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.

Dear Next Year’s Teacher

A couple of years ago, I learned that many elementary school teachers create these amazing documents about their students, which they then share with next year’s teachers. I was flabbergasted – what a lot of work! – and deeply impressed. A thoughtful document that shares students’ likes & dislikes, strengths and areas for growth, and even family situation could help create a soft landing space for the student as they transition from year to year. (And yes, it could backfire; and yes, students change; and yes, we all have biases; and yes, the new teacher will need to get to know the students in the new year – but let’s assume positive intentions all around.)

In high school, we don’t do anything like this. We pretend that an overall grade and some learning skills are enough information (they aren’t), leaving me to wonder, occasionally, what I would write to next year’s teacher if I had a chance. Obviously, I can’t ethically write a public post about individual students, but here’s what I wish next year’s university profs knew.

Dear Next Year’s Professor,

We tried. We really did. We read, and we wrote, and we even studied Hamlet. Ok, we *sort of* studied Hamlet. Ok, we got through Hamlet and watched several movie versions, which has to count for something. In general, the students were engaged. Most of them came most days. Everyone at least tried to read a book – if you include manga, which I do. Everyone turned in at least one written assignment and everyone participated in a formal debate, even if they were extremely unhappy about having to argue in favour of something they disagreed with. Even if they cried. Even if they spoke nearly inaudibly or in their third or fourth language. One way or another, they stood in front of their peers and spoke.

In good news, most people learned to revise their work using feedback, and most people were able to share their strongly held beliefs about the world without completely alienating their classmates, even in daily conversations. I’ll admit that the last one was hard. Heck, both of them were hard.

Still, you should probably know that sometimes people whispered through silent reading. And no matter what I did, their cellphones still ended up in their hands, almost by magic. Lots of times people were late. And since January, a lot of people have resorted to using AI when they’re feeling pressured – even if I try to dial back the pressure. Also, to be clear, turning work in on time seems to have disappeared, along with thank you notes and calling cards and other niceties of a bygone era. And, honestly, on a few days near the end, a fair number of students skipped even though they really needed the time in class. After all, they were still in high school.

I know they will arrive in your classroom looking like adults. Some of them will think they are adults and, since the law and our society believe that to be true, I guess they are. Nevertheless, I think you should probably know that they really aren’t fully grown. For example, every now and then, someone’s father still walks them to class, just to be sure they make it. Even at the end of the year, I had to get in touch with several parents in order to convince a few students to hand in one final assignment. And more than one student cried near the end of the year, usually from the sheer emotional overwhelm. They will swear that they know how to finish their work on time, but lots of them don’t, and they think I’ve pushed them hard, but they’re really only just starting to wrap their heads around essays and critical thinking. Also, between you and me, many of them haven’t mastered complicated grammar. Appositives flummox some of them, and comma splices abound.

Still, they want to learn; I’ve seen their excitement when they’re deep into an argument they believe, scrolling through the text, looking for evidence to prove that Gertrude is the hero or that grief is the defining feature of the play. I’ve heard them talking about calculus problems and sharing information about Chemistry. One of them has started a business; another is determined to be a designer. They have lived through things I can only imagine. Be gentle with them. They’ve only just dipped their toes in academic thought, even though they think they can already swim. And if there are days when you are tempted to despair or when you hear yourself say, “what are they teaching them in high school these days?” please remember that we tried. All of us. We really did.

Sincerely,

Their Grade 12 English teacher