It took 2 doctor's visits (TB test), 2 trips to the office of teacher education (a bad bad place) and a little jaunt to the real, live NYC Department of Education building, but I finally managed to sneak myself into a real live classroom. Woo!
Week three of student teaching starts tomorrow, which means I've spent many of my waking hours the past two weeks sitting in a room full of 8th grade boys. That's right - all boys. Two classes' worth of them, with 14 more being added (transfers from the formerly-coed class) some time in the next few weeks. A lot of farting happens, but, other than that, it's been surprisingly fun.
So far, I've been stuck in observation mode, only really interacting with the boys when they have individual work to do - floating around to help them out on essays and encourage them to actually read their books, etc. My cooperating teacher is incredible, but I think she may be just a little bit of a control freak. That's great for keeping the class in line, not so much for me getting to teach.
Of course, I'm sure she knows exactly what she's doing - she's had student teachers in her classroom every semester for at least 2 years running. And judging by the way the students ABSOLUTELY LOSE THEIR MINDS every time she steps out of the classroom, I probably need to spend a little more time watching her methods and gaining their respect before I'm truly left alone with them.
Right now, her foot crossing the classroom threshold is like an on/off switch. Even if she's still visible through the doorway, if she's outside the room it turns into crazy town in there. Kids talk right through me when I'm standing in front of them saying "look at me, hey hey HEY." There's dancing, singing, foul language, and, for whatever reason, a lot of head-slapping. That's their thing - always touching each others' heads.
There are some that listen to me. And I already have my favorites, which I know is wrong, but a couple of these kids are so adorable, I can't help having a little soft spot for them, trouble-makers or not.
I'm still learning names. The troublemakers are easy, because they're always getting yelled at, but the good ones, the ones I should know so I can thank them for not being insane, they're a little harder. I write their names (spelled phonetically because they don't seem to have an attendance sheet here? wha?) and some descriptions in my little notebook whenever I learn a new one, and am kind of living in fear that someone will pick up the notebook and read things like "[redacted] - manface, evil eyebrows." It would be like Harriet the Spy only SO MUCH WORSE.
We wrap up our current unit next week, then there's mid-winter break (school is awesome! break woo!), then we start Shakespeare, and, I hope, I start teaching. Wish me luck.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Autobiography part a million
A little secret about teacher school: you spend A LOT of time talking and thinking and writing and talking more about YOURSELF. Not about school or students or teaching - just you.
I have a "teaching autobiography" due tomorrow. I'm not entirely sure what that is. I read two articles that were about the importance of writing teaching autobiographies, but neither really bothered to go into the mechanics of one. From what I can gather, you pretty much just spill your guts about EVERYTHING that might affect how you teach - your background, beliefs, political leanings, earliest learning and teaching experiences, inspirations, anti-inspirations, ETC.
Because my poor computer is full to the point of lethargy these days, I have decided to write said autobiography here and allow the internets to worry about saving it. I think I am going to present it as a mobile, so if it looks a little piecey, just imagine it swirling around with lots of string and pretty paper. oooooh! right?
Where I'm coming from:
A Mainer who grew up in the South.
White, middle-class family that seriously values education.
Public school until high school. I loved school until 7th grade.
Middle school sucked. More on that later.
Then there was high school. I went to Brookstone School: A College Preparatory School for Boys and Girls. It was ridiculous - populated by the landed gentry of the south - but an incredible educational experience. It was small and challenging and the teachers there cared whether you learned something and whether you were happy doing it. My freshman year of college was EASY compared to my senior year of high school. We had no classroom management. No discipline - it just didn't seem necessary (until my junior year there was Brookstone Hunt Club that asked kids to bring their guns to school). We were given a lot of freedom and frequently were treated like responsible adults - kind of college-lite. Going there was probably the best thing, life-course-changing-wise, that has ever happened to me.
I'm a Liberal and a sociology major. I'm sure that sort of thing will affect my classroom approach.
I'm impatient but working on it.
Thanks to the Brookstone experience (and my parents), I grew up very sheltered. I realize this. The types of things that some of my kids will be going through will probably blow my little mind. We'll see.
Why am I here?
This one is messy.
Nieto writes that many excellent teachers are also activists. I have felt, for much of my life, like an activist without a cause. I wanted to do good, to impact the world for the better, but have never really found what felt like the right channel for me to do so. I've been a tutor, a Habitat for Humanity builder, a 4H member, a visitor to various old folks' homes, a camp counselor - and I liked all those things and thought that they were the right thing to do at the time, but they didn't feel like my LIFE. A once-a-week meeting, no matter how anticipated or successful, is not a CAUSE. It is just a step.
A step to what? Why did I do those things? I guess the greater impetus, and this is going to sound dumb, was to just BE GOOD - to make life a little bit better or easier or happier for those who could use the help. A lot of what I did happened to be (and happens to be) education-focused because that's what I'm good at - that's what I have to offer.
There are other reasons why I'm here. I cried every day on the way to middle school because I hated it and felt so alone and bored and just weird because that's how middle school makes you feel. Middle school should not be a purgatory - it's hard enough being thirteen. Kids that age need teachers - note baby-sitters - who care about them and push them and realize that they are in a weird life place. I think I can do that.
I love school. There is no place I'd rather be, and I want others to feel that way.
I want to be a TC in particular because it seems very aware of and invested in its community. I wanted - needed - to go somewhere that would adequately train me to teach where good teachers are most needed.
What I want to be
I have spent a ridiculous number of hours trying to plot my "Teacher Persona" for the classroom. Will I be tough? Kind? Funny? Scary? Crazy? Will I be able to control it at all? I don't know. But I do have some models.
My mom is a first grade teacher. She is kind and patient and very good at keeping a sense of humor.
I want to make myself as warm and inviting as Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz. She made those of us in her writing class last semester feel like we were her favorite, smartest, most special class ever. It was incredible and so encouraging.
I want to be sharp and well-traveled and a little bit kooky like Mrs. Khazaeli, my 9th grade English teacher. She told me to be a writer, and she had us all convinced that she could do witchcraft.
I want to have the energy of Mr. Davis, my history teacher, and Mr. East, another English teacher. It was impossible not to be excited in their classes.
I want to be as lovable and terrifying a the same time as Mrs. Livengood, my European history teacher. I think it would help to be 6 feet tall and built like a linebacker with flaming red hair. And be a genius. And have incredibly high expectations. And be like a mom (a gossipy one) to everyone.
And even before I knew I wanted to be a teacher, I knew I wanted to be like Kate Slevin, my college adviser. She was smart and funny and dry and no-nonsense, and she could have been so intimidating, but instead, she was the only college professor whose class I ever willfully spoke in. She had a way of drawing me out. I still don't know how she did it, but she helped me shine. I need to learn that trick.
I had a whole other section planned out for what I don't want to be, but I decided not to dwell on the negative because I certainly don't want to be that.
Moving forward
I start student teaching tomorrow. My billion questions are sure to multiple as soon as I get int o the classroom. For now, I'm just going to do my best, take lots of notes, listen to anyone who will take the time to talk to me (including students), and try to build a little bit more of myself as a teacher every day.
I have a "teaching autobiography" due tomorrow. I'm not entirely sure what that is. I read two articles that were about the importance of writing teaching autobiographies, but neither really bothered to go into the mechanics of one. From what I can gather, you pretty much just spill your guts about EVERYTHING that might affect how you teach - your background, beliefs, political leanings, earliest learning and teaching experiences, inspirations, anti-inspirations, ETC.
Because my poor computer is full to the point of lethargy these days, I have decided to write said autobiography here and allow the internets to worry about saving it. I think I am going to present it as a mobile, so if it looks a little piecey, just imagine it swirling around with lots of string and pretty paper. oooooh! right?
Where I'm coming from:
A Mainer who grew up in the South.
White, middle-class family that seriously values education.
Public school until high school. I loved school until 7th grade.
Middle school sucked. More on that later.
Then there was high school. I went to Brookstone School: A College Preparatory School for Boys and Girls. It was ridiculous - populated by the landed gentry of the south - but an incredible educational experience. It was small and challenging and the teachers there cared whether you learned something and whether you were happy doing it. My freshman year of college was EASY compared to my senior year of high school. We had no classroom management. No discipline - it just didn't seem necessary (until my junior year there was Brookstone Hunt Club that asked kids to bring their guns to school). We were given a lot of freedom and frequently were treated like responsible adults - kind of college-lite. Going there was probably the best thing, life-course-changing-wise, that has ever happened to me.
I'm a Liberal and a sociology major. I'm sure that sort of thing will affect my classroom approach.
I'm impatient but working on it.
Thanks to the Brookstone experience (and my parents), I grew up very sheltered. I realize this. The types of things that some of my kids will be going through will probably blow my little mind. We'll see.
Why am I here?
This one is messy.
Nieto writes that many excellent teachers are also activists. I have felt, for much of my life, like an activist without a cause. I wanted to do good, to impact the world for the better, but have never really found what felt like the right channel for me to do so. I've been a tutor, a Habitat for Humanity builder, a 4H member, a visitor to various old folks' homes, a camp counselor - and I liked all those things and thought that they were the right thing to do at the time, but they didn't feel like my LIFE. A once-a-week meeting, no matter how anticipated or successful, is not a CAUSE. It is just a step.
A step to what? Why did I do those things? I guess the greater impetus, and this is going to sound dumb, was to just BE GOOD - to make life a little bit better or easier or happier for those who could use the help. A lot of what I did happened to be (and happens to be) education-focused because that's what I'm good at - that's what I have to offer.
There are other reasons why I'm here. I cried every day on the way to middle school because I hated it and felt so alone and bored and just weird because that's how middle school makes you feel. Middle school should not be a purgatory - it's hard enough being thirteen. Kids that age need teachers - note baby-sitters - who care about them and push them and realize that they are in a weird life place. I think I can do that.
I love school. There is no place I'd rather be, and I want others to feel that way.
I want to be a TC in particular because it seems very aware of and invested in its community. I wanted - needed - to go somewhere that would adequately train me to teach where good teachers are most needed.
What I want to be
I have spent a ridiculous number of hours trying to plot my "Teacher Persona" for the classroom. Will I be tough? Kind? Funny? Scary? Crazy? Will I be able to control it at all? I don't know. But I do have some models.
My mom is a first grade teacher. She is kind and patient and very good at keeping a sense of humor.
I want to make myself as warm and inviting as Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz. She made those of us in her writing class last semester feel like we were her favorite, smartest, most special class ever. It was incredible and so encouraging.
I want to be sharp and well-traveled and a little bit kooky like Mrs. Khazaeli, my 9th grade English teacher. She told me to be a writer, and she had us all convinced that she could do witchcraft.
I want to have the energy of Mr. Davis, my history teacher, and Mr. East, another English teacher. It was impossible not to be excited in their classes.
I want to be as lovable and terrifying a the same time as Mrs. Livengood, my European history teacher. I think it would help to be 6 feet tall and built like a linebacker with flaming red hair. And be a genius. And have incredibly high expectations. And be like a mom (a gossipy one) to everyone.
And even before I knew I wanted to be a teacher, I knew I wanted to be like Kate Slevin, my college adviser. She was smart and funny and dry and no-nonsense, and she could have been so intimidating, but instead, she was the only college professor whose class I ever willfully spoke in. She had a way of drawing me out. I still don't know how she did it, but she helped me shine. I need to learn that trick.
I had a whole other section planned out for what I don't want to be, but I decided not to dwell on the negative because I certainly don't want to be that.
Moving forward
I start student teaching tomorrow. My billion questions are sure to multiple as soon as I get int o the classroom. For now, I'm just going to do my best, take lots of notes, listen to anyone who will take the time to talk to me (including students), and try to build a little bit more of myself as a teacher every day.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
A whole new year in which to make bad decisions! Yay!
I definitely finished out the old year and jumped right into the new in the true spirit of this blog: I went to my parents' house and did not write a thing for close to a month.
A month! I don't even know if I know how to write anymore. What is this thing I am banging on with my fingers? A keyboard? What IS that?
Instead of writing, I ate. And ate and ate and ate meat and bread and banana pudding and candy and chicken salad and cheese, all topped off with beer, wine and eggnog. Bad decisions, to be sure. I think I gave myself gout. I definitely gave myself a stomachache, and, like a truly crazy person, refused to learn from my gourmet mistakes, instead making new ones every day.
Even on the ride home - a bad decision all on its own, for reasons I will describe shortly - I could not tame the eating beast that I had cultivated throughout my ill-deserved vacation. We ate at Sonic (bacon cheeseburger AND chocolate cream pie shake), then we ate at Wendy's, then we ate beef jerky and sour patch kids and Pepsi. And we didn't move for 20 hours.
Yes, twenty. Being the incredibly wise and forward-thinking people that we are, we (Gerard, the dog and I) decided about half-way through our trip that we were not going to stop in DC, as planned, but, instead, would drive all the way to New Jersey in one crazy road adventure.
This was stupid on two, maybe three, counts:
1) Not stopping in DC meant we would not get to see the lovely Alejandro, who I had just called the day before to drop the last-minute bomb that we would be invading his house. I had to call him back and even-more-last-minute cancel, probably ruining his plans for the evening and being an all-around terrible friend.
2) Twenty hours is long and exhausting for even the most well-rested and alert of drivers. We were not well-rested and alert. We had gone to a wine-tasting/ridiculous-fest with my family the night before and were driving on 6.5 hours of sleep and the slowly dissipating remnants of 6 glasses of wine in our bellies.
3) Snow happened. AGAIN. "The blizzard of '09" struck the night before I was supposed to ship out of New Jersey to get home, and even after having to shovel myself out of a driveway and make my first attempt at snow-driving alone, I did not learn to plan my travel around the weather. Just after passing DC (where we could have stopped!) on the drive home, the snow showers started up. We had to make he rest of the trip puttering along below the speed limit, unable to see more than a few feet in front of us.
We made it home (well, to NJ) at 3:45 AM.
We are now back in Brooklyn, where our new year will really get up and running. School starts back in a few days (Monday for Gerard, the next week for me), I go back to the admissions office tomorrow, I have faith that one day I will actually get assigned to teach a Kaplan class, and the great "stop Lauren from eating so much" experiment will begin. I feel that this year will give me much to write about, especially once I begin my student teaching in February. Stay tuned.
A month! I don't even know if I know how to write anymore. What is this thing I am banging on with my fingers? A keyboard? What IS that?
Instead of writing, I ate. And ate and ate and ate meat and bread and banana pudding and candy and chicken salad and cheese, all topped off with beer, wine and eggnog. Bad decisions, to be sure. I think I gave myself gout. I definitely gave myself a stomachache, and, like a truly crazy person, refused to learn from my gourmet mistakes, instead making new ones every day.
Even on the ride home - a bad decision all on its own, for reasons I will describe shortly - I could not tame the eating beast that I had cultivated throughout my ill-deserved vacation. We ate at Sonic (bacon cheeseburger AND chocolate cream pie shake), then we ate at Wendy's, then we ate beef jerky and sour patch kids and Pepsi. And we didn't move for 20 hours.
Yes, twenty. Being the incredibly wise and forward-thinking people that we are, we (Gerard, the dog and I) decided about half-way through our trip that we were not going to stop in DC, as planned, but, instead, would drive all the way to New Jersey in one crazy road adventure.
This was stupid on two, maybe three, counts:
1) Not stopping in DC meant we would not get to see the lovely Alejandro, who I had just called the day before to drop the last-minute bomb that we would be invading his house. I had to call him back and even-more-last-minute cancel, probably ruining his plans for the evening and being an all-around terrible friend.
2) Twenty hours is long and exhausting for even the most well-rested and alert of drivers. We were not well-rested and alert. We had gone to a wine-tasting/ridiculous-fest with my family the night before and were driving on 6.5 hours of sleep and the slowly dissipating remnants of 6 glasses of wine in our bellies.
3) Snow happened. AGAIN. "The blizzard of '09" struck the night before I was supposed to ship out of New Jersey to get home, and even after having to shovel myself out of a driveway and make my first attempt at snow-driving alone, I did not learn to plan my travel around the weather. Just after passing DC (where we could have stopped!) on the drive home, the snow showers started up. We had to make he rest of the trip puttering along below the speed limit, unable to see more than a few feet in front of us.
We made it home (well, to NJ) at 3:45 AM.
We are now back in Brooklyn, where our new year will really get up and running. School starts back in a few days (Monday for Gerard, the next week for me), I go back to the admissions office tomorrow, I have faith that one day I will actually get assigned to teach a Kaplan class, and the great "stop Lauren from eating so much" experiment will begin. I feel that this year will give me much to write about, especially once I begin my student teaching in February. Stay tuned.
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