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.

What to Wear on Wednesday #SOLC26 5/31

When I was in high school, friends of mine kept track of how many times our Chemistry teacher said a particular phrase. I think it was “um,” but surely that is too banal. Surely we had better things to do in Chemistry than tally the number of times our poor teacher hesitated every class period, day after day, right? Of course, we also kept track of at least one teacher’s outfits: ah, there’s Tuesday’s skirt! Right on cue, Thursday’s dress! And my sister’s class once united to torture a student teacher by tearing out their notes, day after day, then pretending she had not given the previous day’s lecture. 

Clearly, this was before cell phones.

I am now in my 50s, and some days I feel lucky if the students even notice if I’m in the room, but these memories explain this morning’s dilemma: what to wear to school? I have plenty of options, but it’s March and I am sick of every item of winter-adjacent clothing I own. Plus, of course, I couldn’t wear the green palazzo pants today because I want to wear them tomorrow when we have a guest speaker. Why do I need to wear those pants for a guest speaker who I’ve never met before and may never see again? I do not know, but this morning that was my only fully-formed idea about clothing. As a result, I stared longingly at the green pants for several minutes. 

Eventually, I reached for a black dress with white stripes, but I suddenly feared it might be my “Wednesday” outfit. I put it back, deciding that my safest bet was something navy – because when was the last time I wore navy? Minutes later, I realized that I probably hadn’t been wearing anything navy because I couldn’t find my navy shoes or any cardigan that coordinated even vaguely with navy. 

At this point, getting dressed – something that normally takes me no time at all – had taken me quite a bit of time indeed. I texted my carpool buddy that I was running late and, ignoring the nagging voice in my head – the one with a distinct Southern accent – that whispered “No white before Memorial Day,” I grabbed a white cardigan. I finally located my navy shoes, then ran downstairs to grab breakfast. I threw together a lunch, and took my breakfast to go. My carpool buddy arrived, and we headed off to school: me, confident that I was not wearing a Wednesday outfit and knowing that, at the very least, my shoes were appropriate. No tally sheets for this teacher!

No tally sheets, that is, unless my students are keeping track of days when I have completely forgotten to put on any make up. Sigh.

At least tomorrow’s outfit is ready to go, and – who knows? – maybe the guest speaker will be really impressed by my green palazzo pants. Maybe he’ll add them to a secret tally sheet of “really well-dressed teachers for a Thursday in March.” I bet I top the list for that one.

Let it go? #SOLC26 3/31

During my prep period I head to the front office to ask a question. In the lobby, the Principal is talking to two of our regular “hall walkers” – students who spend most of their time in the halls rather than in class. I maintain my pace but watch, intrigued, as he moves them inexorably towards the office even as they argue with him. At one point he says, “1,150 students are in class. Why aren’t you?” I’m impressed by this statement, but the students remain defiant as I pass. 

Just before I enter the office, I see a few more regular loiterers hanging out nearby. Though I have no real authority other than that of being an adult in the building, I believe that teachers and administrators should work together to help students meet our expectations, so I spur them along a bit with a joking phrase and “You should be in class.” They acknowledge my words with a clearly false response and stay where they are. I ignore their obvious lie and go into the office. Actually getting them to class would take more fight than I’ve got in me right now.

A few minutes later, I’ve finished up in the office, and I walk out, chatting, with a colleague. We continue to talk as we wend our way back to our classrooms. More students linger in the lobby. Again, I pause to say, “You should be in class.” Again, they offer anodyne excuses that have little to do with reality. I know they’re lying; they know they’re lying. We all continue on our way.

Once we reach my classroom, my colleague comes in and shuts the door behind him. “Hear me out,” he says, “before you say anything.” I figure this is because of my terrible habit of interrupting, but this time it’s more than that. He looks directly at me. “You need to stop telling kids to go to class.”

He explains his logic: every little interaction like the ones I’ve just described is a tiny annoyance, a mini increase in my blood pressure or my stress. And for what? Every time, the students lie or ignore what we say, and every time they get a little “win.” They only go to class if we follow them there, and that is a much much bigger annoyance for everyone and a bigger stressor for the teacher. He believes that ignoring their behaviour is better for us and, at the very least, no worse for them.

I have to think about this. I consider the “animal training” philosophy that suggests we should ignore behaviour we don’t like and reward behaviour we do. I consider the amount of effort it takes even the Principal to get kids to respond appropriately. I consider what I lose when I ask students to go to class but don’t follow through. 

Then I think about what it might mean if no one asked students to go to class. What happens if most or all teachers just turn their heads instead of intervening? But are we really intervening now or are we just playing at intervention? I don’t know. 

I’ve been thinking about this since my prep today. I can honestly say that asking students to go to class has only ever been effective when I have accompanied them all the way to the door of the classroom. Even then, I overheard one of our VPs say that she had walked a student to class today and the student left the room again within minutes. Maybe I’ll give my colleague’s idea a try, even if it feels weird. What do you think?

The Experienced Teacher #SOLC26 2/31

Lately, I’ve been feeling my age as a teacher. Look, I don’t think I’m old, exactly, but I’m definitely much nearer the end of my teaching career than the beginning. I’m literally the same age as the mother of one of my colleagues. I try not to think about it, but it’s still out there. I’ve given up on some things – I no longer even bother pretending to keep up with celebrities and slang. I pick up a bit here & there, toss it into the occasional class discussion and pray I’m only a bit out of date. Is skibidi still a thing? Six-seven? Ariana Grande? Who knows? Who cares? Not me, honestly.

As a Department Head, I pride myself on encouraging teachers in the department to try new things, take risks, see if we can meet students where they are and all of that, but too often I still think of new things as, you know, books. Meanwhile, my colleagues are tiptoeing into the world of teaching video games and YouTube essays. They use reels and bring up streamers (who are people, not party decorations). It’s impressive, and I kind of hope I retire before I need to use these things regularly. I mean, I keep a blog – which I write without AI. 

Which brings me to one of my grade 9 classes this year. They are energetic and hilarious, which translates into “always talking” and “often sneaking out their phones.” They don’t read and they don’t do homework. (Obviously some of them do, but classes have personalities and this one is, ahem, riotous.)

It’s a year-long class that meets every other day, so February marked the beginning of our second semester together, and last week marked the end of my patience. People were late. People were talking. We’d given up independent reading time several weeks ago. On this day, notebooks were not out; no one had a pencil; only two students had completed the article of the week. Their midterm marks were atrocious, but they didn’t seem to care about improving. I gave up. I asked the students to sit in a circle and I spoke to them honestly. I didn’t know what we were going to  do, but it couldn’t be this. We would not make it to the end of the school year. “So,” I said, “too hard, too easy or too boring?”

The answer, of course, was yes, though it took a while for them to trust me enough to talk about it. Once we had established that, we moved to the next question. “What do you want or need to make this class better?”

“More fun,” they said. (Well, after they said no reading and no writing, no vocabulary and no sitting and all group work and let them use their phones – and I laughed and laughed.)

“What does fun look like?”

No one really knew at first, but slowly they came to agreement: they wanted to read something together, maybe out loud and definitely not on their own; they wanted to move around more; they wanted to work with other people, even though they know they’re not really good at actually working in groups. They wanted more support for their writing.

“Ok,” I rubbed my hands together. “I can do that! Let’s choose a book!”

And, because I am old and I am a Department Head, I know who teaches what and when, so I went to the book room (don’t worry; another teacher stayed in the room with them), and I grabbed a few copies of every book that had a full class set. I found seriously old books (Lord of the Flies) and slightly old books (Speak) and modern books (Frying Plantain) and brought back enough copies for people to page through. Still, nothing was really hitting them.

Finally, R looked up and said, “You know, I thought in high school we would read Shakespeare.” Several others agreed with her. “Could we read Romeo and Juliet?” Across the room, some of the boys perked up, too. They were down with Shakespeare.

Y’all. Shakespeare? I hadn’t even considered Shakespeare. These kids are from all over the world. Their English is everything from native to fluent to okay to, well, we’re trying. Some of them are excellent readers; some are decidedly not. They generally disdain English class. Shakespeare? Perfect!

Experience has its privileges: I know that the language will be hard enough that it will equalize the class – all the readers will struggle with the words. I know that this is as much a gang story as it is a love story. I know that we will be on our feet all the time and that they will have to work together and do close reading to figure out what in the world is going on. I know that I have myriad options to support kids at different levels and I know that this will work. I know it right away. 

“Yes!” I said. “Let’s do it! This is going to be fun!”

I put all the other books away and gathered the students in for a second time that class period to talk about feuds and families and sneaking out of your house. I may be old, but when it comes to teaching, I like to think that experience means I know what I’m doing.