Your classroom = your space = your identity?

The 1986 World Champions NY Mets banner above the blackboard in my classroom. If you look closely, you can also see a Hot Wheels version of the Delorean from Back to the Future.

Back at the beginning of this school year, I read a few posts on various blogs about giving up the “teacher’s desk” in the classroom as a way to make students feel more like the classroom was as much theirs as it was the teacher’s.  While I understood the sentiment, I was also unsure that was the best idea and wrote about it.  My main point was basically that as much as students should feel that learning is theirs and the classroom is theirs, teachers shouldn’t feel that they need to give up everything about themselves.  I talked about how I have a desk in the corner of my classroom that is exclusively mine, and while I rarely sit behind it (usually because it’s covered in papers but also because I can’t teach sitting down), I’ve also decorated it and the surrounding area with all sorts of stuff that reflects my personality and my interests.  A former co-worker of mine referred to it as a “Geek-o-sphere.”  I mean, students deck their lockers and book bags and notebooks out with all sorts of random stuff (especially the notebooks, which is why I’m always out of Scotch tape, btw), so why can’t I have some Mets posters and a Mr. T. action figure?

I bring this up (again) because my college’s alumni magazine published a great piece on the offices of various professors on campus.  Called “Their Shelves, Their Selves,” it took a diagram-like look at the rooms and all of their clutter and their quirkiness:

Do you really know your professors if you haven’t seen their offices? Loyola magazine paid a visit to a few faculty offices to see how faculty members’ professional interests and personalities define their spaces.

As you head to pack up your classroom in a month or so and then return to unpack and get things set up, think of how much you loved seeing all of the random crap your teachers used to have on the walls when you were in school, or how interesting it was to step into a professor’s office.  Then remember that it’s okay to not feel like you have to give up everything.

Conversations and Conspiracy Theories

Lee Harvey Oswald in an infamous photo taken before he supposedly assassinated President John F. Kennedy in 1963.

“Is that non-fiction?”

I looked up from my book–Stephen King’s 11/22/63–to see a man sitting on the other side of the waiting room at Merchant’s Tire.  It was 7:30 on Saturday morning and I had been up since 6:00 because I’d wanted to make sure I was early enough to be the first in line to get my wife’s car inspected (it’s a sure sign of getting older–you camp out for car inspections and miss the boat on concert tickets).  I glanced at the cover and half-wearily replied, “No, it’s a novel.  It’s about a guy who goes back in time to try and stop the Kennedy assassination.  So far it’s pretty good.”

He nodded and turned his attention back to the local news on the waiting room’s television.  After a few moments of silence, he muttered, “They couldn’t have prevented that anyway.”

“Yeah,” I replied, half-heartedly, trying to get back to reading.

“It was a huge conspiracy.”

“I’ve heard a lot of people say that.  I guess when you have a conspiracy like that, you need to keep it secret, so it couldn’t have been prevented.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think …” he began.

I closed my book.  I love a good conspiracy theory as much as the next person, even though I tend not to believe most of them.  I think I just like a good story.  He began to talk about the Bay of Pigs, which I’d known about since the sixth grade when I did a report on JFK for a biography project, but then went into elaborate detail on something called “Operation Northwoods,” a rejected plan in which the CIA would commit acts of terrorism in the United States and blame Fidel Castro.

Shakespeare doesn’t matter anymore

Recently, Alexandra Petri wrote a column for the Washington Post entitled, “On the Bard’s birthday, is Shakespeare still relevant?”  It’s a great article and I suggest you click through the link and read it.  Now, I don’t know what got into me this afternoon while I was reading the article on my lunch period, but my response to this particular article came pretty quickly–so quickly, in fact, that it’s hard to read what I scribbled on the back of a detention referral during the last ten minutes of lunch.  Reading it a little closer, it seems pretty defensive of the Bard, but then when I think of it, in this day of social media, maybe the question finally has an affirmative answer.  Maybe we can finally stand up and say: Shakespeare is irrelevant!

And he is NOT innovative!

Because come on, Juliet did not text Romeo that she was faking it (though Romeo couldn’t check a pulse and since when can a teenage boy tell that she’s faking it?) so it has no meaning now. Because it’s not savvy and does not use 21st Century skills and therefore …

THEREFORE … SHAKESPEARE MUST HAVE BEEN STUPID!

And why should Juliet die anyway?  Don’t you know that heroines don’t die now; they just come back to sparkle?

And what about plain Kate? You know, Bonny Kate, Kate the curst, Kate the pure that everyone hates? Does she not now nobly sacrifice herself for  fair and prim Bianca, instead of being dragged kicking and screaming down the aisle?

Oh, it’s all so irrelevant!

If Shakespeare were smart and savvy, Olivia would be checking into Foursquare and checking her brother’s Facebook status so they don’t get mixed up, and even if they did, she’d be very good at tweeting about Orsino.

And don’t get me started on that group that falls asleep in the forest.  We’re supposed to believe that there’s something magical about it?  They obviously did what any other group of kids do in the woods these days–drink, drink, pop the painkillers stolen from their parents’ medicine cabinet, and drink.  Oh, and post the footage to YouTube.  Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to dream.

(Of course there’s nowhere to dream, the public school system stole that from them)

Anyway, we are too smart of a modern (or is it post-modern or post-post-modern?) society to believe sarcastic ad hominem statements made at funerals, and nobody in our modern culture would ever use underhanded means to get and keep what they want.  Power does not corrupt, siblings do not fight over inheritance, and people do not get into debt so deeply that paying back said debt feels like literally giving part of themselves over to someone else.  Our society is beyond all that.

So he’s irrelevant.  Not innovative.  Not authentic.

Oh, and he’s also hard to understand, and it’s not fair to my students that they have to unwrap his words.

Completely unfair.

Totally.

#irrelevant

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
‘Gainst death and all oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the Judgement that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

On the Washington Post’s Spring Cleaning

Every year, the Washington Post‘s Sunday Outlook section runs their “Spring Cleaning” feature, where different people weigh in on ten things that they think should basically be done away with.  This year, two of those things exist within the sphere of education:  the 3 p.m. school day and grades.   Both seem like things worth getting rid of, but I thought since I was in the mood to do so, I’d take a closer look at them (note:  I’ve summarized the arguments very briefly.  I’ll link to the appropriate pieces so you can read the full argument), because while it seems like a good idea to get rid of them, I’m not so sure they’re going anywhere anytime soon.

The 3 p.m. School Day

The Argument:  It’s based on an agrarian economy (ironic considering how many “industrial model” arguments I’ve heard lately), it puts unnecessary stress on parents, it creates latchkey kids who tend to get into trouble

Why It Should Happen:

1. As a parent myself, I know how finding after-school care for a young kid can be both tough and expensive.  If the school day were more aligned to the average 9-5 workday (a 9-6 day, perhaps?), then the cost and other problems associated with after-care might not be as hefty.
2. As a high school teacher, I know how comatose teenagers are at 8:00 a.m., especially in a school district where the buses start running as early at 6:30 because they have long distances to travel (I teach in a rural area).  If we shift to a later starting and end time, perhaps they’ll be more alert or have more time in the morning to wake up.
3. By making the day longer, we can add more time for students to eat lunch or have recess.  I don’t know about you, but wolfing my food down inside of 25 minutes isn’t exactly my idea of a fun way to eat.
4. Lengthening class time from 45 minutes to a full hour (if you’re on this type of schedule) might allow for more engaging and differentiated instruction where teachers and students can feel like they’re getting their hands dirty without constantly looking at the clock to see if it’s time to clean up.

Why It Might Not Happen:

1. Well, if you’re one of those people who complains about schools being testing factories, you probably don’t want kids to spend more time in the testing factories.
2. Employers would be upset because their cheap labor is no longer available.  You think I’m joking, but here in Virginia we have a law nicknamed the “King’s Dominion Law,” which basically mandates that school start after Labor Day so that teenagers are able to finish working out the entire summer and therefore support tourism.  With a 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. finish time, your average McDonald’s or Starbucks might not be too happy that they have to hire actual adults who will want to work for more than minimum wage.
3. After-school sports would start too late.  Again, that sounds silly but look around your average school and its culture and see how important sports are to said culture.  I’m sure that you could pull those athletes out of school early to participate in sports, but then that would perpetuate the “special status” that too many jocks unjustly deserve.
4. You’d have to pay teachers more.  And you know we can’t have that.

Grades

The Argument:  The idea of grades takes away from real effort.  If a student gets a bad grade, it’s demoralizing and discouraging.  If all a good student is working toward is good grades, then they’re not going to give any extra effort.

Why It Should Happen:

1. I often have problems with rubrics that break down tasks into numbers.  Why did your paper get an 85 and not an 88?  Uh … because of some idiotic formula?  Because a number has to be there?
2. Grades often lead to b.s. work, especially in English.  We might spend weeks without any graded work because we’re discussing stories or a novel and then … well, here comes the progress report, so I probably should give them something to do so there will be a grade in the book.  Time for a worksheet, kids!
3. Grades shouldn’t be the main motivator anyway.  There’s something to be said for enjoying the learning process or feeling good that you’ve accomplished something no matter what the letter on the report card says.  Some realize this sooner than others.
4. I’d like to feel that true feedback matters and true feedback is in the words that are on the paper as opposed to the number in the gradebook.

Why It Might Not Happen:

1. Parents expect them.  When you don’t have a lot of grades in your gradebook, parents will question whether or not you’re doing anything in class.
2. Standardized testing is so important to bureaucrats and politicians and Pearson that it’s hard to see where they could function without scores and data.
3. Piggybacking onto that, without grades, where are the measurables?  How are we objectively going to know how a student is doing in his classes?
4. This is a culture change that goes beyond just schools.  Think about how the profit motive and other sort of rewards-based systems are the basis of our entire society, from the economy to an individual’s social life.  People take jobs because of salary; I’ve had students refuse to do anything if it wasn’t graded.  That’s an attitude that is ingrained deeper that anyone thinks and probably one of the hardest things to change.

So yes, another clue into the massive headache that is “fixing” education.  Anyone got any Advil?

What about Prom, Blaine? … No! What about Prom?!

Lest this turn into a 1,000-word discourse about the fragility of my ego and desire to be liked when I was a teenager that probably still continues to this day, I’m just going to simply state that from the moment I set foot in my high school as a freshman, I looked forward to going to my senior prom.  This is probably because I watched every John Hughes movie too many times, but since we held our prom on the Thursday before graduation, I felt like it was a truly special occasion, that “last hurrah” before heading off into parts unknown.  And while that attitude probably set me up for a huge letdown (as proms often are), I actually had a really good time.  Granted, I’ve written more exciting fiction than what actually happened on my prom night, but that’s why it’s fiction, right?

Anyway, I’ve got prom on my mind for a couple of reasons.  First, I’m about two weeks away from chaperoning my seventh consecutive junior-senior prom.  People I work with always seem astounded when I mention this, especially since I also chaperone the Homecoming Dance, but when I explain to them that not only do I get plenty of coverage for the yearbook but there’s tons of free food and chaperoning both dances gets me out of taking tickets at games, which is something I loathe.  Second, this piece on Jezebel caught my eye: “Prom is Even More Magical When the Economy is Shit.”  It seems that despite the bad economy, spending on prom (mostly by girls and their parents) is up to an average of $1,078.

Most of that spending, by the way, is by families that are decidedly middle-class.  According to the article, rich families don’t really spend a lot on the prom:

Actually, those families spend less than parents in lower income brackets: according to a Visa phone survey, families that make between $20,000 and $29,999 a year will spend more than $2,600, twice the national average, while wealthier families plan to spend between $700 and $1,000 on clothing, accessories, grooming, dinner, and transportation.

Now, I suppose I could spend the rest of this post decrying the misplaced priorities of parents in the middle class, or how prom perpetuates the notion that a teenager’s social life is more important than her academic career, or something about a class war or war on women or mommy wars or war wars.  But as I was reading the piece — and realizing that thinking about what I paid for my prom was useless since I am a guy — I began to think more about prom itself.  How did it begin and why is it still part of our schools’ culture?

Yes, it really happened, kids.

I guess considering my post the other day, I should relate this particular story because it’s hilariously appropriate …

“Just found out Titanic really happened!’ The tweeters who thought world’s most famous shipwreck was just a film”

RMS Titanic sank in the early hours of April 15 1912, after being struck by an iceberg during her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York.

But for many of the younger generation, the ship is more familiar from the 1997 film about its demise starring Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio.

So … I guess this could be one of the wonderful side effects of the “Well, if it’s not relevant to them, they’re not going to want to learn about it and if they’re not going to want to learn about it, you shouldn’t try to teach it because they should decide what they want to learn because your role is no longer to impart knowledge or actually be a teacher but to be a warm body in their presence because you are not innovative and your union has manipulated their lives to put you there to abuse them” attitude that I seem to read a lot about?

I don’t know, but I’m definitely laughing.

If it happened long ago and far away, can’t it still be relevant to them today?

In recent days, I’ve read a number of posts on various blogs that address a common talking point these days, which is the idea that we need to remember that students are the center of education.  In some places, the writers were simply reinforcing the idea of student-centered learning and better student engagement, something that I, along with quite a number of my colleagues strive for (and admittedly struggle with from time to time).  But in others, there was this underlying tone that it’s not just that students are the center of learning in the classroom, but almost that they’re the center of the universe in some way.  Said one person about cell phones: “If you can’t hold their attention in competition with a cell, that’s not their problem.”  Said another: Attention is the new currency in our world and you need to offer something in exchange if you want me to listen to you.”

My reflexive response to this (i.e., my getting defensive … and come on, we all do it) is, “So, do I have this teaching license for your entertainment? I didn’t realize that I need to be singing and dancing.  I know, I’ll add more fart jokes to tomorrow’s lesson.”  But that’s not much of a constructive response, to be honest and no matter how bratty the insistence that I keep my students’ attention as if I am some sort of entertainer, there is a kernel of truth to it.  If it weren’t true and I did not have to keep them attentive and engaged, I wouldn’t have to see the words “relevant” and “authentic” in every post I read.  In other words, what does it matter to a student if the material that I am covering is not important to their everyday lives, or who they are, or isn’t something they can use right away (via social media, of course)?  And mind you, I take all of these things into account when planning units and lessons.  I, just like so many of us, want my students to leave the class feeling that they’ve grown in some way or learned something.  I thought of that when I was planning the unit that I’ve just started teaching.

The only problem is that we’re reading Night, and that’s about something that happened half a century before they were born.

I’m not being flip here.  I’ve been bothered by this ever since I picked up the book to revise the unit again this year, for a few reasons.  First, I chose the book and therefore I’ve already made my unit teacher-centered because I am not letting my students take control of their own learning and letting them read what they want.  Second, I’ll be spending time on an event that happened long ago in a country whose government no longer exists and will more than likely never exist again (a government we defeated, btw).  And third, we live in a free society where that couldn’t possibly happen, so how it possibly be relevant to them?

Some of the answers to that are obvious: we learn about The Holocaust so it can’t happen again.  We need to make sure we continue to fight intolerance and hatred.  We need to understand the horrors that humanity is capable of.  But again, I hear that voice that demands authenticity and tells me that I’m wrong for foisting this upon them because it’s not relevant unless they decide it is.

Now, in three years of teaching Night, I have always had students who latch onto the book and devour it, probably because they have an interest in World War II history or they have grandparents or great-grandparents who fought in the war, much like I did (my paternal grandfather was a turret gunner on a bomber), and while The Holocaust happened a while ago, it is still fresh enough in our society’s mind for students to know how important it is.  But what happens as the decades go by and survivors pass and it becomes not a memory but a watered-down recount in a bad textbook that’s been whitewashed by Pearson because the Texas Board of Education says so?  And how do you keep the murder of six million European Jews relevant to a predominantly white Christian population that might shrug it off and say “Eh, it can’t happen to me?”

Here’s where I will sound like a teacher-centered teacher, and I’ll try not to sound too pompous, but this is one of those subjects that I feel that whether in history or English class we need to always teach because even if students themselves don’t think it’s relevant, it is and we need to show that it is.  We haven’t started the actual book yet; instead, we’ve talked about antisemitism, the rise of the Nazi party to power, and propaganda so that not only do we talk about what happened but why and how it was capable of happening on such a large scale.  Because when you really think about it, the scale of The Holocaust is astounding and even mind-boggling, something that you don’t really understand until you look at a map and see the entire system stretched over several countries.

But again, that voice … “So what?  It won’t happen here.  It won’t happen to me.  It’s not relevant.”

Because it’s not hard to make Night or The Holocaust engaging, but making sure that we don’t forget why it is always going to be important and relevant is going to continue to be the challenge, and as self-righteous as it sounds, it’s one I think we should all accept, no matter how teacher-centered that seems.

From the Bookshelf: “Lamb to the Slaughter”

Mary Maloney (Barbara Bel Geddes) prepares to whack her husband over the head with a frozen leg of lamb in the "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" version of Roald Dahl's "Lamb to the Slaughter."

Very often when I’m figuring out what to teach, I find myself going outside of the classroom English textbook.  In this feature, I take a look at those reading selections.

“Well,” I said after they’d finished reading the story, “I guess if you wanted me to get into the literary value here, we could talk about pacing in plot and character development and irony. But in all honesty, I just wanted you to read it because it’s fun.”

I think that my advanced English class appreciated me saying that after we had finished reading Roald Dahl’s short story “Lamb to the Slaughter,” probably because with two days to go before spring break, they didn’t feel like having a lengthy discussion about figurative language. And to be honest, I think the story was a little “below their grade level.” But I’ve used the story in 10th grade English for four years now and it always seems to be the one students remember the most and to me that’s because it’s the most fun.

If you are familiar with it, “Lamb to the Slaughter” is the story of Mary Maloney, a housewife married to a police detective whose husband comes home from work one day and tells her that he wants a divorce and is leaving her. We don’t know why, just that he told her and that it’s enough for her to grab a frozen leg of lamb from the freezer in the garage and hit him over the head with it. What she does with the leg of lamb afterwards is a master plot twist: Mary cooks it and then later winds up serving it to the police (the best line is one of the last, a police officer saying that the murder weapon is probably right there under their very noses).

The story itself is not in my English textbook. In fact, the stories in the textbook don’t seem to be too particularly entertaining. I have found myself over the last few years taking short stories from other sources–sample textbooks from other publishers, collections I have at home, literary journals and magazine–because a dearth of material provided by our school’s chosen publisher. And I think one of the reasons I’ve been able to use it so well as a teaching tool for literary devices to a “general-level” English class is because it’s an easy read. If you’re not getting stuck on the material, you’ll be able to grasp some of higher-order stuff.

After reading, one thing my students have had fun with is writing the missing scene from the story. Like I mentioned, in Dahl’s story, Mary’s husband telling her that he is leaving her is accompanied by the phrase, “And he told her” and that’s it. There’s no reason given as to why, just that he’s leaving. So having students write a dialogue where he tells her allows them to stretch creatively and also helps teach how to write dialogue properly. I’ve had the obvious (he’s leaving her for another woman) to the crazy (he’s actually a spy or he’s wanted or the mob is after him).

And of course there is a movie. “Lamb to the Slaughter” was adapted into an episode of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” back in the 1960s starring Barbara Bel Geddes. The show fills in that missing portion, but is quite entertaining and really pulls off the irony at the end.  And … it’s available on DVD as well as on Hulu (provided the internet in your building is working properly; mine wasn’t last week).  I’ve done a classic compare/contrast between the two where we talk about why some aspects of the story were changed.  And I suppose if you wanted to go the full nine, you could use this as a way to teach writing plot twists.

But it’s also a good story just for the heck of it.