There, their, they’re

I’m losing them and there’s no time to think this all the way through. The class is smallish today because it’s Eid al-Fitr. Split-second decision: I go for it.

“Let’s play a game!” I clap my hands together. Faces look up. At least one cell phone gets pushed into a desk.

“A good game?” someone asks.

I shake my head. “Always a teacher game.” They’ve heard me say this so many times, I half expect them to chime in, but they don’t. Wow. We are really disengaged. Before they have time to complain, I start counting them off. “Remember your number. Use your fingers.”

Six groups of three. I tell the students to push their tables towards the back of the room. As the metal legs scrape across the linoleum floors, I write there, their, and they’re on whiteboards – one up front and one on either side of the room. 

I turn around and clap again: “Everyone to the centre of the room!”

I wish I could tell you that they are excited, but mostly they sort of drag themselves suspiciously into what is generally the centre. Hmm… I am going to have to be the one to light this fire.

My brain churns. Clarity is key. On a good day, I’ve pre-planned the activity and thought through the steps, so I can give directions efficiently and effectively. Today, however, I’m winging it. Exams loom, the Chromebooks aren’t available, it’s a Monday…and it’s raining. The students are standing in the centre of the room, looking at me warily.

“Ok! Each group has three people. For every round of this game, one of those three people has to move AND it has to be a different person for each round. You can consult with each other, but every team member has to take a turn being it.”

Oh, now they’re paying attention. “It?” Yup.

I explain that I will read a sentence that uses one of the forms of there/ their/ they’re. The team whose runner touches the board with the correct form first will get a point. Then, we’ll do it again with new runners and a new sentence. I indicate the whiteboards with the various forms. I tell them that I plan to move fast, so they should have the next runner ready to go once the first one is done.

Chaos ensues. We whip through the sentences I had originally planned for us to do as a worksheet, then keep going with another handful. Students are laughing and sweaty. Heck, I am laughing and sweaty. I have to settle a few near-arguments about which form is correct. We pause for everyone to catch their breath, and I change the words on the board to its/ it’s. We play another round. Eventually, class is nearly over. We have just enough time to move the desks back. The winning team gets to choose a gift from the “box of terrible prizes.”

“These really are terrible,” one of them mutters, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve reviewed, and the students are ready for the homophones that I know are on the test. Plus, it was fun.

****

(Pull back the curtain)
“But… how did you think of that?” my younger colleague asks when I tell the story after school. It’s a good question. In the classroom, we often have to think on our feet, and I’ve realized that I have a series of questions that help me make choices:

• What do the students need to know?
  Tricky homophones
  
• Why do they need to know it?
  For the test
  • Why is it on the test?
    Silly or not, using these words correctly is an entrée into a certain level of education/ standing in the world; this is clout.
    
• What’s standing in their way?
  Boredom, widely varied levels of knowledge, lack of urgency (they don’t care about this)
  
• What options do we have to learn this material?
  Worksheets (boring), computers (someone else booked them), independent work (won’t hit the Goldilocks zone in this class – it will be either too easy or too hard), pair work, group work…
  
• How does this group of students learn?
  They like talking and moving, but they don’t 100% trust each other.
  They do well with competition and speed but not too much pressure.
  
• What would make this memorable for them?
  Movement, working at the board
  
• How can I put all that together?

It doesn’t always work, but this is more or less where my brain goes when I’m planning. What? Why? How? What would make this stick?

And, of course, it never hurts to embrace a little chaos.