Every day we read a book together. The books vary from silly to thoughtful to philosophical to informative. Throughout the story I will stop from time to time to ask students questions, and they will turn to their reading buddy and share their responses to the questions while I listen in to their conversations. For those non-education folk, it's a process called "Interactive Read Aloud" the interactive part being when students get to respond to the story, not just listen to it. I have some personal favorites I like to share, like Spoon, The Dot, and Bill and Pete (a crowd pleaser, since the poaching villian is seen running away butt naked after being scared off from his bath by the crocodile he had originally captured for suitcase skins)
However, I recently discovered a lovely book called Press Here. Each page gives a direction, and then upon turning the page the shape, size, and placements of the dots change seemingly in response to the reader's action. Not only is the book a brilliant way to teach following directions, it is also a delightful read aloud. Last Friday I read it to my students. No, it wasn't rigorous, but each student got to have a chance interacting with the book as I jogged from person to person and they tilted, tapped, and rubbed the book. At the end, I briefly mentioned that a book doesn't have to be hard and frustrating in order to be fun. (I have a LOT of readers trying to read books FAR too challenging for them, as evidenced today when one student entered the room exclaiming, "Mrs. Swanson, I'm reading Moby Dick!!")
At the end of every Friday we also have a chance for students to reflect on their week in the form of a weekly letter. It is something I did with my seventh graders my first year teaching, and I decided to bring it back this year with my third graders. On fancy and fun paper, students respond to three prompts: One thing I thought went well this week was... One thing I thought didn't go well was... My big goal for next week is... Students will respond to varying levels of depth and thought, and the letters are quite enjoyable to read and respond to over the weekend. The students are always excited to come in the room on Monday morning to find a colorful envelope on their desks.
Last Friday, I was especially touched by one girl's letter. This is a student who has been very kind from the first day of school. When other mope and moan, she smiles and participates. She can be somewhat of a tattle tale if someone isn't shaping up to her standards, but she is a dearheart who invited every student in the classroom to her birthday pool party, and who gives her partner a high five if they have done well. Her mom should be extremely proud of her. It's even more impressive because this little girl has some significant health issues that have meant she has had to be prodded by doctors and has long term effects on her life choices. However, she never complains and never expects special treatment.
Therefore, I was so amazed at reading her letter:
Dear Ms. Swanson,
One thing I thought went well this week was: "thank you for reading Press Hear". Everybody loves the book, even me!
One thing that didn't go well this week was: "I did not have a chance to press, sake, or tip the book and my brother did not give me a gift"
My big goal for next week is: be happy for someone who gets picked for working hard.
Love,
Angie
OK, besides making me feeling TERRIBLE for not picking her (I thought I got everyone!) I think this is the most adorable thing that makes me want to go out and hug the whole world and love everyone just a little bit more. I want to be happy for people who get celebrated, and I swear that if I become more able to be happy for those who are happy, it will be in part because of Angie.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
reason #8: the quotes... seriously, the quotes
OK, nothing too deep today, although there was a moment when one of my students started crying that I almost cried with him, and I remembered again how powerful and challenging it is to teach.
Later, the same child was upset because another child had said something mean about him. The conversation:
Peter: I'm mad cuz he said all sorts of mean stuff about me, stuff I don't even wanna repeat.
Leo: I didn't say nothin about him.
Peter: Yes, you did. You said that my eyes are slanty and that my eyebrows come together and make one eyebrow. And I can't help that! A lot of people have only one eyebrow! I don't think you should make fun of me because of that.
Me: Leo, did you said that Peter only has one eyebrow?
Leo: Yes.
Me: Please apologize.
(apology)
Me: OK, now we either need to handshake, high five, or hug.
(handshake, Leo sits down)
Peter: There's still something between us, cuz nobody gets to talk about my eyebrows like that!
Seriously, how did I not laugh?
Later, the same child was upset because another child had said something mean about him. The conversation:
Peter: I'm mad cuz he said all sorts of mean stuff about me, stuff I don't even wanna repeat.
Leo: I didn't say nothin about him.
Peter: Yes, you did. You said that my eyes are slanty and that my eyebrows come together and make one eyebrow. And I can't help that! A lot of people have only one eyebrow! I don't think you should make fun of me because of that.
Me: Leo, did you said that Peter only has one eyebrow?
Leo: Yes.
Me: Please apologize.
(apology)
Me: OK, now we either need to handshake, high five, or hug.
(handshake, Leo sits down)
Peter: There's still something between us, cuz nobody gets to talk about my eyebrows like that!
Seriously, how did I not laugh?
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
reason #7: They give you hope for the future
Our school has implemented a new behavior policy this year. For the past five years I have been using some variation on the theme of color changes. Basically, if you do something wrong you get a "color change" which ideally correlates to some consequence, and also teaches students basic traffic light understanding years before they fail their driving tests. The color system is far from perfect. More than once I have been tempted to yell "who gives a flying -*(#$ about your color getting changed?!?! IT'S JUST A COLOR! STOP CRYING!" to a child who has overreacted to me moving their clothespin from green to yellow. However, knowing the danger of undermining my own management system, I have refrained from such outbursts.
But I digress. Our new behavior management system is called "Responsive Classroom." The basic principle is that children must learn to internalize appropriate norms of behavior so that they can be polite, productive citizens in the classroom. The three consequences you follow in RC are: 1.) You break it-you fix it, 2.) Take a break, 3.) Loss of privilege. These are not necessarily consecutive. For example, a child who climbs up the slide will need to sit out from recess for several minutes to have a conversation about why we have rules on the playground. (By the way, this lead to tears and a child holding a grudge for DAYS after he lost two minutes of recess privilege... DAYS!) (Also by the way, I can't be the only person wishing more adults would abide by "you break it-you fix it)
The consequences are thought of as "logical consequences" that are both responsive to the behavior, but are not punitive and are ultimately instructive of what should happen in the future. Ideally, consequences match the behavior in both deed and severity. (A child who draws on his desk will clean his desk, not the whole classroom.) I have not kept my cool at every moment of every one of the last seven days, but I do have to say that I have been very pleased to see my students "taking breaks" when they need them without prompting, and overall pretty polite behaviors. After years of seeing teachers futility attempting to wield external control, I like the idea that I could be part of rearing citizens who think. Therefore, I have dubbed responsive classroom "How Not to Raise a Tea Party Activist."
I wasn't totally sold on the success of this program, in spite of agreeing whole-heartedly to its missions and goals, until the other day. Marco was sitting in his desk, hands folded, with red DRANK on his desk. Yes, drank. Do not get me started about the not so secret tie between red dyes and kids acting like they came straight from the zoo. While still instructing the class I walked over the Marco's desk, picked up his drank, and threw it into the trash can. I did this seemlessly, with the expertise only a veteran can manage. Then again, I took a red drink off of an ADHD kid's desk and threw it into the trash can. It's like taking a beer from a drunk. Honestly, I should know better. We spend so much time talking about the antecedents of negative student behavior, and I'm pretty sure throwing a highly volatile kid's drink in the trash guarantees negative behavior.
As soon as I moved away, I saw Marco tensing up. Fists clenched, brows furrowed, he was on the peek of a true meltdown. Then suddenly, as if by magic, he grabbed his chair, whipped it over to our "take a break" station, and sat down to do our breathing exercises. While I continued to teach, never breaking my stride, he sat and calmed himself down. Within a minute he quietly moved his chair back to his seat and returned to doing his work.
I think this was one of the more amazing moments of my teaching career. Without prompting, begging, arguing, or disrupting, Marco was able to self soothe and return to work.
I admit, I cried a little when they told me I couldn't have my stop light up in the classroom this year. My heals may have dug slightly into the asbestos tiles. I was a little like the crusty and curmudgeonly teacher held up as the example of why schools are failing. But Marco has given me hope that change can be good, and that in spite of government shut downs and riots in London a new generation will rise up...and hopefully they were taught in responsive classrooms.
But I digress. Our new behavior management system is called "Responsive Classroom." The basic principle is that children must learn to internalize appropriate norms of behavior so that they can be polite, productive citizens in the classroom. The three consequences you follow in RC are: 1.) You break it-you fix it, 2.) Take a break, 3.) Loss of privilege. These are not necessarily consecutive. For example, a child who climbs up the slide will need to sit out from recess for several minutes to have a conversation about why we have rules on the playground. (By the way, this lead to tears and a child holding a grudge for DAYS after he lost two minutes of recess privilege... DAYS!) (Also by the way, I can't be the only person wishing more adults would abide by "you break it-you fix it)
The consequences are thought of as "logical consequences" that are both responsive to the behavior, but are not punitive and are ultimately instructive of what should happen in the future. Ideally, consequences match the behavior in both deed and severity. (A child who draws on his desk will clean his desk, not the whole classroom.) I have not kept my cool at every moment of every one of the last seven days, but I do have to say that I have been very pleased to see my students "taking breaks" when they need them without prompting, and overall pretty polite behaviors. After years of seeing teachers futility attempting to wield external control, I like the idea that I could be part of rearing citizens who think. Therefore, I have dubbed responsive classroom "How Not to Raise a Tea Party Activist."
I wasn't totally sold on the success of this program, in spite of agreeing whole-heartedly to its missions and goals, until the other day. Marco was sitting in his desk, hands folded, with red DRANK on his desk. Yes, drank. Do not get me started about the not so secret tie between red dyes and kids acting like they came straight from the zoo. While still instructing the class I walked over the Marco's desk, picked up his drank, and threw it into the trash can. I did this seemlessly, with the expertise only a veteran can manage. Then again, I took a red drink off of an ADHD kid's desk and threw it into the trash can. It's like taking a beer from a drunk. Honestly, I should know better. We spend so much time talking about the antecedents of negative student behavior, and I'm pretty sure throwing a highly volatile kid's drink in the trash guarantees negative behavior.
As soon as I moved away, I saw Marco tensing up. Fists clenched, brows furrowed, he was on the peek of a true meltdown. Then suddenly, as if by magic, he grabbed his chair, whipped it over to our "take a break" station, and sat down to do our breathing exercises. While I continued to teach, never breaking my stride, he sat and calmed himself down. Within a minute he quietly moved his chair back to his seat and returned to doing his work.
I think this was one of the more amazing moments of my teaching career. Without prompting, begging, arguing, or disrupting, Marco was able to self soothe and return to work.
I admit, I cried a little when they told me I couldn't have my stop light up in the classroom this year. My heals may have dug slightly into the asbestos tiles. I was a little like the crusty and curmudgeonly teacher held up as the example of why schools are failing. But Marco has given me hope that change can be good, and that in spite of government shut downs and riots in London a new generation will rise up...and hopefully they were taught in responsive classrooms.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Reason #6: They Believe You
A new year has begun full of brand new notebooks and pencils with sharp lead and full pink erasers. The first few days are always fun as you work your way through the honeymoon of getting to know you and community building. However, some students have needs such that even the promise of a fresh new year isn't enough to whip them into shape.
The student I am speaking of is Marco. Marco is a squirmy noodle with the impulse control of a dog spotting a squirrel. He desperately tries to sit still, only to beat box and whip his body around ten seconds after redirection. He is one of the four students in my room this year with ADHD, a label I am starting to believe is available for purchase with a party-sized bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.
Marco came up to me on the second day of school to inform me that his butt wouldn't stop itching. I told him that he could go to the bathroom to take care of it. Returning a good while later he asked me if he could speak to me. I told him yes. He asked if we could speak in private, his eyes pleading. I scooted a few inches away from the student conference I was conducting and asked him what he needed.
"Mr. N told me that the reason why my butt is itching is because I don't wash good. And he said if I don't wash good, mold will grow on my butt. And he said when that happens the doctor will have to look at it, and then they're gonna cut off my butt."
It was a statement of fact and also a question. (By the way, just as there is no comprehensive manual for parenting, there is also no class or course that prepares you for how to respond to these comments, or how to conduct conversations such as this one with a straight face.) I let him know that I didn't think it would be a problem because I knew that he would clean himself well tonight when he got home.
Two hours later, Marco came up to me, tears brimming, saying his butt itched again and could he please call his mom to go home. Seeing an opportunity for growth, I asked my resident teacher if she would please take Marco into the hallway to call his mother. A true trooper, she came in five minutes later, grabbed a full roll of paper towels, and walked with Marco to the bathroom to help him take care of his "issue". Later, she told me that it is really a unique feeling to call a child's mother and tell her that her son won't stop scratching his ass.
Marco was much better today, medicated anti-itch cream in hand, and excited to toss it up in the air during our morning meeting, a squiggle worm once more. It got me to thinking. There's something truly innocent and sweet about a boy who really believes that a doctor would cut off his butt. While I was annoyed with my coworker (and slightly amused) for his warning, it does make me wonder what else I might say that my students will believe, and whether I should use my words so flippantly.
Then again, maybe if I threaten Marco with cutting off his arms he might sit still?
The student I am speaking of is Marco. Marco is a squirmy noodle with the impulse control of a dog spotting a squirrel. He desperately tries to sit still, only to beat box and whip his body around ten seconds after redirection. He is one of the four students in my room this year with ADHD, a label I am starting to believe is available for purchase with a party-sized bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.
Marco came up to me on the second day of school to inform me that his butt wouldn't stop itching. I told him that he could go to the bathroom to take care of it. Returning a good while later he asked me if he could speak to me. I told him yes. He asked if we could speak in private, his eyes pleading. I scooted a few inches away from the student conference I was conducting and asked him what he needed.
"Mr. N told me that the reason why my butt is itching is because I don't wash good. And he said if I don't wash good, mold will grow on my butt. And he said when that happens the doctor will have to look at it, and then they're gonna cut off my butt."
It was a statement of fact and also a question. (By the way, just as there is no comprehensive manual for parenting, there is also no class or course that prepares you for how to respond to these comments, or how to conduct conversations such as this one with a straight face.) I let him know that I didn't think it would be a problem because I knew that he would clean himself well tonight when he got home.
Two hours later, Marco came up to me, tears brimming, saying his butt itched again and could he please call his mom to go home. Seeing an opportunity for growth, I asked my resident teacher if she would please take Marco into the hallway to call his mother. A true trooper, she came in five minutes later, grabbed a full roll of paper towels, and walked with Marco to the bathroom to help him take care of his "issue". Later, she told me that it is really a unique feeling to call a child's mother and tell her that her son won't stop scratching his ass.
Marco was much better today, medicated anti-itch cream in hand, and excited to toss it up in the air during our morning meeting, a squiggle worm once more. It got me to thinking. There's something truly innocent and sweet about a boy who really believes that a doctor would cut off his butt. While I was annoyed with my coworker (and slightly amused) for his warning, it does make me wonder what else I might say that my students will believe, and whether I should use my words so flippantly.
Then again, maybe if I threaten Marco with cutting off his arms he might sit still?
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