Friday, Second Period #SOLC26 15/31

Some of the grade 12s have already found their seat before the students from period 1 have entirely cleared out, but somehow the bell still sneaks up on us. As the announcements play, I observe that a lot of students are wearing green and comment out loud before remembering that today is “fake” St. Patrick’s Day since the real one falls during March Break this year. One thing leads to another and soon we are looking up St. Patrick and why people celebrate St. Patrick’s day. Didn’t he drive something out of Ireland? Rats? Cats? (Snakes. It was snakes – though that part’s a legend.) Why do Canadians care if someone drove snakes out of another country? Umm… they don’t. 

Our conversation meanders and morphs and I point out that the Irish were considered highly undesirable when they first came over, and talked about how many nationalities and ethnicities struggle, even today, to find a foothold in a new place. Yes, even in Canada. Somehow the idea that Irish people were considered “nonwhite” comes up, and students are shocked. I disabuse them of this – the idea that Irish people were ever viewed as entirely non-white is pretty clearly false – but they are puzzled by the idea that race could be so malleable. I take a deep breath. 

Soon, we are talking about the idea that race is not, in fact, a purely biological construct, that what societies notice and separate and categorize as different races changes over time. No matter how many times I have explained this, the idea is always hard for students to take in. Today, I am able to use the wide array of skin tones in the classroom to show that “white” makes no sense. We all agree that I am “white” but my skin is clearly not the palest in the room. From there, I move to my family – are my niece and nephew white or Latino? The answer is obviously both, but when they move through the world, they will likely be viewed as one or the other. From there, I move to the author Lawrence Hill, who has generously shared his family background with his readers. We talk about the “one drop” rule and the labeling of humans as “quadroons” or “octaroons.” The students have questions.

At one point, someone asks if I see gaps between how Canadians understand race or racism and how Americans do. Now that is an interesting question. I give it some thought. One thing about Americans – at least when I lived there – was that we couldn’t pretend that slavery hadn’t existed. Canadians too often like to think that we did not benefit from the enslavement of human beings. We did. I tell my students today that I gave up teaching Lawrence Hill’s The Book of Negroes a few years back when I tired of my annual attempt to convince that one recalcitrant white kid that slavery really was that bad. Like… sir, allowing an enslaved human being to learn to read and write does not negate the fact that you consider them property. My current students are horrified. We talk about how much has changed in the last 15 years, the last 40  years. I tell them about how I was raised “not to see color” and how I had to learn that whiteness too often obliterates other perspectives. Eventually, I tell them that I need us to move on, that we’ve got plenty to think about for a while, and we settle in for some quiet reading.

I use reading time to check in with various students. Did they feel heard? Did I miss something? One student calls me over and thanks me – no one ever talks about this, she says. I thank her and ask her to bring up anything that needs to be discussed in the future. Another student asks what books I have that address these issues. I pull Stamped from the Beginning, Homegoing, Beloved… she and her friend start thumbing through these, eventually choosing different books and sliding them into their backpacks to read over break. The class calms and breathes. We’ve gotten off topic – how did wearing green lead us to slavery? I muse – but I believe this digression was well worth it.

After reading, we begin our first Socratic Circles of the semester. “Does walking away constitute meaningful action or is it merely an escape?” In groups of 8, fishbowl style, the students engage in thoughtful discussion about justice, utilitarianism, cowardice and whether or not anyone has the right t make decisions for others. Every student speaks. Everyone is engaged. It is a minor miracle.

Just before the end of the class period, I show students the “graphs” of each discussion. We talk about how good discussions allow everyone to participate in their own way while making sure that everyone feels welcome. It’s ok to talk more or less, to indicate agreement by leaning in or nodding. This class has done exactly that. When I point this out, one student counters with, “Yeah, but like six people were absent.” True, but I’ll take the wins where I can get them. When the bell rings, I tell them honestly how incredibly impressed I am with them. 

A few linger to discuss books (“Hear me out, Miss. What would you say to teaching Catcher in the Rye after Hamlet?”), but most head off to lunch. I am tired but elated. What an amazing pre-break class.

Friday, First Period #SOLC26 14/31

The bell has rung, but attendance is sparse on this last day before our March Break. The students who have made it to class on time occupy two ends of a spectrum: they either have their head down on the desk and appear to be asleep or they have a serious case of the sillies and are taking up a lot of space. This is more or less normal: First Period is Reading class, and not all of the students are entirely enthusiastic about starting their school day learning how to read – whether or not the next week is a holiday.

After the anthem, we go through the usual rigamarole: Phones away, take your earbuds out. No, really, the phone needs to be away. I know that you still have your earbuds in under that hoodie. Wake up. Waking up means sitting up. Seriously, put the phones away… and begin our daily routine:  CNN10 to increase our background knowledge, develop our vocabulary, and support our ability to read. One student remembers he’s supposed to be on a field trip and dashes out of the room. We wake another one up for the third time.

Holidays loom over this group. Some of the students are looking forward to time off; others definitely are not. As a result, we need a balance between routine and understanding today. People are unsettled; we want to set them up for calm as best as we can. Today is not a day where we can expect a lot of reading practice – because learning to read is exhausting. So after the news, we play a few word games then switch to our CNN10 vocabulary Kahoot. Our students can now reliably read and define words like surreal, innovative, feline and replicate and my colleague and I are extremely proud of them. Plus, it’s fun.

As the students log in, one – no seriously, I know you are listening to music – tries for the millionth time to convince us that he doesn’t need to play. Today, with the small class and the extra time, I am able to take a chance. “Hey,” I say, “let’s take a walk.” My colleague nods; she can handle the classroom. He ducks his head, embarrassed, but agrees.

Walking with students is a teacher trick. There’s something about being on the move, side by side, that lets people talk in ways they might not in a classroom. In this case, I lead with one of my favourite questions, “So, tell me about not playing Kahoot. What’s up with that?”

He doesn’t know, of course, except that he doesn’t like it. It’s stupid and it’s too easy and the words are too hard or too weird or too useless. He also requires quite a bit of daily cajoling to watch the news – and the vocabulary comes from there – so, since we’re walking, I ask about that, too. He doesn’t know why he hates it. He doesn’t know why he hates it all. He wanted to be in this class, and he knows we fought to get him in, but now… We walk and talk, talk and walk. 

In one stairwell, four boys are letting the recycle bins they just emptied slide down the stairs with a satisfying (nearly deafening) clatter and bump. I stand still, watching, until they see me, blush and leave. The student I’ve been talking with snickers a little. In a hallway, we encounter a student who we just saw in another hallway. There, he told us he was going to class. That class is not here. I tell him I’ll check his classroom in a few minutes to make sure he’s made it, but for now I’m focused on the child next to me, so I don’t have time to chase a different one.

This child, the one I’m walking with, is deeply uncertain about why he’s unwilling to participate in so many of our reading activities. After 15 minutes of walking, he still can’t quite articulate his concerns, but it’s somewhere between really wanting to learn to read and being horrified that “everyone” knows he’s in a class for people who can’t read. I tell him – not for the first time – that even the parts of the class that aren’t actively reading (like watching the news) will still help him with learning to read. He nods, but I know he’s not convinced. Nevertheless, he agrees that, for today, he will try the Kahoot with the hard vocabulary. 

I drop him back in the classroom, head back to check on the wandering student, and get back to class in time to watch the last – triumphant – round of Kahoot. When the bell goes, the kids tear out of the room, saying over their shoulders, “Have a good break! See you in a week!” and my colleague and I share a quick conversation before the next class comes in. 

Nothing has been solved. Nothing has changed. Still, the walk was a start; next time, in a few weeks maybe, my colleague will walk with him. Step by step, we’ll figure things out together. But now it’s time for a different class.

Countdown #SOLC26 12/31

Earth Date, March 2026
Context: Ramadan, Lent, war in Iran, the week before March Break

Monday, Break -5: Finally succumbing to whatever bug has been decimating attendance, I stay home sick; some students do some of the work I’ve left for them.

Tuesday, B -4: Student walk out (to protest provincial changes to education) starts at lunch and continues into the afternoon; workers in the neighbourhood accidentally cut the power lines; things goes dark; school is dismissed early.

Wednesday, B -3: Major ice storm predicted; buses cancelled; teachers must attend school but students do not; I have a total of two students attend class; in the end, the freezing rain mostly misses us.

Thursday, B -2: Intruder in the school; “secure the school” called during morning classes; person is “given support”; afternoon classes continue as normal; student attendance is dwindling; everyone is exhausted; one day to go.

Friday, B -1: Do we even want to imagine what might happen tomorrow? We had a fire alarm pull last week, so that’s done. We haven’t had a flood, but I feel like ice sort of covers water issues. Earthquake? Tornado? Unexpected solar eclipse? Time out of joint? Cross your fingers that we make it to our break.

Snow day? #SOLC26 11/31

By the time you read this, I will already know my fate.

I might be at home, curled up in a blanket, marking essays or reading a book.

I might be driving on an icy road, heading to a school likely to be all but empty – buses cancelled; schools open.

And, though this is very unlikely, I might be preparing to teach a full class of students.

Weather forecast: up to 20mm of ice accumulation (25 mm = 1 in) from freezing rain. 
Warning level: orange

(No one really seems to know what an orange warning is – but it’s more dire than yellow and less dire than red, so that’s something.)

When I was a student, I didn’t fully appreciate how much teachers sometimes long for snow days. Here in Ottawa, a true snow day is a rare thing indeed – we almost always stay open – which makes it even more wish-inducing. For tomorrow, I have my money on option 2: buses will be canceled, but teachers will still be required to go in. A few intrepid students will show up, but we won’t be allowed to teach anything new, so the day will be lost. Sigh. 

Still, I’m up a little later than I should be, writing.

Still, I haven’t told my children they must go to sleep.

Apparently that childhood longing for an unexpected day off never fully goes away.

Once, when I was a young teacher working with many other young teachers in Washington, DC, several inches of snow were predicted to start on a Thursday night. DC had no ability to handle snow, so if it snowed, we would have the day off. In anticipation, after work we all went to a local basement pool hall – one of our favourite hangouts. As the evening progressed, we played pool and drank beer, laughed and sent various teachers up the stairs to open the door onto the street and check for snow.

The evening crept onward, but no snow fell. We worked at a very small school; fully half of the faculty – probably more – was playing pool in that basement bar, drinking beer and waiting for the snow. By 10pm, with no snow falling, the more clever amongst us went home, hoping to sleep off whatever damage they had already done in time for school the next morning. But most of us stayed. 

11pm. More beer. No snow. A few more people left. But not many.

Then, around midnight, just when we were beginning to recognize the reality of what we had done, someone went up the stairs – ostensibly to go home – whooped loudly, turned around and raced back down to rejoin the crowd. “It’s snowing!” The bar erupted with cheers. The bartender gamely turned up the tv and we rejoiced to hear that DC schools were closed the next day.

I don’t remember what time we went home that night, but it was late, and – oh – how I remember our joy. 

A snow day. An unexpected day off. What a gift.

It could happen. And listen, I’m far too old to be out playing pool until all hours of the night, but, just in case, I might wear my pajamas inside out. And I think I’ll let my kids stay up late.

Lights out #SOLC26 10/31

The lights went out. The image projected on the board went black.

Then I heard screams.

Chaos ensued. Up and down the hallway, teachers threw open classroom doors to see what was happening. Student faces peeked out behind them. Soon, we learned that the power crew working down the street had accidentally cut the power lines in the neighbourhood. Luckily, my classroom has windows and, even better, I had just handed out new worksheets, so we were golden.

Golden, that is, if you ignored the intermittent screaming from across the hall, often followed by hilarious laughter. The interior classrooms were really very dark, so there was quite a lot of random scream-laughing… after a few minutes, I invited my across-the-hall neighbour and his ELD (English Language Development – for students who did not have the chance to attend much school before they came to Canada) Science class into my Grade 9 English class. More chaos.

If I know anything about school chaos, I know this: students with nothing to do will find something to do pretty quickly. It’s better for everyone if teachers direct that energy before the students do.

Unfortunately, my class had been starting to work with correlative conjunctions and inversion (after a moment last week revealed how deeply they did not understand this – really, the excitement never ends in our classroom). I’d shared “the flip” right before the lights went out.

The story not only hides the truth but also creates fear becomes
Not only does the story hide the truth, but it also creates fear.

Now we’d added half again as many students to the room and their English levels were undetermined. This was, perhaps, not the ideal lesson for the moment. But what are you going to do? The classroom was full of kids and something had to happen. No problem. I caught my colleague’s eye, then quickly grouped the students, pairing two or three English students with one or two Science students.

“Great,” I clapped my hands. “Now, if you’re in my class, you’re going to teach this pattern to your new partners.” Nothing like adding a little academic chaos to the chaos of a power outage. The students stared.

Soon the Science teacher and I were circulating, encouraging students to introduce themselves, to share worksheets, to try something new. Slowly, the magic of students working together across languages and levels started to spread through the classroom. People were laughing and talking and trying to understand each other.

I had just stepped back to take in the somewhat-darkened slightly goofy chaos of learning when a VP came in and told us that school was dismissed early for the day. Everyone understood that, and cheers erupted. Students streamed out of the classroom, and my colleague and I smiled at each other. It had only been 10 minutes, but it had been good.

Walking the Dog in Springtime #SOLC26 9/31

Walking the Dog in Springtime
(after Frank O’Hara’s poem “Having a Coke with You”)

is even more ridiculous than walking home from daycare with a toddler
or scouring the pavement for that one glove, lost in the last week of winter
partly because he has to smell every inch of newly-exposed mud
partly because of my desire to breathe in the rain-washed air, partly because of his desire to breathe in everything
partly because of his enthusiasm for the disgusting remnants the melting snow has revealed on the edge of the sidewalks
partly because I have to pull him away from all the people and dogs that are also out enjoying the sunshine
it is hard to believe when I’m with him that there can be anything as still
as unforgiving as an icy walkway possibly studded with salt
in the warm Ottawa 2 o’clock light we are wandering through the neighbourhood
like neurons connecting through sunlight

*I stayed home sick today, but I still had to walk Max. We had a lovely midday meander.

Should I go in tomorrow? #SOLC26 8/31

A conversation with myself

Are you sick?
Maybe. Well, I mean, yes, obviously – otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.

How sick?
Achy and headachy, but not sniffling and sneezing.

So probably not contagious?
Probably not

If you go in, what’s the likelihood that you’ll lose your cool before the end of the school day?
If I still feel like this: high

How old are your emergency lesson plans?
Very very old

Not useful, then?
Not even a little

Will making sub plans be better or worse than going in?
Hmm… 50/50

Wow! 50/50! – you really aren’t feeling well.
I’m really not

Does the school still have money to pay supply teachers or will your colleagues have to cover your classes?
We still have some money.

Any classes whose behaviour is likely to make a supply teacher weep or quit?
Yes, one

Of three?
Yes

That seems like a reasonable ratio. The supply teacher can handle it.
Probably, yeah.

Oh, by the way, are you still feeling sick?
Well, yes

Are you sure?
Umm… yes

Do you remember before Covid when going in sick was normal?
Yes

Do you remember that now we’re not supposed to do that?
Well… yes

So why are we talking about this?
Maybe I’m not that sick!

Have you felt sick all day?
Yes

And, for argument’s sake, if you go in and still feel sick, is the next day any easier to miss?
No, in fact it’s worse.

For pity’s sake. Stay home tomorrow.
Harumph. I’ll wait to see if I still feel sick at 9. Then maybe I’ll call in.

Backwards Design: how to procrastinate weekend grading #SOLC26 7/31

Understanding by Design Template 2.0

Stage 1 Desired Results
ESTABLISHED GOALS
Mark the essays
UNDERSTANDINGS Students will understand that…the teacher read their workESSENTIAL QUESTIONS Why? Why why why?
Stage 2 – Evidence
Evaluative CriteriaAssessment Evidence
The essays have a final markOTHER EVIDENCE: Ideally with thoughtful comments
All of them
Stage 3 – Learning Plan
Summary of Key Learning Events and Instruction
End goal* – Finish the marking
*those who finish early will be allowed to comment on other blog posts as a reward
Start marking
Look for things on the computer again
Organize the paper versions of essays
Spend an ungodly amount of time fiddling with formatting
Finally write your blog post
Make more tea
Decide you need more tea
Talk to your sister
Water the plants
Play NYTimes word games
Check phone for messages again – just in case
Read headlines – spiral about the state of the world
Clean the toaster
Toast a bun for breakfast
Make a pot of tea
Collect clothing for laundry
Add very important items to the grocery list
Check phone for messages
Decide you will blog before you start marking
Sleep in a little

For teacher-writers truly dedicated to procrastination: on Friday night, do NOT write your blog post; decide that you will, instead, write before beginning to mark on Saturday morning.

Resource retrieved January 17, 2023. Accessed from https://jaymctighe.com/resources 

Tuning in #SOLC26 6/31

After I broke my wrist in December, I took a few weeks off from walking the dog. In fact, I took a few weeks off from walking at all; I had no desire to find out what might happen if I slipped on another patch of ice. Can one break a currently-broken wrist? What if I slipped and broke my left wrist? What does one do with two broken wrists? I decided that I didn’t want to know the answers to these questions so, since Ottawa is definitely icy in the winter, I stayed home and “let” my partner and the kids walk the dog.

The children were compliant but not thrilled with their new duty. Mr. 15 wondered pretty regularly exactly how not icy it would have to be before I would take up my former duties. “Winter lasts a long time, Mom,” he stated bleakly. Mr. 17 tried to talk me into “just” using my left hand – but walking Max, our large energetic black lab mix, is a two-handed endeavour. Still, I missed my daily walks, so in mid-February I tentatively rejoined the dog-walking rotation: anytime the sidewalks were mostly clear, I took the dog.

Things were different now. Where before walking Max was just something I did, now it required my full focus. I scanned the sidewalks for icy patches; I looked ahead to spot other dogs that might cause Max to pull on the leash; I checked the streets for any vans he might need to try to attack (he really hates vans and buses). To protect my right hand, I needed my wits about me, so I did not put in earbuds and listen to podcasts as I used to do. I didn’t even look for things to photograph – something I love to do. I just walked the dog.

Suddenly I could hear those much-detested vans earlier and help settle Max before they arrived. When the weather broke for a February thaw, I heard the birds. And I noticed anew that people who passed me spoke several different languages – one of the many things I love about our neighbourhood. When I felt steady on my feet, my mind was able to wander. I hummed songs and just sort of thought.

This morning, as my mind meandered, I remembered the first time I realized that headphones (or MP3 players, I guess, though I didn’t know it at the time) were going to change the world. I was walking down the Champs Elysees, trailing the students I had accompanied overseas. The iPod was relatively new, and several kids had brought theirs on the trip. As some of the boys exited yet another patisserie (I’d be willing to swear that all they did on that trip was eat), I realized that Ben was bopping down the wide sidewalk of the great boulevard with his ears full of his own music. He wasn’t hearing the language swelling and swooping around him or the street noises that rose and fell as we passed various stores or even the thrum of the traffic. He was taking in the sites with his own soundtrack. I’m not 100% sure, but I think I told the kids to take out their headphones and be in Paris. I know that at some point I gave up the fight. 

My objection seems almost quaint today. Now, students sit in class, an earbud in one ear, strategically hidden behind a shock of hair or under a hat. They are vaguely offended when I ask them, again, to take out their personal life soundtrack. During silent reading time, they insist that they “read better” with music on. When I ask, many can’t think of a time that they aren’t listening to something unless they are forced to take their earbuds out. They hate the “silence” and tell me it’s uncomfortable. In my office, most of my colleagues have something in their ears all the time so that they can “concentrate.” I, too, often go through the world with someone else’s voice in my ears. 

My broken wrist may have broken that spell for me. Sure, I miss my podcasts, but I am enjoying the space that I’ve found. I can’t call it silence because the world is full of sounds, I’d just forgotten that they could be enough. Maybe I’ll get sick of it soon. Maybe I’ll slip back into the sense that every minute needs to count as two – or that every minute is mine to control in some way – but I’m starting to think that maybe I won’t. I think that maybe it’s time for me to remember that the world provides its own soundtrack and that my mind is happy there. It turns out, I like the space that comes from being a little tuned out.