Constructing Kasun, Educator

If you’re a teacher, there’s no doubt you yawn at thought of the in-service you’re required to attend.

If you were at the Barry Lane in-service the ESOL Office in my district provided, if you were yawning, we need to check your pulse.

Lane was a drink of cold water for those of us stuck in the desert of standardized tests, forced curricula, and mediocre administrators (remember, I DO have the world’s best administrator–so she’s exempt).  For an entire workday, we learned writing instruction strategies that will get students excited about writing as well as a hefty dose of remembering why we teach in the first place.

Lane began  by telling us about his beloved elementary teacher Miss Foley.  She inspired him to experiment with learning and was beloved by many of her former students.  He asked other teachers in the audience to recognize their own “Miss Foleys.”  One of the women was asked to describe what made her teacher so special.  “She loved us,” she answered.  That simple.  Lane explained that this was at the heart of teaching and what makes us good teachers.  We know this, right?  But how often do we get to hear these words at our in-services?

Lane proceeded to plant seeds of great writing instruction with clever anecdotes and lots of heart.  He showed us his own awful book reports from elementary and high school–real yawners with no passion–written for the sole purpose of the transactive act of getting a grade so the teacher could write across the top, “Improve penmanship.”  Then he showed us sample writing from other students who wrote about things they cared about.  Students wrote advice columns to polygons who had identity issues–were they too square?  He reminded us to write with the students (something I find personally gratifying and gives me credibility because I often share my work with students).  After we wrote for ten minutes while listening to Claire de Lune, he told us that if we were anxious about writing, we needed to relax and address the “Watcher,” as he calls it, that awful voice inside our heads that tells us our writing is no good.  He showed some student sample letters to their “Watchers.”  The voice students demonstrated was so personal and funny as they beat their watchers into submission.

Lane remembered the words of his students, not needing to read the words off the screen as he presented, a loving tribute to the power of their voices.  He helped us consider writing leads (student collect favorite leads and explain why, ask students to write several leads before beginning their writing, among others).  We learned about revision, using “binoculars” to help focus on the subject you’re discussing, and finding the details that make writing interesting.

Throughout the in-service, Lane inspired us with the work of several great people.  Mandela, he told us, wrote his autobiography on toilet paper from prison.  Words can be powerful, and it’s hard to strip us of our humanity if we use them well, even in prison.  Freire, the great Brazilian educator and philosopher, said that, “When you write well, you read the world.”  The writer is always looking into the details of life, and by writing, you dig deeper and reveal the layers to get at life’s essence.

The one quotation that made the greatest impression on me was one from Albert Einstein:  “Great spirits have always faced violent opposition from mediocre minds.”  I think there’s something great about all of our spirits, but how often have we acquiesced to the demands of minds-gone-mediocre?  The testing requirements our states have mandated are mediocre examples of our expectations of students.  The sad ways we talk to children in classrooms are products of the mediocre.  The things we’re mandated to teach as part of the curriculum–results of the mediocre.

What I remembered is that I need to stop being disappointed when my students don’t look like the end product the mediocre mind has mandated at me.  I need to embrace the students where they’re at, inspire them to move ahead at the best pace they can manage, and teach them in ways that are respectful and meaningful to them.

There’s one student who hasn’t fully bought into the idea of the classroom as a community.  William (as I’ll call him) is that one student who is highly intelligent but unaware that he’d be admired for his intelligence.  As an alternative, he attempts to be the class trickster.  He even admitted that when I have a substitute it’s “time to play.”  He elaborated:  “That’s when I get to have fun.  I just shout and scream and have a good time.”  He’s also adept at being contrary.  If a student says a character in a book is thoughtful, William shoots back, “Nu uh, I think he’s stupid.”  The teacher tries to show she’s nonplussed.  “What evidence do you have to demonstrate that?”  And then William offers a convoluted response that is short on logic but long on wind.

So the classroom shift to community has been difficult for him–takes the wind right out of his sails.  Now that we’re listening to each other seriously, his nonsensical comments aren’t well-tolerated.  He’s off-kilter, trying to steady himself.  The other students remind him, “Hey, William, you’re just trying to talk to get attention,” (which I can’t argue with), and he continues to argue.  They go at him again, “Come on, William, stop arguing!”  He continues.  If it doesn’t work, just try harder, he figures.

Last week, I felt like I’d hit a wall with him.  I had decided that because I believe in the reason, in the ability of the human mind to be reasonable, that I (along with the class), would be able to help him be a proactive member of the group.

The beginning of class went ok.  Then the groups began working on their children’s books again.  William had refused to work with anyone else, so he was working alone.  He didn’t seem to be enjoying his work, so he tried to distract the group next to him.  “Hey, see if you can solve this connect-the-dots puzzle I drew while the teacher was helping us figure out how to write good leads.”  I came over to the group and asked them what was going on.  They said that they weren’t working as much as they should have been.  I asked if it would be better to be less distracted.   They tentatively agreed.

He refused.  Nope.  It made more sense for the other four in the group to move all the way across the room. They disagreed.  Finally he moved.  And sat right next to another student and started distracting her.

“William, why don’t you move over one seat so you don’t distract anyone?”  He argued back, the lunch bell rang (yes, we have lunch right in the middle of class).  He refused to stay and talk to me during lunch, so I followed him to the cafeteria.  I told him in the lunch line that he needed to stay with me after class.

So he stayed and refused to look at me (we’ve talked about the need for students to look people in the eye in the U.S., so he knows by now).  Instead, he waved to people as they passed by in the hallway.  He refused to sit near me to talk.  He refused to admit that any of his behavior was distracting when I tried to “reason” with him.  I asked him if he wanted to be punished (not threatening, but curious).  He said yes.  I begged him to be reasonable with me and own his behaviors.  Nope.  So after ten minutes, I let him go back to class and submitted the ever-useful “discipline referral” to the administrator.

The referral is a tool designed to…  what, exactly?  I’m not sure.  To let teachers off the hook for when they can’t handle their own classrooms?  Yes, I’ve submitted some, but I’m now convinced they’re ineffective.  Develop the relationships with the kids, and the rest will come–my new mantra.  So I submitted the referral, thinking maybe the administrator would help William to become reasonable.  I didn’t know what else to do.
The wise administrator brought him to my door at the end of the school day.  That was fast!  We talked.  For an hour.  The three of us.  William refused to be reasonable for forty minutes.  I started to talk about him in front of him, telling the administrator the situation was intractable.  Then I apologized to William for talking about him in the third person.  I thought we were done.  No solution.  Just punishment waiting for William.

The administrator asked me what I wanted.  Was the right answer a day’s suspension?  I told him the truth.  I wanted to see William shine in my class for his intellect–I wanted him to be a person who helped build things, ideas, namely, not someone who tears every idea and every person in class down.  And somehow, at that moment, William started to change.  Maybe he finally believed I wasn’t just picking on him, but that I cared.   He started looking me in the eye and agreeing that he could behave differently in my class, that he’d try.

Two days later he was back.  And good.  He volunteered to read a journal entry that made sense.  The other students complimented him.  He smiled.  And acted responsibly.  And made a couple of jokes that were appropriate.

I’ll see him again tomorrow.  I don’t know if his transition will continue, but I have faith that he knows it’s what’s truly best for him.

My door is open for anyone who wants to find out about what we’re learning. But who comes in? The administrators arrive from time to time (and I happen to have the world’s best assistant principal at this writing), but what about the people who might really have something to learn? Namely, other teachers?

Schools are evolving from a culture of closed-door instruction to further sharing among colleagues. I’ve enjoyed sharing the occasional story with other creative ESOL teachers about a writing-in-nature experience that worked well with a class and finding out about how to make “foldables” or the positives of building word walls, for instance. However, for the first time at my school, I’ve had a positive experience in planning regularly with another teacher.

Jennifer and I meet at least every two weeks to discuss where we’re trying to take our students on their (and our) journey of learning. My district has set it up so that two teachers see the same students but at different class periods for this level of ESOL. Maybe it’s because we have similar personalities, or maybe because we’re awfully different (she’s a lead singer in a band; I try not to sing too loudly in church so as not to offend), but we communicate incredibly well. We usually share what we’re most excited and most upset about together. I’ve been telling her about my success (and struggle) at trying to build community with my classes. She has been sharing the thoughtful process of helping students write college-style essays (a task none of them had yet been assigned, as far as we can tell). We have developed thematic units this year. The first unit was one about immigration, and we brainstormed several activities and objectives–from creating a mock Ellis Island to having the students do a presentation for 200 other students in our school auditorium. It’s exciting to do this planning together because we share adult feedback about our victories with students (wow–the quietest student read her poem loudly with a microphone!) as well as our unsettling questions (why did one of our students get in a fight where he used racial epithets after teaching an entire unit on discrimination?).

We also bump ideas off each other. Sometimes it’s a quick email–”Hey, did you see they’re making a movie about us?” Jennifer quips about Freedom Writers. Or, “What should I do with the students right now during this scary lockdown?” (true email–I was short on advice, unfortunately). Sometimes it’s about a student, “Pablo has been so angry the last couple classes–have you noticed the same thing? What do you think I can do to get him to see that I’m on his side?” Other times it’s about curriculum. “How could we get a class set of the recently published Left to Tell to help our students learn that genocide is still happening today?”

This last question… how do we get resources for our students? It would have been easy to dismiss the idea if I had been working alone. “Who has time to go drumming up money?’ But with another adult, we encourage each other to be more–better teachers. So we sought various ways to buy the books, and, luckily, a sympathetic administrator found funding for us. The students had fresh, hardback books to read a story about forgiveness for unspeakable crimes committed by friends, neighbors and even clerics in Rwanda. We’re hoping the lesson they learn is that in a world still filled with violence, the only way we can reconcile is not through vengeance, but forgiveness.

Working out these themes with Jennifer inspires me. We meet, and, sometimes we feel beat down by negative colleagues. Sometimes we’ve even stooped to their level. But somehow we’ve created a dynamic where meeting isn’t a burden but a source of strength and creativity. It translates into better outcomes for our students and professional gratification for ourselves.

Yes, our administrators are having us participate in PLCs (professional learning communities, based on the DuFour model). Yes, it has forced us to meet a few times when we might have been busy. But I think we’re at the point where we see how well the time is spent and don’t mind communicating as much as we do. Or maybe it’s time for me to ask Jennifer.

My students have been writing children’s books for a couple weeks now. We have written everyday in class, from random journal entries to reflections on the text we’re studying to ways to enter text. I say “we” because I write and share with them as well. It helps show that I value the writing process enough to join them as a writer. We’ve written about ways we have discriminated against others, a time we learned a lesson, our thoughts on school policies, among other things.

But now we’re focused on children’s books. My principal sent an email to several department chairs–a forward about the B’nai B’rith annual “Diverse Minds” scholarship competition. I shared it with my students, and they were eager to meet the challenge–write a 30 page children’s book dealing with diversity and tolerance.

We had just finished a unit study with the Holocaust, literature documenting it, and also the Rwandan holocaust (they read Left to Tell in another class–I also plan with that teacher to support their learning in both my class and hers–a subject for a future blog post). It was perfect timing for them to create something positive out of the rich discussion and text we had been working with.

The results? Students are collaboratively writing truly interesting, creative books. They are grappling with crafting interesting conflicts, finding clever resolutions, and characters. Using a blank template for each page (that I printed off of Powerpoint notes, three slides with notes per page), the students draw a mock picture and write their text next to it. I’ve noticed the students are giving each other helpful feedback and negotiating how to agree and disagree with each other well.

It will take some more time to complete the books, so I’ll give a final update when we’re finished. Who knows, in a few months, I may have some students with scholarship prizes, too. But the real payoff is how much the students are learning from the process.

Originally written January 16, 2007

After three full Alfie Kohn-influenced classes, one of my few reluctant students announced at the end of class, “I like this class, now.” Some of the others giggled and knew he had erred by admitting that in front of me. I turned away from the small group of students who were Googling an article in Spanish and said, “Gosh, Arslan, you didn’t have to add the ‘now.’” Then I smiled and got back to work. The students seemed relieved that I didn’t take it badly. How could I? I feel the same way. Now I like the class, too (a lot more than before). Trying to build an authentic community where I’m not just manipulating kids into doing what I want them to do feels a lot better–it’s so much less pressure and resonates with how I treat the people I care about in genuine ways, not the forced ways of the controlling schoolmarm.

Yesterday I learned a lot from my students. We were discussing the differences in cultures about how much room there is for believing there are non-rational phenomena like ghosts and elves, for example. I don’t normally have these kinds of discussions, but we had an extra 90 minutes together (my school has a system where we build in an extra 90 minutes of instruction with each class every two weeks or so). We discussed elves and looked at their origins in history. Several students shared stories about how they had heard about and even seen supernatural creatures. Honestly, as an American teacher, it was hard for me to believe them. But I sensed the students weren’t just kicking their imaginations into gear but rather sharing things they wholeheartedly believed to be true. Then a student from Egypt wanted to know if we could look up genies on the Internet. It turns out that genies originate in the Middle East and Islam. I had no idea. I also learned that they are part of the Muslim creation story, much like angels and fallen angels fit into the Christian tradition. The other Muslim students were excited to be able to share this with the rest of the class, and I was thrilled to be learning something from them. A student from a French-speaking African country shared how genies in French are different, and I related that the concept of genies is more similar in the US (the idea of the genie in the bottle–that got some Christina Aguilera wannabes going). I was using an LCD projector and showing the class articles on the web about these topics. One of the students wanted me to Google images of genies. We couldn’t find any good ones in English, so we went to the Google site in Egypt. Suddenly the screen was transformed into right to left Arabic. The non-Arabic speaking students were surprised and curious, and the Arabic speaking students were excited to see their language in front of the others. Eventually we got a genie image for everyone to see.

There’s a lot more authentic interaction going on in my classroom. There are about 21 students in each of my classes, and we’re still navigating between the free-for-all discussions and students raising their hands. I get the feeling that they’re all a lot more open to hearing my ideas as well as their own (more importantly). Today students spent most of their class time working in small groups, and I sense that they’re getting better at working together all the way around. In my next post I’ll reflect on their projects–writing children’s books with themes of diversity and tolerance as part of a scholarship competition.

Originally written January 10, 2007

Today was Day #2 of letting my kids be in control in class. It’s only the second time I’ve seen them after breaking the ideas about building a community from Alfie Kohn to them. OK, I’m still navigating the line between being the adult with more knowledge and life experience and allowing students to negotiate their own ideas through careful thought, articulation, and discussion among themselves. It’s exciting and still scary.

I guess because I believe in my students that I’m not surprised they did well. We reviewed how we would discuss as a group and then got to work quickly. We examined several art slides for different themes. The students also made meaning of the pieces they observed. Klimt’s “The Kiss” suddenly became “Death Grip” for some and “Unity” or “Pure Love” for others. Some students were surprised and disconcerted that the forms of the two bodies are not proportioned realistically. Amira pointed out that the woman is wearing a dress–something I had never realized before. They enjoyed the slides as well as the discussion.

The few students I have who seemed to have chips on their shoulders toward me seem to be losing them. Nuku used to ask me, “Why you always pickin’ on me?” Now she isn’t asking. Why? Because I’m not picking on her. Simple, isn’t it? The group does most of the shushing and careful listening. Instead, Nuku is spending her time trying to come up with clever titles for the pieces we’re looking at and sharing them with the group.

My most energetic group returned today as well. Charles was angry because he couldn’t find a seat near his friends in the circle. I found myself threatening him to take a seat. It was a relief that that other class members were also frustrated and telling him to sit down. But I’m still wondering what I/we can do to make the community become a place where none of the students are frustrated because they can’t sit near their friends for one day. I’m still working on that. This group eventually got to work on the slides and did well. Most agreed that today’s class went better than the last one. I’m optimistic that the communities in each class will continue to take real form.

posted on January 8, 2007

Yesterday was my first attempt at letting my high school ESOL students run the class. Today, I worked with my third and final class (I am also a department chair so do not teach a full courseload in my district).

Most of the students wanted the circle forum for discussion as opposed to the rows they had been in. A student asked, “What are you going to do if we don’t like it?” She seemed incredulous that I would seriously listen to her and change the seating arrangement. I asked if she didn’t like it. She said it felt too open. Almost all the others liked the seating, so I asked her to try it and see if she liked it. I explained that teachers are in the business of trying to teach, and the best we’ve usually come up with is dominating kids into submission, and that even for me the open space felt scary. What would happen if I really let them, the students control the class, I asked. She agreed to go ahead with the circle.

This group was rather quick at establishing the framework for how to talk with each other in the discussion circle, so we got to work.

To some degree, I still help direct a lot of the conversation, but the students are free to comment much more. The students were deciding which ideas qualify as themes or non-themes in literature. They’re working with the definition of theme as something they find in art which helps them understand life’s meaning–something that’s bigger than an object itself. One of the students said that “cats” are not themes. This led into a lively discussion as to whether or not domestic animals have feelings. No, this wasn’t directly related to themes, but I watched as students challenged each other’s thinking in proactive ways (when I sometimes stepped in and asked students how they wanted to talk to each other).

We had a small problem with some students having small side conversations while the whole group was trying to speak. Other students reminded them to be quiet, and the small side discussions seemed to grow smaller with the reminders. We ended with a discussion about whether “family” is a theme. One girl who has a special education label argued that family is a theme because when you hear the word family it makes you feel something. Another boy countered that family is the thing from which you might feel certain themes like love or betrayal. Different students took both sides and challenged each other. I allowed myself to break in and explain that both sides had presented logical arguments, and that we couldn’t conclue one way or another, definitively, that one side was correct. I pointed out that life is not always easily right or wrong and that we need to learn to really listen to each other to understand the different sides of a debate.

I asked the students if they had listened more in today’s class than in previous classes. They agreed that they had. While I didn’t “cover” all the curriculum I had planned, we did go deep into discussions that were meaningful to the students and helpful in learning how to negotiate. I’m looking forward to seeing how this works with the second day of discussion circle on Monday.

originally written  January 5, 2007

I made a frightening step today. I let the students have control over my class. I’m not talking about letting a few of them call on other students or give presentations or work in groups. I sat down, in a circle with them, and explained that I’m not going to control the class anymore.
I’m excellent at getting the students to sit quietly. I challenge the ones who dare to disobey. I ignore students who make comments that are nonsensical. I give the “teacher” look. But after seven years of teaching, I’m tried of making students obey me. My classroom isn’t a correctional facility. I want them to learn because they know on the inside that what we do in my classroom is for each of them, is something they desire and can use.
After reading Alfie Kohn’s Beyond Discipline: from Compliance to Community over the winter break, I decided it was time to try his theory out. He’s a constructivist, and so am I (in theory, not always in practice, regrettably). Why not stop trying to manipulate students with looks, tone of voice, and calculated gestures? Why not try to treat them honestly, with dignity and respect?
So I told my students I had read Kohn’s book. They know a lot about what I read because as a high school ESOL teacher, I want to share my enthusiasm about what I read with them. I brought the book and told them about it. I also told them I wanted them to run the discussion.
I tried it with each of two classes who met for 90 minutes. It’s almost the middle of the year, so I had an idea of what to expect. I guessed the first class would embrace the idea immediately and get to work on how we could communicate effectively by sitting in a circle instead of rows. My first question was if they liked the circle. It only took us a few seconds to establish that they preferred the circle to rows, “You can see everyone this way,” one said. “I can hear people better.” The next issue was how to talk. Some students wanted me to do the disciplining of others who might misbehave. I refused, explaining that I’m not going to continue to mete out punishments and rewards any longer. They then agreed that we would speak without raising our hands until there were too many people who wanted to talk, and then we’d have to call on people by looking for who had their hand raised first. We also figured out what to do if a person has their head on a desk during class. At first some of the students thought it was the problem of the student, but I pointed out that as part of a community—which they agree to try and create—we might worry about that student. We agreed that the student should let us know they’re having a bad day if that’s the posture they want to take.
Finally we got to some of the curricular work. We have been discussing themes. I had an activity where students picked out words which weren’t really themes in a list. They described why some of the words weren’t themes in pairs and then to the larger group. This was the best discussion I think I’ve ever had. Yes, one student tried to test the limits by saying that shoes really are a theme in literature because he wants to take his shoes with him to Heaven, but the other students finally agreed that it was time to move on. I didn’t cut off the conversation; they agreed that they wouldn’t all come to consensus, that it was ok, that it was time to continue. At the end of class I asked the students if they liked the dynamic; they said they loved it.
The next group was a bit more reluctant. Some of the more energetic young men joked during the discussion. One suggested “backhanding” students who talk out of turn. But instead of my having to bring the discussion around again, other students called on the young men and explained that it wasn’t fair of them to joke and not take the situation seriously. At first they were angry about being criticized, and I suggested gentle ways we could agree to offer criticism, and the student most vocal in her criticism rephrased it in a way that pointed out the behavior she didn’t like without accusing the young men of being bad people. There are a few students in that class who have what appear to be extreme emotional issues. One student has told us that he feels “rage” when people pick on him. That young man has seen many atrocities of civil war in Sierra Leone, where he grew up. Another young man mentioned getting hit with a whip at home for misbehaving at school; I can only imagine what kinds of violence he has endured. And there are other students with challenging issues. But, like I told the students today, I have the faith in them to believe that we can all treat each other with dignity and respect in our classroom community.
I have one more group of students to try this with. I’m confident they’re going to like it and will do well. I’m looking forward to hearing the students formulate ideas and really listen to each other. They are learning to negotiate in honest and earnest ways. And, like I’ve said to them, if they learn how to care about each other and negotiate well, that will be the most important part of what I will teach them all year.

Written Thursday, Jan. 4, 2007