The Day After

“Have you talked about the election in any of your classes today?”

Most heads shake no. Interesting.

“Do you know who won last night?”

Now a few heads nod. A few voices venture an actual response: “The Liberals.”

“Right!” I push on. “Great! So… who knows the name of the Prime Minister?”

Hmm… harder. Murmurs move around the room. Maybe it starts with an “M”? Someone is sure there’s a /k/ sound. One confident student says “Not Trudeau” and everyone laughs.

“Mark Carney,” I tell them. A few fingers snap, a few heads nod. Yes. Yes, that’s right. They knew that.

And now for the tough question, “What else do you know?”

I know I teach English, not Civics, and I know these students are only 14 and 15 years old – far from voting age, at least as far as they’re concerned. Still, last night was a federal election, and I believe that school must be about more than the assignment of the moment. In fact, in the last few years I’ve come to recognize that a big part of my personal “why” in teaching is to help students become thoughtful citizens. I want to help them learn to think deeply. I want them to believe in their own inherent value and to understand the value of others – and of compromise. In a world that tells them that they are valuable mostly as consumers, I want them to feel agency. So here we are, talking about politics in English class.

A few minutes later, we’ve put together some basic facts: the Conservative Party actually performed very well last night, even if they didn’t win; this means the country is divided; the NDP, which is more liberal than the Liberals (“that’s weird”) lost official party status; the Green Party still exists; people’s votes mattered because the vote in many ridings was close.

Someone asks if the Conservatives are “against human rights.” I assure the students that they are not.

Someone asks who I voted for. That’s private. Why? I explain the idea of secret ballots and the idea that someone like a teacher might have undue influence, even unintentionally, on students. Nevertheless, I acknowledge my bias and encourage them to challenge me if they think differently than I do.

Someone asks when the next election is. We talk briefly about minority governments and why that makes the date of our next election a little less predictable.

The class, usually extremely energetic, is somewhat subdued. I know they know some of this information already, and I know that sometimes inviting the outside world into the classroom can feel odd. Their focus holds for three minutes, maybe five, and then we’re back to the regular routines – requests for pencils, for water, for the washroom, for someone to move their desk, to pay attention, to “say that again” to “just be quiet already”.

Still “Mark Carney” stays written on the board until halfway through class when we move on to brainstorming evidence from our book. If I’m lucky, some of them will remember his name and how we talked about the election, even in English.

Being the Parent #SOLC25 25/31

I parked in the tiny parking lot and sat in my car for a few minutes, hoping that the rain would let up. While I waited, I texted a friend to let her know I had arrived; we made plans to meet in a bit. That taken care of, I darted out of the car and towards the well-lit building. A young man – one of Mr. 16’s friends – said hello to me as I made my way up the stairs. There, a couple I’ve known for years were standing near an open door, so I paused to chat for a few minutes – kids, work, life. Luckily, no one was in no rush.

Eventually, a door down the hallway opened, and an old colleague gestured to me. I made my excuses to my friends and headed over to him. We embraced briefly and then caught up. He shared photos of his son – already two and a half! – and we laughed a bit about my youngest, now 14, and some of his antics in English class. Time flew; soon it was time to go.

This is how parent-teacher interviews go for me now that both of my children are in high school.

The next interview was across the courtyard, and I ran into several people I knew as I made my way to the classroom. There, a semi-familiar young teacher greeted me and reminded me that we had worked together a few years ago. “I’ve gained weight,” he said ruefully, “Imagine me, thinner.” Again, we used some of our ten minutes to catch up and some to talk about Mr. 14. When time was up, the next parent was a friend, so we all talked for a minute before I left them to their discussion.

Being the parent in these meetings is odd. I’ve taught in this school district for seventeen years now, and I’ve worked in four different high schools. Since I take pleasure in both collaboration and mentoring, and since new teachers often move around a bit before they get a contract, I’ve gotten to know a lot of teachers at a lot of schools. More than that, a few of my former students are now teachers (!!). These days, much to my children’s dismay, parent-teacher conferences are a semisocial event for me.

The third teacher on my appointment sheet was not able to make interviews – too bad, really, because she was the only person I didn’t already know. After I figured out that she was absent, I made my way back to the front hall of the school to wait for Mr. 16. He was serving as a guide for the evening, and it was still cold and rainy, so I had offered him a ride home. This meant I was free to stand in the lobby and chat with an old friend/colleague and talk about books, the upcoming PD Day, and changes in the school board. Soon, one of Mr. 16’s teachers joined us, and we began an animated discussion of AI and how it’s affecting learning. By the time Mr. 16 was released from his duties, we were gesturing with enough enthusiasm to be completely mortifying.

Eventually, parent-teacher conferences wound down. Before we left, I found the friend/ neighbour/ colleague who I had texted when I arrived, and we all walked out to the car together – of course we were also giving her a ride home. After we dropped off my friend, my child said, “It’s kind of cool that you know so many of my teachers.”

I’m glad he’s ok with it because apparently this is what it means for me to be a parent who teaches.

Using every minute #SOLC25 24/31

Their discussion is winding down. Though several students have presented thoughtful arguments and backed them up with evidence from the text, no one has switched sides. What’s really bothering Hamlet in Act 1? According to my students, it’s not really his father’s death or his uncle stealing his crown; in fact, they are firmly split on whether Hamlet is more upset because his mother remarried so quickly – not even two months! – or because she married his uncle. Is the problem her “dextrous speed” or the “incestuous sheets”? Hmm…

I check my watch. Seven minutes to go. Too much time to sit; not enough time to… wait! What am I thinking? There’s always time to do something; it’s just a question of what. My brain whirs. Got it.

“So,” I say, “want to hear about some spying?” I waggle my eyebrows and pull up Act 2, scene 1 on the screen in the front of the classroom. No need for copies of the play; we can do this on the fly. Without warning, I lean in to M – poor kid came in late and ended up in the front row – and ask him how he would feel about spying on my son. Using lines from the play, I encourage him to share a few small lies to see if anyone bites. Maybe they’ll tell him something interesting if he starts off with some slight exaggerations. I suggest to M that he, you know, can pretend that my son drinks and gambles and drabs…

Drabbing is glossed in the text as “whoring”. Not my favourite word, but the students jump on it. WHAT? They are as outraged as Polonius’s servant (unwittingly played by M) is. Why would any father sully his son’s reputation in this way?

“I’d be pissed if my father said that about me,” says one. Others agree.

Ha! I’ve got them where I want them. Quickly, with one eye on the clock, I find a student wearing a zip-up hoodie and ask her to come play Hamlet for a minute. Next, I recruit an Ophelia to “sew” in her “closet” and a Polonius to read a few lines from her seat. Hamlet “unbraces” her “doublet” by unzipping her hoodie. She rolls up one leg of her jeans. She’s wearing boots because it snowed this morning (hello, winter in Ottawa), but we pretend her socks have fallen down. She follows Ophelia’s narration of Hamlet’s actions and the class laughs along. Hamlet’s gone mad.

30 seconds before the bell, I shoo them back to their seats. I look at the class and say, “Now, who was Ophelia talking to again?”

“POLONIUS!” They’re starting to put this together. Wasn’t he just the *#!hole spying on his son? He’s not especially trustworthy – and now he knows about Hamlet…

“Oh, this is not good,” says one student.

And the bell rings.

“We’ll find out what happens tomorrow!” I announce as the class leaves, muttering – another good reason to use every teaching minute I can get.

Say it again #SOLC25 21/31

Inspired by Sherri’s post with the same title. Things I say on repeat…
(And if you were here yesterday: I FINISHED THE BOOK!)

Good morning! You awake? Time to wake up! Hey, kiddo, if you don’t get up your brother’s going to get the first shower.

I’m leaving! Have a good day!

No, I don’t know who has the Chromebooks. Have you checked Richard’s room?

Books and notebooks out and open! Make sure you have a pen or pencil available.

You know where the pencils are. The pencils are where they have been all year. I’m sure you can find a pencil. Yes, that is where the pencils are.

Please make sure your phones are away. Headphones and air buds, too, please. Away means in your backpack. Your pocket is not a backpack. I see a few phones out. Make sure your phone hasn’t accidentally snuck into your hands. Phones are sneaky like that.

If the teacher writes it on the board… you should write it in your notebook.

Is anyone else hot or is it just me?

You can’t read and talk at the same time; that’s not how brains work.

Listen first, then move.

Ok, you know the drill: SLANT! Sit up, lean forward… look, even if you don’t ask questions you can nod your head and track me when I’m speaking.

Ok, but you need to be back in five minutes or less. Five minutes is reasonable.

No one else is hot?

Bye! Bye! Nice work today! Bye! See you tomorrow! Bye!

Hi! How was school? Has anyone walked the dog? Ok, I’m going to walk the dog. Did anyone feed the dog? Have the cats been fed?

No, dinner’s not for a little while. Try a healthy snack. It won’t be long.

Please make sure your dishes end up in the dishwasher. Do you have any homework? I’m just going to mark a few things. Please make sure that plate ends up in the dishwasher.

Goodnight, my love. See you in the morning.

A good day #SOLC25 19/31

Today was a good teaching day, the kind that makes me keep grinning off and on right through the evening. At first, I was going to write something else, but then I wanted to capture this.

First period:
In grade 12, we’ve just started Hamlet. I am always torn about teaching Shakespeare, but I really love teaching this play. And today was amazing. We finished up yesterday’s rhetorical analysis of Claudius’s first speech and students cited lines from the play without being prompted. In my head, I was jumping for joy, but on the outside I played it cool, like, “yeah, my classes always just naturally use lines from Shakespeare to back up their points. Nothing to see here.” My super-cool teacher persona just took notes on the board and nodded her head.

Then we moved on to Hamlet’s first soliloquy. I’d planned a soliloquy buster (which I clearly got from somewhere at some time, but I no longer remember where or when), and even though we’ve only been together for six weeks, and even though it wasn’t quite 10am, and even though it’s Shakespearean language, the students happily moved their desks and sat in a circle and read aloud. Then, the real miracle occurred: no one protested (I mean, I heard a groan or two, but that’s just normal) when I dragged the class into the school lobby to “walk” the soliloquy. I stood on the risers and read the lines loudly while students held their copy of it and walked, turning 180 degrees every time there was a punctuation mark. By the end, we were breathless. When I asked how they thought Hamlet was feeling as he gave this soliloquy, students knew immediately: agitated, frantic, upset.

The energy in the room was high when the bell rang; I could almost *feel* the learning. They were jazzed.

Second period: Planning. And I actually got things done. I even sent a suggestion to the principal: what if we invite the public library to set up a table during parent-teacher conferences and help people get library cards? (He said yes!)

Third period:
Literacy support. Another teacher actually invited me into their classroom to support students. I used AI to almost instantly convert the assignment (which is a *great* assignment but which has a LOT of words) into a checklist. I photocopied that and handed it out within minutes AND managed to sneakily support two students who really needed support. HOORAY!

Fourth period:
My, ahem, energetic grade 9 class started Long Way Down today. Their reactions to seeing the books piled on desks were decidedly mixed: “Are we going to read that?” can be said in many ways. But Jason Reynold’s novel has a magic that has never failed me – not since the first moment students unboxed brand-new copies of the book a few years ago d, and started to read. Today, Reynolds’ voice filled the room, our hearts beat as we heard that Will’s brother Shawn was shot, and we waited the horrible millisecond while we turned the page and read the words “and killed”. Someone gasped.

The kids let me pause to ask a few questions here and there, but mostly they begged to keep reading, so we read right to the bell. As they piled the books back on the desk (we have to share books with other classes), several of them said, “That’s a really good book, Miss.” I just nodded and said, “I know. I know.”

Then one darling child stayed after and whispered the story of the book she finished over March Break, the one she really wanted to tell me about, even if it might spoil it if I decide to read it. (Reader, I will not; it is “romantasy” – virtually all she reads – and sounds extremely silly, though just right for her.) I nodded and oohed and aahed until she realized her bus was coming and ran out the door.

For just a minute, I sat in the quiet classroom, completely satisfied with a day when learning felt almost tangible, when almost everyone was engaged almost all the time. I don’t always write about these days, but they happen – they really do – and I wanted to capture today. It was wonderful.

Cheating Cheater #SOLC25 18/31

He was shamelessly cheating. While the “big boys” (my teens) and my spouse splashed around the small pool, calling loudly to each other, my cousin’s 7-year-old ducked underwater every time he heard the dreaded cry, “Marco!” Others might give away their position by replying, “Polo!” but he was no fool. You’re a lot harder to find if Marco can’t hear you.

Of course we called him on it, tickling him and dunking him. “You’re a cheating cheater!” my sons teased, and he didn’t deny it. Seven is the perfect age to check out what happens when you break the rules. Turns out, if you cheat long enough, we’ll change the game – and we’ll love you anyway.

***

After school, my child tells me that one of his teachers has accused him of cheating. “The worst part,” he says, “is that I did it: we wrote that section together – but only because we thought we were allowed to.” He takes a deep breath. “I tried to explain. I tried to tell him that we obviously thought it was ok because we used the exact same words. If I was trying to cheat I wouldn’t be so dumb about it, but he wouldn’t even listen.”

My son is upset, and rightly so. The idea that someone thinks you have intentionally been dishonest can be devastating. Worse, he likes this teacher and this subject; he’s worried about the ramifications of this incident.

“Will you write to him and tell him I’m not a cheater?” he asks. I counsel him to send an apology email, even though he’s still upset about the accusation itself. He pulls out his phone and shows me the email he’s already composed. “Is it good enough?” he asks. “Can I send it?” It is and he does.

***

We all knew that the 9th grade Mythology test was nearly impossible. Senior students recounted horror stories. “No one passes,” they assured us. “It’s killer.” I studied and studied, and worried so much that I made myself physically ill before the test. I vomited and got sent home at lunch.

My teacher announced to the class that what I had done was a form of cheating. She gave them the “easy” version of the test and “saved” the hard one for my return. Then, she told me that she assumed I had lied about being sick. I cried while I took the make-up test – which I aced, even though it was very, very hard. I’m still not sure if she ever thought of me as completely honest after that. I know that I never quite trusted her again.

***

I don’t know what to write to my son’s teacher, but I know what I want to say. I want to say, even if he did it, even if he intentionally did the wrong thing – and I don’t think he did – please remember that he’s a child, not a cheater. Please don’t do to him what my teacher did to me all those years ago.

I’ll find the words for the email, but before I do, I’m going upstairs to give my child an extra hug. I can’t change this particular game, but I’ll love him anyway.

yr move #SOLC25 17/31

hey

im returning thisessay 2U cuz u haven’t done any of th things i asked like for example u didnt capitalize i & u forgot that u half to use spellcheck and um punctuation cuz this is something u wrote for school also i specifically asked u to, you know, spell words out instead of using txt shorthand again cuz this is for school

yah & how fast can u get it back 2 me cuz i need it for report cards? Sry! I know its late but if u cd be fast that wd be grt. Also ur parents will freak on me if ur marks r low so id rlly appreciate it if u wd do this solid

I no writing formally might seem whack, but trust, its the move – or at least, it’s ur move if u want to level up

yr tchr

The Language of Flowers (Cayman Version) #SOLC25 14/31

For multilingual Friday, I’m trying a photo “essay.” As I’ve worked on this, I’ve realized how little I know about this as a form. I have struggled for a theme, tried to figure out organization, made choices about what to keep and what to cut. I thought I was just going to play and share pretty pictures – and in the end, I think that’s what it looks like – but it turns out, given a new language, I had to work to understand form and learn how to manipulate things. Also, it looks different on a laptop than on a phone. Gah! If I had been at home rather than on vacation, I would have given up because this took so long. Makes me think of what I’m asking for when I ask my students to “just” write an essay or some such. Interesting.

Learning to be Underwater #SOLC25 11/31

The instructor gives the ok sign to each of us, one after the next, and waits for our mimed response. Next, he points two fingers at us and then at his eyes. Once he has everyone’s attention, he removes the second stage from his mouth and slowly blows out bubbles as he searches for his “missing” air supply. He finds it, puts it back in his mouth, and starts breathing normally again. Then, he points directly at my youngest child and signals for him to repeat the same actions. Nearby, I watch patiently, waiting for my turn, confident that, far from putting us in danger, this activity will make us all safer in the long run.

This week, my family is taking a scuba diving course. We’re learning a lot and I, of course, am busily observing both how we are instructed and how we are learning. I am always curious about how skills are taught outside of classrooms. Scuba is particularly fascinating because the consequences of not being able to perform the skills effectively can be deadly, but plenty of regular people scuba dive, so, while there can be no compromise, skills acquisition has to be manageable for all sorts of people.

Before we arrived on the island, all of us completed a five-section, multi-part online course with a final exam that we had to pass with a minimum of 75%. Each section built on previous sections for at least some of the learning (i.e., “How to be a Diver, part 3). As a family, we took four very different paths to success: one of us started early and learned methodically, using the “You will learn” introduction to each section to guide their reading, taking notes to learn “how not to die underwater”; one of us read the information in chunks, making sure they were able to pass the short required quiz at the end of each section before moving on; one of us skipped most of the reading but watched the videos for each section before “acing” the quizzes (not my word); and one of us went straight to the quizzes and tried them, then, once they knew what they didn’t know, went back to review only that section before completing the quizzes correctly and moving on. These choices were not obviously age-based, and no, I was not the one who took notes. We all passed the final exam, though one of us had to take it twice (72% then 80%). The last person finished the day we left on vacation. (Ok, that was a kid.)

If you’re keeping track… PADI (the group that administers the course)

used a focus checklist (“by the end of this section, you will be able to…”)
presented the information in both written and video format
offered low-stakes immediate retrieval assessment questions (we could redo them as often as necessary)
encouraged spaced practice by expecting us to review things we had learned in previous sections
at the end of each of the five sections, offered more retrieval with a section quiz which we had to pass but could retake and THEN
provided an evaluation which mimicked the section quizzes and which we had to pass with a 75%. If we needed to, we could review material and take it again.

That is decent pedagogy.

Today, we started the “practical” portion of the course with… wait for it… a written quiz based on the material we learned online. It was not for points. We simply took the quiz and then the instructor reviewed the answers and chatted with us about mistakes that anyone had made. For much of the information, this was at least the FOURTH time we had been asked to retrieve it. I don’t want to shock anyone, but we all passed this low-stakes review.

I’ll probably write more about the practical part of the course later, but I want to pause here and notice what I can take into the classroom from the written portion. For me, the lesson focus wasn’t particularly useful – I tended to skip that part – but one of my children loved using it to guide his attention. Interesting. We all spent different amounts of time with the information and took it in differently (I didn’t watch a single video; everyone else watched some or all of them). The low-stakes retrieval questions worked for all of us, as did the “do it until you pass” mastery quizzes at the end of each section and of the written course. The spaced practice was effective, too: if you’d forgotten something from a previous unit, you got a quick review in order to pass the current one.

I was most impressed, however, with the “extra” retrieval we did today. Let me tell you, everyone who took the course is very clear on the biggest ideas – and PADI has used both spaced practice and retrieval practice to ensure that we actually remember it.

Of course, a classroom is a different place. Most obviously, students’ motivation for learning in a classroom is not quite as compelling: rarely does anyone die because they forgot where to put a comma or mispronounced “epitome.” But I’m also thinking about how our family moved at different paces and took information in differently. That could happen in a classroom, to some extent. I think a lot about the Modern Classrooms Project, for example, which seems to account for some of that. My particular school is desperately low on technology, so I’m not quite ready to adopt the approach, but it seems right. I wonder what I could do to make learning in the classroom just a little more like getting ready to scuba dive?

Maybe I could just bring some really cool fish.

This tarpon – and her friends! – were at least three feet long & swimming casually next to our lunch spot.

Yes or No? #SOLC25 6/31

We’ve been reading short stories in Grade 9 in preparation for reading Jason Reynolds’ novel Long Way Down. We’ve reviewed/ learned vocabulary like “plot” and “climax”; we’ve talked about summary vs retelling vs opinion; we’ve read a story with an ambiguous ending (because I know what we’re getting into); we’ve even practice discussing big ideas, like equality and utopia. Some days are good – like Tuesday, when the Socratic-ish discussion of equality led one group into a discussion about whether police need to be more powerful than everyone else; suddenly they were thinking deeply about the story and our world and things that seem awfully important – and some days are, well, less good.

Today, Thursday, I asked students to choose one of three prompts and write a one or two paragraph response. I firmly believe that this is a reasonable expectation, but 24 students means 24 different interpretations of reasonable, and some students were not happy with the request. Still, I was surprised when a usually strong student called me over about five minutes into our writing time, clearly distressed.

They had chosen the prompt “In your opinion, is the society in “Harrison Bergeron” a utopia?” even though they missed the day we discussed that. On their screen they had written, “No.”

They looked at me, a bit wide-eyed, and said, “I don’t know what else to write.”

“Mmmm… “ I said, “I can see the problem. I’ve made a mistake.”

“Yes,” they nodded emphatically.

“May I?” I asked, as I reached toward their keyboard. With permission, I typed, “Explain your reasoning using examples from the story.”

The student breathed an audible sigh of relief and said, “Oh, ok” and immediately began writing more as they muttered, “It was a yes or no question.”

Yes, sweet child, it was a yes or no question. Thank goodness I was able to fix it.