Amy Loves Books

For anyone out there who read The Secret History once upon a time.

I can not say enough good things about Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl. It is a immensely enjoyable and satisfying read - and ends with a shocking and well-deserved slap in the face for all of us Netfixed, iTuned, Amazoned, Googled and Wikipediaed members of Generation X and later.


I. LOVE. THIS. BOOK.

Don't wait for the paperback. It's that good.

To file in the 10% of lessons that work better than expected:

By way of an introduction to Lord of the Flies, I did an activity with my tenth grade students yesterday. They were divided into groups of four (segregated by gender) and told that they had just crashed on a deserted, tropical island. Their job was to work together to formulate a survival plan.

There was a catch.

Each member of the group had been secretly given a note before the activity began. They were instructed to use the information in their note when they worked with their group on the plan.

These were the notes:

1. You are smarter than everyone else in your group.

2. You would make the best leader and you want to make sure everyone survives.

3. You are spiritual and sensitive.

4. You are stronger than the others, and you have a knife.


My students got very involved in the activity. They were so involved, in fact, that one of my groups began arguing. I walked closer to listen in on their argument.

These kids have never read Lord of the Flies. They don't know about Piggy and Jack and Ralph and Simon. They have no idea what happens.

And yet, in the group I overheard, the spiritual kid and the strongest one on the island were going at it. The spiritual kid kept asking, What would Jesus do?.

The strongest kid was losing her patience. She replied with a threat: If you don't stop telling us to think about what Jesus would do, I'm going to take you on the beach and kill you with this knife!

Remember once upon a time when you wanted to be a teacher?

Your first year is not going to be easy. You've heard this before, but it's worth saying again and again: Your first year is not going to be easy. It's a little like having a newborn baby - you're sleep deprived, and your schedule is all messed up. You have all this responsibility for caring for little people that need constant care and attention and tend to emit loud, howling cries despite your best attempts to anticipate and respond to them appropriately. Add to this the fact that you are probably spending 8 hours a day in a flourescent-lit, institutional grey or yellow, cinderblock room that may or may not even have a window. There ought to be a new diagnosis for PNTD: Post New Teacher Depression. Brooke Shields could bring it into the public awareness by appearing on Oprah and Tom Cruise could tell all new teachers just to take vitamins.

You can expect about 25-30% of what you try to do this year to actually work. If you are lucky, about 10% will work better than you ever would have imagined. If something does not work, throw it out of your mental filing cabinet. Keep trying new things. Next year, 50-60% of your lessons will work. You should have 20% of your lessons work fabulously. That works out to two good days and one incredible day a week - just by next year. I promise that there is a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

You are probably making the mistake of teaching over the student's heads. You remember your college classes, or your 11th and 12th grade Honors and AP classes, and, naturally, you tend to teach that way. There is nothing wrong with setting your sights and standards high - but you need to remember that your students probably don't have framework to learn what you want to teach them. Keep your standards and sights high, but really, really listen to the responses your students give when you ask questions. If they are not keeping up and mastering the concepts (and the ability to simply repeat what you've said is not mastery), then you need to break things down into smaller steps.

You may also be making the mistake of assigning too much homework. Chances are, you don't have school age children yet - so there's no way for you to know how long homework takes. Whatever you assign, double the amount of time you think it "should" take and use that doubled time as your gauge of the right amount.

Don't be afraid to call home. It's scary. I don't know for sure, but I imagine that it's probably worse than calling a girl and asking for a date. All a girl can do is turn you down. There's always the chance that a parent will get you on the phone and realize that YOU'RE ONLY TWENTY-SOMETHING AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE DOING OR WHY ANYONE THOUGHT YOU COULD BE PUT IN CHARGE OF ALL THESE CHILDREN. That thought alone is enough to make your heart beat so fast you don't even think you can dial the phone. Still, as terrifying as it is, you just have to force yourself to do it. It really does make classroom management 100% easier in the long run, not because the parents actually "do" anything; Because the kids know you care.

Don't spend more time grading an assignment than your students spent doing the assignment.

Give yourself time off. You've got lessons to plan and a stack of papers to grade. The students keep asking for their tests back. There are never enough hours in the day. BUT, if you don't give yourself days and nights off you will burn out and stress out and become one of the walking, teaching dead. Start with two nights a week and one weekend day when you refuse to look at anything school-related. You need it.

Every day you are becoming a better teacher. The learning curve for this job is brutal at first, but you'll grow into it quickly as long as you are self-reflective, learn from each failure and each success, and don't give up.

Remember once upon a time when you wanted to be a teacher?

Remember that.

For persuasive writing:

SEAL

Support with Evidence and Appeal to Logic

Let the catchy "pass the graduation writing test" puns begin.

I have not been writing here much. Last Spring, one of the assistant principals at school took aside and asked me if I would like to be Department Head. I paused before I said "yes".

I only talked about the possible promotion to my immediate family. I prayed and prayed some more.

The thing is, I did/do want to be a department head. It is where I eventually wanted to go. Someday, maybe when I am forty or fifty. Not necessarily now.

At the beginning of the summer, I was asked to interview. At the end of the summer, I was told I had the job. The rest of the time has been a time of not-knowing. To be honest, I did not think I would ever be Department Head at my particular school. The more I did not know, the more I was not sure if I would be happier knowing I got the job, or that I did not get the job.

From the beginning, I've known that teaching at an urban, at-risk school tends to chew people up and spit them back out again. I never said I would teach here forever, and, like most people, I gave myself three-year plans. I'd commit to three years at a time, and then I'd see. So far, so good - but.... you never know.

I always realized that if I were to become Department Head, I'd be committing to much longer than three years at a time. I took the responsibility very seriously. This would be my life work.

So, I've been waiting and I've been quiet about it. And it appears that this is, indeed, where I am supposed to be. It's a bit overwhelming at times: to think that this is it. But then, I think that a part of me always knew.

Today, one of my kids from fourth period, one of the boys, came and sat in my room while he took a test for another teacher. There was another boy with him, one I have never taught. The other boy took a seat near the door, but my student came and sat as close to my desk as possible. He asked me what classes I had, and what tenth graders are going to read.

How long are you going to teach at this school?, he asked.

I told him. Forever.

What?. He was genuinely surprised. Because you have a house across the street, right?

No, I said. Because I love you.