feet are not touching the ground even though I can feel mine digging silently into the cold, hard floors.

Transcript of real conversation:

"Alright, Joe.  We need to talk grades.  You have a 59.5 in my class.  You must come in for extra help or it is very likely you're going to fail."

"I'm teaching myself Greek and Latin."

"Excuse me?"

"In my free time, I'm teaching myself Greek and Latin."

"That's really great.  But I still need you to come in, because I'm worried about you not passing this semester."

"Languages are really easy for me, so I thought 'hey - since I'm learning Spanish at school, I might as well teach myself Greek and Latin.'"

"Joe -I'm glad you think languages are easy for you, but I don't know how well Greek and Latin are going to serve you if you're not passing my class.  Now, when would you like to come in so I can explain the material?"

"I once set an entire building on fire by accident.  I was five."

I can't make this shit up.

I can only try and keep up with it, and that's exhausting.  Which is why, instead of trying to think of a clever conclusion to this entry, I'm just going to leave you with something completely different:

Something completely different.

SPLOT round two, coming soon.

Teaching Before a Vacation

Winter break's a doozy.

Extended vacations are the full moon of teaching.  A Friday 7th period class before a three day weekend is rough.  A Friday 7th period class before winter break is hell.

All long breaks provoke squirrely behavior.  Actually - let's back that up.  All holidays and all long breaks provoke squirrely behavior.  Halloween?  Sugar. Lots and lots of sugar.  Add in masks, zombis, blood and the inevitable sexy French maid outfit.  Voilá!  Mayhem.  Valentine's day?  Sugar. Hearts, teddy bears, balloons and crying.  Lots and lots of teenage girl crying.  Spring break? Warm weather, short shorts, teenage hormones, and the prospect of nine days without school?  A PDA-fest.

But winter break?  Oh yeah.  The perfect storm of insanity.

You've got the longest break of the school year in the visible future. The semester's over, so grades are pretty much set in stone and students' I-give-a-crap levels are low.  Large numbers of baked good are present on a daily basis for about one week prior (building nicely into a slow,  sugar-fueled crescendo,) teenage couples are anxiously stressing over what to buy for/they will receive from significant others while simultaneously dreading their heartbreaking forced separation while their families travel.  The weather sucks, trapping said hormone-crazed, sugar-filled, I-don't-give-a-crap teenagers inside.   Then there's the inevitable home stress that the holidays so frequently bring for everyone.  Two weeks corraled with only your crazy family and annoying siblings for company.  If you're lucky enough to have a family.

And teenagers usually aren't that fond of school to begin with.

Perhaps I can summarize all of this in a mathematical formula for you math and science teachers.  You'll have to pardon me if my skills are a little rusty.  I left my last college math class crying tears of joy, dancing the tango, and thowing flowers at all I passed.  Nothing against your subject area, or anything.

Upcoming long vacation + semester end + Christmas cookies  +  teenage gift-giving + adolescent romantic couples + cold weather + being cooped up inside + family drama =

My own personal nightmare.

By 7th period the day before break, most teachers  have thrown in the towel and are doing one of two things:  either telling the kids it's a review day for exams and tossing worksheets at them, or giving up completely and showing a movie/throwing a holiday party.  Crowd control, I've heard it called.  Just praying to make it through the last chaotic day before we release the hooligans back to the parents from whence they came.

Time to have a little fun.

You're fried.  The kids are fried.  The chances of them settling in, studying, and learning anything more in the next 50 - 90 minutes when they've done the same thing in all their other classes and they see freedom (sweet freedom!) on the horizon, is virtually nil.  But what if they actually reviewed information in a manner which they remembered?  And what if it involved minimal work for you?  And what if it kept them from climbing out the windows or whacking a neighbor over the head with a binder?

Sound too good to be true?  Yeah.  It probably is.  The energy level on a pre-vacation day is always going to be one hair short of a room full of puppies snorting espresso, but some of that energy can be wrangled into entertaining (and occasionally even productive) use.  Which brings me to my next round of Useful Junk: Your Lesson Plan for Pre-Winter Break.

http://pigsong.blogspot.com/2011/11/useful-junk-your-lesson-plan-for-pre.html

Enjoy.  And as usual, pass on at will!

Useful Junk: Your Lesson Plan for Pre-Winter Break

Good for: Semester or year-end review.  Technically, it could work for any unit review, but the thing about good Useful Junk is that if you overuse it, it's no longer good.

Activity:  Be Your Teachers
Ha.  Bet you think I'm going to give you some boring-ass plan where the students "teach" the class, which really means a couple kids get up front, mumble something and since they have no classroom management skills,  nobody really listens.

Nah.  Too annoying.  I can't stand being annoyed.

World Language teachers use a lot of skits.  Some of the best (and funniest) skits I've had my kids do were when I asked them to select one of other teachers and do a brief skit in Spanish imitating a lesson in that teacher's class. Think about it a second.  I bet you can name the idiosyncrasies, the tics, the speech patterns of most of your kids.  Who's your most soft-spoken?  Who's the kid that taps the desk incessantly?  Who spaces out in .023 second flat?

You know your kids.  You spend every day with them.  The flip side of that is that your kids spend every day with you.  And whereas a high school teacher might have 175 (or more) students, the average student only has about 7 teachers.

They totally have your number.

The imitations my students did were dead on.  And all of us, teacher and students alike, were rolling with laughter.  Oh...right...and my kids were also speaking Spanish.  So now I've tweaked that idea for review days, giving it a little more structure than when I first used it on a whim.  Here goes:

The Set-Up:
1.  Put students in groups of ~4
2.  Assign each group a key concept from the review
3.  Go over the instructions very explicitly -- especially if you don't frequently use dialogues or skits in class.

The Instructions:
Your group is going to cover your assigned review concept via a short presentation in front of the class.  However, this presentation has a slight twist.  You are going to pretend to be one of the teachers from this school, attempting to teach a class on your review topic.  (The kids are going to fuss.  "But wait!  Mr. Smith teaches Science.  He doesn't know anything about English! So address that right away.)  It doesn't matter if you think that teacher doesn't know anything about your particular concept.  If he/she had to learn it and step in this room in an emergency - how would he/she cover the material?  One of your group members is going to be the teacher, the rest of the group members are going to be the students.  Here are your guidelines:

Guidelines:
1.  In your presentations, you must cover... (insert content-specific requirements.  See my sample at the bottom of the page.)
2.  The presentation will last... (3 minutes is my max for this kind of stuff. That's actually quite a long time for this kind of dialogue.  Longer and they won't make the time limit and the rest of the class will check out.)
3.  Every student must speak, and must speak more or less the same amount.

You'll get extra your-teacher-loves-you points if you consider the following:

4.  What mannerisms, expressions and other quirks can you include to really show who your teacher is?
5.  How can you somehow relate your teacher teaching this particular concept back to his/her real class? (This can produce some surprisingly bright connections)
6.  What personalities are the students in this teacher's class going to have and how are they going to "learn" this material?

Accountability:  There are a couple of ways to grade this assignment, depending on how large a part of the review you want to make it.  I prefer to use it at the tail-end of semester review after I have covered all the material at least once and I have seen the students do some individual work, so I've got a pretty good idea of where they're at.  This leaves Be Your Teacher as a fun winding-up the semester activity without a lot of pressure.  As such, I simply give the kids a simply 1 - 4 class participation grade (and weight it, if necessary, depending on the points we've accumulated this semester.)  1 = you were a warm body, semi-concious during your group presentation.  4 = you clearly hit all the presentation requirements.  A grading cake-walk.

The other option is to build this out as a mini-project and make a real rubric for grading.  If you do this, you'll need to allow more class time and make sure your content guidelines are extremely specific, as well as your rubric.  The up side to this is that students will have to go much more in depth to the concept they've been assigned.  The down side is that they spend more time on that concept instead of dividing study time among all.  However, if you're good and divide groups by ability and intentionally assign them the concepts you know they're weakest on, it can be an added study aide.  You know your kids best.  Your call.

Teach's Sample Guidelines: (used the intro paragraph from instructions)
1.  In your presentations, you must cover the specific concept you were assigned.  (The verb tener, ser, dates, possession, etc.)
            a.  teach the concept as if your students were not already familiar with it.  What do your students absolutely have to know in order to use this Spanish concept?
            b.  have students attempt answers, some correct, some incorrect with additional explainations from the teacher
            c.  questions about content for the teacher
            d.  communication between the students in the class.  Do they help each other with answers? Explainations?
2.  The presentation will last at least ninety seconds.
3.  Every student must speak and must speak more or less the same amount.

You'll get extra your-teacher-loves-you points if you consider the following:

4.  What mannerisms, expressions and other quirks can you include to really show who your teacher is?  How can you translate these into Spanish?
5.  How can you somehow relate your teacher teaching this particular concept back to his/her real class?
6.  What personalities are the students in this teacher's class going to have and how are they going to "learn" this material?

User tips:
1.  Warn them at the beginning they may not read off a sheet.  Otherwise, they will be monotonous, unprepared, and you will be bored out of your mind. 
2.  Make all groups do a dry run at least once before presenting.  Have the whole class (all groups) do the dry run at the same time so they aren't self-conscious about other groups hearing/seeing them before they present. Time them to see if groups are hitting their time requirement. 
3.  As always, encourage creativity! :)

Have fun!

Meet Face

Meet Face.  As in The Face of Singing Pigs.  

Now, let’s just get one thing straight from the get-go.  Face is not Teach and Teach is not Face.  Look at her.  She’s too young and sweet to be a sassy high school teacher.  This adorable little Face is simply a volunteer with too much time on her hands and a penchant for telling really bad jokes.  Perhaps we’ll have her do some interpretive readings of emails as well.  Who knows.  But for the time being, enjoy...or don't.  It's bad.  I mean, really bad. It's...

...totally your fault if you click "play..."

Love Letters to Class

I’m always listening for feedback from my students.  Teenagers are, after all, known for an underdeveloped brain-to-mouth filter.  Since they rarely edit themselves, why wouldn’t I use their blunt comments to my own advantage and get a little better at what I do?

Laziness, for starters.  Not that I’m lazy as a teacher.  Lazy and teacher go together about as well as a power outage and school lunchtime.  Strange analogy?  Shut off all the lights in a cafeteria packed with hundreds of adolescents and see what happens.    I’ve lived it.  I still dream about it.  My nightmares are the stuff of of flying ketchup bottles and greasy tater-tots.

But back to my point.  Laziness as a teacher isn’t really an option unless you enjoy your classroom being a shit-show.  The trouble is, putting forth so much effort in keeping the tater-tots out and the learning in leaves little energy for the more subtle nuances of teaching.  Like interpreting teenage feedback.  They may be blunt, but teenagers are rarely overtly helpful in their comments.  

Adolescent feedback comes in 3 main categories:  The Obnoxious Comments, The Backhanded Compliment, and The You Just Totally Got Called  Out.   

The Obnoxious Comment:  These are the comments and questions that, should a teacher not be in an actively reflective mood, are usually fielded with a sarcastic response.   Are we doing anything today?  We should have a party.  Can we just take a nap?  School sucks.  (As a note, on my non-feedback seeking days, my standard answers are, respectively, 1. Yes, we’re all going to pick our noses then wipe the boogers on your desk. 2. You are correct.  We should have a party and you should all bring me gifts. 3.  Certainly.  As soon as you get home.  4.  And by “sucks” you mean “Good morning, Señora! How are you today?”)  

The thing with The Obnoxious Comments, is that if you’re getting them from one kid accompanied by a shit-eating grin, he’s just being a pain for the sheer delight of it.  If, however, you are suddenly hearing similar comments from multiple students, do a check-in with your class.  They’re telling you they’re fried, so there’s likely something else going on.  AP tests coming up?  Long stretch without break?  Report cards due soon?  When The Obnoxious Comments rear their head with any sort of frequency, I’d bet money the kids are stressing over something.   

The Backhanded Compliment:  The most affirming type of teenage feedback, The Backhanded Compliment can easily slip by unnoticed, or even be mistaken for an Obnoxious Comment. 

 “Argh!  Yuck.  Now I have to go to math/English/P.E.”  Seemingly an Obnoxious Comment related to School sucks, the student is actually implying is that being in your class is preferable to going to math/English/P.E.  So kudos to you.  

“Geez, Sra.  How come we never get to do just nothing for a day?” Sounds like a whiny Are we doing anything today?  but actually indicates that you’re setting high expectations for your students and they know that when they set foot in your room, they’re going to be working their tails off.  

My favorite Backhanded Compliment?  Dude.  This class isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.  Warms the little cockles of my heart every time.  

The You Just Totally Got Called Out:  By far, this is the most unpleasant teenage feedback device.  These little puppies are hard to ignore, but rarely result in any direct teacher improvement, because they tend to come with a nasty sting that knocks us straight into defensive mode.  The You Just Totally Got Called Out feedback generally appears in dialogue form between two members of the same class in a semi-whispered-but-not-really format:

Q:  “Geez.  Why is Señora so crabby today?”

A:  “Whatever.  She’s like this all the time with us.  She hates our class.”

Q:  “Whoa.  I totally bombed the vocab section of my test.”

A:  “Don’t worry about it, man.  Everybody did.  Sra. always tests us on on crap she doesn’t teach.”

You Just Totally Got Called Out comments generally involve some exaggeration but still ring true which is why we get defensive.  You might not hate every member of that class,  but it’s probably not your favorite.  And you did teach that concept...though admittedly half-assedly.  

Whatever feedback format your students choose to use, Ignore the sting (or buy yourself a beer to take the edge off) and then sit down and think about it.  Your students are probably right.  They usually are.

Which is why it would be so much easier to get their feedback in a straightforward form.  Interpreting teenage comments is annoying, time-consuming, and unpredictable.  I never know when my students are going to bless me with the opportunity to be Totally Called Out.  But I always need to work on getting better.

So I created the opportunity for them to tell me what they think.  I had them write love letters to my class.  And the results were so insanely helpful (and fun - getting totally ripped on was actually fun-) that I”m passing it on.  Check out the new label at the top of the blog:  Useful Junk.  It’s Shit That Works (the original label title but, worrying I might be crossing the Crude Line when I’d much rather be doing a little jig on top of it, I toned it down a notch) in ready-to-use form.  I’ve tried to make it as idiot-proof as possible. Which in no way, dear reader, implies that you are an idiot.  It’s just my way of saving you time and work.  Read, print, use.  Here’s the link for the Love Letters:  http://pigsong.blogspot.com/2011/11/love-letters_25.html  That’s right.  You’re welcome.

In return, just do me a little favor.  If you use it, “like” it and pass it on.  At least give me a little credit for doing your work for you.  Because if you don’t I have no qualms about Calling You Out.

Backhanded Compliments and Obnoxious Comments entirely welcome.  Enjoy.  

Useful Junk: Student Feedback - Love Letters

Good for: quarter/semester/year-end check-ins.  Could be altered to be used for unit or chapter reflection as well.

The prompt:
You are going to write a love letter (or break-up letter, as the case may be) to Spanish class.  The purpose of this is for me to gather information about how both you and I are doing in class.  Please answer or complete at least four of the following seven questions/comments.  Be honest.   No solid relationship is built on lies.

When I take a good, hard look at our relationship I see...

What have you done for me lately?

I’m going to offer you this advice...

If I could have changed something I did in our relationship, it would be...

What have been the good times?  The bad?

From you, I need...

Here’s where I see our relationship going...

What I really need you to know about me is...


User tips:

• Note, please, that I  intentionally made the love letters to Spanish class and not to me.  That would be all kinds of awkward.  And illegal.  I also explicitly explained this to students.   Just something to consider, should you want to steal the idea.
• Use as a closure activity.  Give the kids around 10 minutes to write  and encourage them to find creative ways to say whatever they want.  They’ll leave class both reflective and entertained by your bizarre request.
• My questions were reasonably broad as I was using this for a semester check-in.  Tightening up or altering the questions can give you more specific feedback.  (ie.  The last month that we have been dating has been...If I had to describe the one activity this week that most benefited our relationship...)

Sample Letters:

These are a few of the letters I received.  I do not recommend showing sample letters to students before they write their own, as that will result in a lot of similar letters and style formats.  Force  the kids to make it up as they go.  I did want to post a few of the ones I have received in the past, however, as an idea of what kind of feedback you might get.

#1: Dear Spanish Class,

When I take a good, hard look at our relationship, I can see that we are doing so well.  I love spending time with you.  You have given me so much, but I just haven't put in the effort that is necessary.  I've been spending too much time with my mistress, who has obviously had an impact on my evenings and nights.  This mistress is AP Government, and our love child is the Policy Paper.  I'm so sorry I had to tell you this now, but later is better than never.  I need a slower-paced quarter to get to the end of the semester.  What you really need to know about me, Spanish class, is I think we will be together forever.

Sincerely,

E.

P.S.  Sorry about being unloyal.

#2:  Dear Spanish Class,

When I think about our relationship, I see that you've become a little wrong for me. You just wanna have some sorta deal with some perfect speaking, but guess what...I'm not perfect.  I've put in hard work, girl, I'm stepping my game up.  I've been taking notes and doing my homework.  But I didn't really appreciate all those times when I had to play those games with you - especially those online vocabulary ones.  So tricky.  You always switched up those verbs.  But you ain't pulling that 3-hour stuff on me again.  I didn't enjoy speaking to you orally neither.  What I really need to tell you is that I'm kind of in this relationship with English class...and she really knows how to talk.

Peace out,

Y.

#3:  Dear Spanish Class,

When I look at our relationship, I see unicorns riding dolphins.  I'm just confused.  I think the hints you give about yourself sometimes come off too strong.  I am not eager to please you, and according to my grade, neither are you.  I am not giving the relationship all I can because once I have my graduation requirements...well...I'll put it this way.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Trash gets dumped

And so do you.

--A.

Follow-up:

Be prepared to either touch base with students one-on-one or respond to letters.  Responding to everyone one isn’t necessary, but I had several students request in a P.S. that they would like a letter in return.  I also followed up with brief notes to any student expressing struggles or frustration.  The response was huge - I immediately saw an attitude change in a couple of students, and had a number come by my room for extra help simply because I had offered it in a note signed “I believe we can fix this.  Sincerely, Spanish Class.” By verbally touching base with kids, I found they were willing to share even more information with me once they saw I had cared enough to actually read what they wrote and follow up with them on it afterwards.

Please share any good ones you receive!