Tag: Jason Reynolds

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.

New shoes

During exam week, as semester one wound down and semester two loomed on the horizon, I bought myself some new shoes. Fluevogs were on sale and I decided to splurge, telling myself that the black and white pair were practically every day shoes. Mostly, I just thought they were awesome.

The Fluevogs, just waiting for me to buy them.

Days later, I wore the shoes for the first day of second semester. Right away, before period one even started, one of my new grade 9 students told me that she loved my shoes. Over the course of the morning, students and teachers complimented my shoes. I don’t think of myself as wildly fashionable, so I quite enjoyed the attention.

After the lunch bell rang, I spent a few quiet minutes in the classroom, straightening the desks and generally tidying. I know that each new semester brings both excitement and nerves, and I suspected I might have a few drop-ins. Sure enough, one of my regulars showed up to run down his classes so far.

I can’t get over how much I enjoy this young man. We spent two years in a row in English class together, and there were times when I wasn’t sure we were both going to make it. Somehow, by the time the second class had ended, we’d muddled through some actual reading and several pieces of writing that involved more than a few hastily scribbled sentences. We had even discovered that he is secretly an incredible teacher – and got him a peer tutoring placement in some ESL classes. Now, in grade 11, he is thriving (still challenging – but thriving).

He knows that I keep a blog – “are you famous yet, Miss?” – and thinks it’s ridiculous that I read so much – “do you even sleep?” He tells me he’s a “baller” and once spent a significant amount of class time explaining why Kobe is better than Michael Jordan. And yes, I tricked him into writing an opinion essay on this. He also likes to mock my “secret crush” on Jason Reynolds. I regularly book talk Long Way Down, the Ghost trilogy and Miles Morales. All the kids know I love his writing, but when I showed a video of Reynolds talking about how he didn’t read much in high school, this student was shocked. Reynolds is a Black man with impressive dreadlocks; I am a middle-aged white teacher with what this student called “the same haircut as all the other teachers” (ouch. And for the record, he is wrong.)

He took my crush pretty seriously. For weeks he came back to it. “But you’re married,” he said. “Does your husband know?” Yes, yes he does. “But for real, if he asked you out, would you go out with him?” I suggested that it was unlikely that I would ever meet Reynolds, much less have dinner with him. “But what if you did?” this student worried. I said that I would go on an author date with him, an English teacher date – we would talk about writing and books. “That would be the most boring date ever,” he said and though I insisted that this would, in fact, be interesting for me, he was unconvinced.

But on this day we were talking about his new classes, not about books or writing. Then, after a minute of boasting that he was going to change a class because it was “way too much work” (“It’s day one,” I said, “you have no idea if it’s too much work.”), he suddenly stopped and said, “Miss, those are some fancy shoes.”

I was startled, then started to thank him, but he interrupted me. “Miss, if Jason Reynolds saw you in those shoes, he would definitely ask you on a date.” He paused. “Yeah, those are your Jason Reynolds date shoes, for sure.”

Though I expect that I will never, in fact, wear these shoes on a date with one of my favourite authors, I’m pretty sure I will call them “Jason Reynolds date shoes” for as long as I wear them. I mean, they are pretty cute.

The Right Book at the Right Time

On Friday, we unboxed the books. Brand new, hardcover books.

“These are for us?” asked one boy, incredulous.
“Yes!” I laughed, “but you have to give them back.” He made a funny face and shook his head a little, dismissive of my excitement. Why would he keep a book?

“Can I use the stamp?”
“Can I choose the number for mine?”
“Yes!” I said yes over and over. Yes, these are for you. Yes, they are new. Yes, you can stamp them. Yes, you take them home.

“This book sure has won a lot of awards,” marveled a boy near the front.
“How’d you even get these, Miss?” asked another student, turning his brand new book over in his hands.
I laughed again, “I begged, borrowed and stole!”
His face got serious. “You didn’t steal, Miss. Don’t say that.”
I took it back. I should know better than to joke about stealing.

IMG_4832.jpgOn Friday, we started reading Jason Reynolds’ novel in verse, Long Way Down. I had offered the class several options for reading – book clubs, individual choice, whole class – and they told me flat out that they would never read a book on their own. “No point in that,” muttered M.

We’ve been reading all semester, but always short pieces. In general, my students are a little wary of my ways, but they were willing to try poetry with me last month, so I knew we were making progress. Still, they were nervous about reading a book, like maybe I’d gone a bridge too far – a whole book. Some of them are enthusiastic readers, but many of them haven’t read a book for years. When I told them that I would NOT read the entire book out loud, one boy looked down at his desk, shook his head and made a loud “tsk” sound. “That is NOT gonna work.”

And then came Jason Reynolds. Actually, first came the discussion about a shooting death in the neighbourhood. I was shocked to learn that gun violence is a part of so many of my students’ lives, then I was surprised by my own shock. (That’s a reflection for another post altogether.) Then I got upset because I realized how little support these students were receiving for their reality (also a reflection for another time). I had a long talk with the (amazing) EA who works in my classroom who insisted, “That book you’ve been telling me about is the right book for this class.” And she issued a challenge: “If anyone can get them that book, it’s you.”

So I begged. I told the principal I would buy half with my own money. I talked about the awards, the subject matter, the poetry. I told him about our progress, the growth, the learning. I found other pots of money. Finally, I said, “I have to teach these kids this book right now. I just have to.” Hats off to my principal and our Student Success teacher: they bought the books.

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That’s their handwriting – and page numbers!

On Thursday I gave the students photocopies of the first few pages. “AW! It’s more poetry,” groaned one kid. But they tried it. We used the same technique we used with Nikki Giovanni’s kidnap poem a few weeks ago: students wrote back to the text right on the paper. They asked questions, made comments and generally had their say. When we shared, they had made lots of inferences and had plenty of evidence to back them up.

Friday was the new books. After everyone had one, I explained that they could take a few minutes just to read. No set goal, no required number of pages, no plan – just read to see what’s there. My goal was 15 minutes. Boy did I underestimate them.

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They would not stop reading. T looked up after ten minutes and said, “Can we read as far as we want?” I nodded, he gulped some air and dove back into the book. S turned around and said, “Did you get to the part where he took the gun yet?” H nodded and kept reading. Silence. No phones. No sleeping. Eventually, one student lost focus, and I decided to stop them before the magic spell broke: “Hey, let’s take a break and see what we’ve discovered so far.”

They took a break, talked about the book, started to do the activity… and then I noticed that one, two, three kids had snuck back to their books. Then another. I asked if they wanted to just go back to their seats and read. “YES!” So we did.

As class came to an end, I found two kids surreptitiously trying to slide the book into their backpack. “You’re allowed to take it home if you want,” I said.
“For real?!”

One book went right into the backpack, but T hesitated. Finally, he put it back, “I want to make it last a little longer, Miss.”

I have a feeling that, for some of them, this will last for a long time.