Tales From The Clink

Reckless Abandon

2012-02-06T18:24:00.000-05:00

I often think about writing. More often, and lately, I think about not writing. I am not writing. Sure, I write lesson plans (tons), and behavior reports (half tons), and scads of assignments related to my practicum and CAGS program and other professional development endeavors, but let's call a spade a spade. This isn't writing. Writing is nourishment. Writing is love. It's sustenance, the kind of soul food that makes some people feel integrated and whole. And then, when writing disappears from the regular routine, things atrophy. They wither. If writing were my child, which it kind of is, then I would be reported to the authorities.

I feel like I've ditched my kid.

I effectively gave up writing Tales From The Clink when I left my job teaching reading in the juvenile justice system. I did not leave willingly--I was laid off, and because I have bills to pay and mouths to feed, I had to chase down a full time gig. Quickly. And with good fortune on my side, I landed my current job, teaching English language learners at the middle school level in an underperforming school. Yes, I think I may have mentioned that I work in an underperforming school in a previous blog post. The underperforming status of M school serves to make sure that I (and my fellow teachers at M School) do the opposite. Perform. And golly, do we do that all the time! We do it before school, giving extra help to students; after school, when we are contracted to teach extended days because someone theorized that more instructional time translates to higher academic achievement; after dark, when we are mandated to stay 2-3 hours weekly for professional development; and after we return home to our families each weekend, which I'd prefer to reserve for spending time with, well, my family.

The time that I used to use for reflective thinking and writing has been supplanted by these new "have-to"'s. I feel stripped of a certain vitality that used to feed my teaching self as well as my whole self. Do I just need to become a better manager of time? Or am I in an untenable situation?

I try to meditate sometimes. I'd been hearing more and more about meditation, from the occasional Facebook post or in quick snippets of "news" from Yahoo, that meditation is the new/old essential practice for good health. So I try. I never seem to stay at it that long, but when I do, and when I try to "listen" as I empty myself out, I hear something in myself. A voice, a signal. Write, it says. You have to. Don't and you'll starve.

Starving is a pretty senseless thing to do when you should and do have access to food. It's reckless. Making time for writing in the face of all these other responsibilities feels the same way. As I type this blog post, my children are fixing their own dinner and bickering over who got more mini chicken tacos. Voices are being raised. They clearly need their mother's attention. But I'm finishing this piece because I owe it to myself. Sometimes, you need to go after and get what you really and truly need. With reckless abandon.

The Glow of Opportunity

2011-07-24T09:49:00.000-04:00

And summer school commences.

I was really on the fence about whether I would teach this summer. This past year has been pretty rough and tumble, between getting laid off from my job as a reading teacher in the juvenile justice system, to starting a new position as a middle school teacher of English Language Learners in a severely underperforming school. I have learned that if you're looking to raise your blood pressure by, say, ten to fifty or more points, a good way to do it is to start a teaching job in the middle of a school year. Even better if you're teaching middle school. And you get bonus marks if your students don't want to learn English, which is what you're contracted to teach them.

Over the course of the past six months, my head became like an over-inflated tire, dangerously close to exploding. My days were spent in the mode of constant redirection, with little successes sprinkled in here and there. I told myself, over and over, that this summer would be my grand reward, my treat to myself for having endured an incredibly stressful year. Images of beaches, lawn chairs, books I've been meaning to read, and cool drinks swirled around in my head. I was dizzy in love with my dream summer-to-be.

In early June, my school's ELL coach told me that the summer program had reposted the ELL Writing position. "I know you're not thinking about working this summer, right, Kate?" she sort of sheepishly said one day in passing. No, I'm not. Or I wasn't. I hadn't been? But it was becoming more and more a part of my thinking as we got closer to the end of the school year. I'll admit that part of my thinking had to do with my son's recent declaration that he wanted to go out for the high school golf team in the fall (big cash hemorrhage). But the bigger part of my shift in thinking had to do with conversations I'd been having with colleagues on Twitter. I participate semi-regularly in what's called an #ELLCHAT, in which teachers, consultants and other professionals in the field of teaching English Language Learners get together and share ideas, pose questions and create a supportive community in the field. A few folks had mentioned during one particular chat what a glowing opportunity it is to teach in the summer, particularly with this population.

I guess that's all it took. "Glowing opportunity" is the term that got my attention, but was I thinking of the kids' opportunity, or my own? At this point, I'm inclined to believe it's both. True, I'm far from the idyllic beach setting I imagined myself in earlier this year, but I'm glad I took this job. The kids are (surprisingly) well behaved, at least in my classes. We go on lots of field trips in this program, which provides great fodder for writing. The picture above was taken on our first excursion to a state park about 20 minutes outside the city. The kids got to explore the shallows of a pond and use small hand nets to find critters, creatures and other sorts of freshwater aquaculture. Later, they got to go swimming (although their swim was cut short due to tardy lifeguards). We'll be writing about this trip, and others to come, using pictures, posters, pamphlets, and more.

These kids often don't leave the confines of the city in which they live and, from what I hear, they often don't leave their homes except to go to school. It's awfully hard to teach kids when they have such a severe lack of background knowledge on which to base their learning. But here, in this program, there's a great - and yes, I think glowing - set of chances for kids to enrich their experiences and broaden their horizons. Maybe, together, we'll start to stretch ourselves in ways we never thought we could.

Saturday School, Part 2

2011-06-04T08:20:00.000-04:00

It's June. The weather out here in western Massachusetts is pristine, with a series of recent wild storms and tornadoes having all but scrubbed the skies clean. I look up and see clear, azure tones. I hear summer's call. And my students do, too. I can tell, easily: they're absent all the time now.

This means they've gotta do their due time at Saturday school, which is like structured, glorified detention, for three hours each Saturday. As I've confessed already, I usually work these shifts to pick up a little extra cash, but honestly, I also do it to build relationships with my students. They seem as though they're not all that interested in buddying up with teachers in general, but I've noticed lately that when I approach them to offer help or redirection, they look away or suck their teeth less often. Hoorah! This is progress. I feel the tiniest little victory inside when this happens, and I know that these moments represent learning, in seedling form.

So it's Saturday again. Normally I'd be in my car right now, headed south for the 40 minute commute to school. But today I'm home, still in my nightclothes, a mug of hot, fresh coffee next to my laptop. In a little while I'll be preparing to take care of day-long duties as a baseball mom. I'll certainly miss the opportunity to continue the process of strengthening the bonds with my students. They may or may not show up, I know. But in the back of my mind I'll be thinking about them, engaging in my favorite metacognitive game of playing and replaying the tapes I keep in my head, the ones that have to do with being a better teacher.

There are three more weeks of school this year, and two more Saturday school days. Seventeen opportunities left for me to grab the attention of fourteen Puerto Rican adolescents. I'm ready for a grande finale. I just hope they're at school to see it.

La escuela de sabado

2011-05-07T11:08:00.000-04:00

It's Saturday. Can't think of anything I'd rather do than make a hundred bucks the hard way. Actually, what used to be the hard way has become pretty easy money. I have to admit, I work Saturday school for the money, not for the glory or the power. Kids who come to Saturday school are here because they've racked up piles of unexcused absences. If they want to move on to the next grade in September, they've got to erase those missed days. So they show up here, at school, to immerse themselves in higher learning for three hours. With me.

The schedule says that four of my lovelies should be here today, but only one has shown up - and her name isn't even on the list! Am I going to turn her away? Um, no. Come. Come in, dear Kiana. Let's spend time together, and teach each other a thing or two.

More later...

surfacing

2011-02-18T12:03:00.007-05:00

This is my first post since January 1, which was two days before I started my new job as a middle school ELL teacher. It's February 18, 12:05 pm, and the kids have just been dismissed so that we teachers can have a half day of professional development.

I feel like someone just handed me a snorkel. I am just now surfacing. I can breathe. I can write.

Overwhelming is a mild term to describe my transition from teaching reading to teenage boys in the juvenile justice system to working with English language learners between the ages of 11-13. Let me make this clear assertion: teaching in jail was way easier than this gig. The kids knew the drills. They knew that if they stepped out of line, there were clear and foreseeable consequences, and so they pretty much behaved. Most of the time. But here, in this level 4 school, in this socioeconomically stretched city in western Massachusetts, things are a bit more dicey. This is an academically underperforming school. There's a general lack of motivation among the kids and, perhaps in a greater sense, among their parents. In very real, tangible ways, there are big behavior issues. There is neglect. There is truancy. And then I also get to deal with those added layers of a language barrier and the age-old challenge of the creature that is the tweenager.

I keep calling this the molotov cocktail of teaching jobs. It's kicking my ass in ways I've never quite felt. These kids have tested me as though I were a 22 year old student teacher. In my first seven weeks here, I've seen a student stabbed with a pencil, had things thrown across the room, watched my materials get broken, been called many unsavory names in Spanish, and, oh yeah, had a kid--somehow--post a picture of an erect penis on my computer (that happened on my second day. it was unforgettable). And throughout all this nonsense, I've had to remind myself that I'm supposed to teach these kids English, not just play defense.

I think a lot of people would turn and run, or go get a real estate license, or find a good therapist. I've felt all kinds of things over the past 7 weeks, but defeated is not one of them. One of the reasons I wanted to work in a community like this one is that I know there is goodness and potential in these kids. I know that they haven't been given a fair shake. The odds are against them, and statistically, they are highly likely to fall prey to a long list of risk factors. A bunch of them will end up in the juvenile justice system, and then prison. Yes, it does suck to be them. But I believe in working for social justice, and the way that belief needs to play out is right here, in this little, hot, windowless classroom. I am sticking with this job, and with these kids, and when we all return from this blessed winter vacation, we will be refreshed and recharged. And ready to learn.

Au revoir, Le Clink

2011-01-01T09:12:00.003-05:00

As I ring in the new year, my thoughts turn both to reflection and a bold look at the road ahead. I hereby bid adieu to 2010, as well as to my tenure as a reading teacher in the juvenile justice system. Yep, I've busted out of jail - but not really by choice. You see, I got laid off a month ago. Even though my brief leisurely schedule was kind of fun, it was not a sustainable situation. A smart person once told me something about necessity being the mother of invention, and in my little world, it is definitely necessary for me to work full-time. Knowing I sure couldn't stay laid off, I hit the pavement and found a brand new gig as a middle school ELL teacher. For those not up on their education acronyms, I'll be teaching English Language Learners, or kids whose primary language is something other than English.

I start Monday. So goodbye, my youthful offenders, whose faces and voices and stories I will treasure and keep with me always. Hello to a new community, new challenges, and the next chapter in my professional life. Maybe I'll have the time and creative energy to refresh my blog and give it a new look. I'll try to make that happen. But I know that my students get first dibs when it comes to their new teacher's time and energy. Kids deserve that, don't they?

Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How

2010-07-09T08:58:00.002-04:00

I haven’t posted any Tales in a while.

But that doesn’t mean I have ceased thinking about my students and the meaning of my teaching, and looking for ways to make more and stronger connections with these boys. Even though I am very short on time lately, I wanted to put something down about what’s going on here at G House. But what?

If I spin my teacher’s roulette wheel of memorable moments over the past few months, here’s where the little ball lands: Cesar. He’s the kid who threatened a teacher (not me) in a way that made her both laugh out loud—and wince visibly. What he said to her was, “Miss, I’m gonna stick a pencil up your ass.” I know that this is crude. But this is par for the course in the clink. This isn’t Sunnybrook Farm, you know. Cesar, with shaved eyebrows, eyes the color of wet, dark chocolate, and long, dark, curly hair (always pulled back in a ponytail), was excused from the program. Today. Cesar was brought back to secure treatment in Westfield. Today. It wasn’t only because of this comment; it was because he had threatened plenty of other staff and residents, with words in various languages and dialects, as well as behaviors that translated rather clearly across every culture.

Why? I ask. Why is Cesar so angry? Is it anger? Is it a mental health issue? I only had a sum total of seven short days, truncated by extended bathroom breaks, to try to teach him to read, most of them in a hot, cramped classroom. With one very small, very anemic air conditioner, and with books and materials I had such lofty hopes for, but that never got used. By me. And Cesar. How will he fare? I do not know. I’d like to remain optimistic. Some of these kids can - and really will make it. But sadly, my mind keeps coming back to the word recidivism. I cannot help it. I don’t think Cesar is going to live much of his life beyond prison.

shifting gears

2010-05-14T11:04:00.004-04:00

Folks, this is to be my last post for a while. I've decided to shunt my blogging juices in a different direction, away from one thing I love, teaching in the juvenile justice system, and toward another: food.

Now you may be wondering why someone would want to add another food blog into the already well-saturated blogosphere. Who would read it? Why would anyone care about what yet another food-obsessed American has to say about a topic that has been whirled around the world wide Cuisinart too many times? Who cares?

It may well be that, in fact, no one does. Besides me, that is. And that would be fine. My new motivation for writing about food comes from how moved I am by the little farm that my family and I have bought a share in for the past several years. It is a little jewel of a place, rich with biodynamic soil and people who believe in the vitality of food, community and sustainability. Honestly, when I think about the upcoming farm season, which begins in just two and a half weeks, I feel myself start to shake a little bit. It's just a farm, I know; but what I've realized is that its presence in my life has a deep and profound effect. In big and little ways. So I'm going to write about it, on a daily basis, for 22 weeks. We'll see what happens. If you care to, follow me on over to my new blog, Big Onions, at Salon:

http://open.salon.com/blog/katrocada

And, if not, thanks for following Tales From The Clink.

Tase Me, Bro

2010-05-05T08:51:00.010-04:00

Today in my Title I reading workshop we're taking a look at an issue that has made recent headlines: the fan at a Phillies game who ran onto the field and was subdued via taser by police. I've just completed 90 or so hours of state-mandated Category 1-4 English Language Learner (ELL) teacher training. Much of this training has focused on methods of modifying instruction for students whose primary language is something other than English. This population of students, which is very culturally diverse, makes up a majority of students within the juvenile justice system. In my ELL training, there's a lot of emphasis on building background, in explicitly linking concepts to students' own personal experiences.

In preparing for this lesson, I think a lot about how I can build background for my students. I'm guessing they've heard about this issue, because the TV is on in the living room downstairs somewhere between frequently and always, and it's tuned to ESPN about 90% of the time. It's a sports issue, I reason, so they'll have to have at least heard of this, right? I pre-teach some of the vocabulary in the NY Times Bats blog post by Justin Sablich ("tased," "appropriate," "force," and "stunt" are a few); we watch a 45 second You Tube clip of the kid running on the field and being taken down; we do a shared reading of the NY Times sports article, "To Tase Or Not To Tase?"; and we listen to a podcast excerpt of the Tony Kornheiser Show in which several sportswriters/commentators discuss the ins and outs of this issue.

True confessions: before teaching the lesson, I pretty much make up my mind that the kids are going to love the fan who ran out on to the field and hate the trigger happy stun gun cop. How could they not? Kids in juvie hate cops, don't they? Plus, every teenage kid probably wants to get his 15 minutes of fame somehow, some way. They'll think the fan is cool and the cop's a jerk. I'm totally convinced of it.

As we finish reading the blog post, Carlos blurts out: "Miss, I've been tased before. It feels like a big shock, and your arms drop and you go down. Oh, and it leaves a big red mark." Raul adds, "Yo Miss, I haven't been tased before, but my brother has. The cop had to hold the trigger down like, mad long, because my brother's really fat, and he had to like, aim it at his ankle and his back and stuff. My brother had like a heart problem and had to go to the hospital when that happened." By the end of the day, I find that all but one of my students have direct experience with being tased. They know how it feels. I don't.

So much for the freshly-trained teacher building all that background. I half laugh to myself as I realize something: they've built the background for me.

We compile a pros and cons wall around the issue, and each kid contributes something to it. Some play devil's advocate, some not. We discuss the rights and wrongs, the who-did-whats and what-would-you-have-dones. At the end of the class, each kid writes a reflection statement in response to the appropriateness of the use of tasers on fans who trespass at a major league ball game. "People need to act right when they're in public," Pablo writes in his response statement. "We couldn't know what the kid was going to do. No one can know. He could have had a weapon. And if the cops had taken him down in a tackle, he could have gotten way more hurt. The taser was an appropriate use of force in this case."

By the end of the day, every kid agreed that it was the fan who was at fault for making a poor decision to run out on to the field. Every kid sided with the cop for using the taser to subdue the fan and control the situation.

I begin to realize that this happens all the time. By 'this,' I mean the prejudging of my students. Lots of people take these kids of color, these kids in lock up, put them in boxes and attach labels: 'Trouble.' 'Lazy.' 'Stupid.' And although I definitely don't see my kids as any of these things, I had sized them up in a certain way because of their status as juvenile offenders. I 'knew' their opinions before hearing what they really thought and reading what they wrote. I made them guilty of something, in my own mind, before hearing their testimony.

Now, some may say that mine isn't such a horrible gaffe. But thoughts, even the tiny, invisible ones, can lead to meaningful behaviors and actions that are detectable by others. I really want my students to be sure, as often as possible, that I believe in them, that I give them the benefit of the doubt. I think all teenagers need guidance by adults who have this attitude. As I reflect on today's lesson, I feel a bit disappointed in myself. I'll try not to make this mistake again. And I suppose what I feel the most is gratitude to these boys for reminding me that teachers, not just students, can learn important lessons in their own classrooms.

It's true I've never been tased. But today I felt a little stun. And it felt good.

indulge yourself

2010-05-04T12:42:00.003-04:00

Just ducked out at lunch to fill my gas tank and grab a delicious iced caramel latte. While in the quicky mart, I decided to throw caution to the wind and buy a scratch ticket. For ten dollars, I could make retirement happen way sooner than when I'm planning to, which is, by my calculations, age 93. A bargain, I reasoned.

Well, my visit to the quicky mart cost me this:

gas: $34.10
iced caramel latte: $3.31
scratch ticket: $10.00
_______________________

TOTAL: $47.41

Moral of the story: gambling, as well as lattes, are for suckers.

where the wild things are

2010-04-29T11:33:00.002-04:00

I have a student named Robert, the likes of whom I have never faced in my decade or so of teaching. Robert is a fairly adept reader, reading and comprehending at close to a 9th grade level, and he likes reading, so right there we seem to have two strikes in our favor, right?

Wrong. When Robert gets to my classroom door, he's accompanied by a one on one staff who's ready to apply restraint techniques at the drop of a hat. Or a pencil. Or my laptop. Or anything that Robert feels like flinging across my classroom. If we could see Robert biochemically, I think it would look something like a Jackson Pollock piece. He's all over the place. I think he's on a molotov cocktail of personality meds, and from what I can tell, no one can seem to find a good combination. One may not exist. Normally, a kid who's as much of a powder keg as Robert is would not last here at G House. He'd be shipped back to secure treatment, most likely. But Robert is going to age out in three weeks, at which point he'll become a ward of the Department of Mental Health. So here he will stay, until he turns 18.

How do you teach a kid like Robert? What are a reasonable set of goals and expectations? Two words: harm reduction. My goal is to reduce the possibility that Robert freaks out and hurts someone or something. I've decided to take this approach to Robert's remaining time here not so much to protect myself - although I'll admit that's part of it - but to offer this kid at least one 45-minute period each day during which he might be able to feel a little bit of calm, perhaps a touch of peace. I imagine it must be very, very hard to live inside this kid's body. I believe in empathizing with kids, but I would never want to walk in his shoes.

At one point Robert indicated that he liked Scrabble. So this is what we do during Robert's class time. I have Scrabble on my laptop, and we play together pretty much every day. We talk about words, we strategize, and maybe here and there I sneak in a little writing exercise (if he's having a good day, which are few and far between).

When Robert ages out next month and moves on to his next facility, I, along with many other teachers, staff and residents, will exhale loudly. You'll probably hear it. But in spite of the relief we're sure to feel, I hope Robert finds some of his own, some kind of peaceful plateau. We all deserve to have a slice of it.

spring break

2010-04-17T10:58:00.002-04:00

It's finally here: April vacation week. I'm sitting in a coffee shop while my little guy is at a birthday party at a movie theater around the corner. I'm having nearly two hours of ME time! Imagine that! Moments like this seem rare, but it's the perfect way to kick off my spring vacation. I get a chance to let all my thoughts settle and sift while the idle cafe banter plays in the background.

I'm letting my mind just wander, but it's making its way back into thoughts of my professional life. Clink stuff...

I think of William, who is about to graduate next week but doesn't want to, because he's so tied into the gang culture and he knows he is going to have to face the kid who stabbed him before he got locked up.

I think of Paco, whose girlfriend just had a baby girl, and who told me, after his last home pass, that he gives the baby extra Tylenol just to make her sleep.

I think of Kyle, who was going to graduate yesterday, but instead got into a fistfight with another resident. His transition into the next stage of his life is now tainted. I hope and pray it doesn't set him back.

I think of Alex, who has bragged to me about his prowess at many things, including dealing drugs and as a ladies' man. He told me a few days ago that a girl claims she's pregnant with his baby. By the way, Alex's girlfriend is expecting in June.

I think of Manny, who read with me last Thursday a short story published in 1996 about Tiger Woods. He told me, "Miss, even though I can read this, I love it when you read out loud...it's like the words become alive when you read."

It's 11:10 and I have to pick up my son from the birthday party. May we all have a peaceful, restful week, and do something that gives us pleasure.

friday at the masters

2010-04-09T13:35:00.001-04:00

Today is Friday--with a capital F. It's the end of a long week, one that somehow feels as though it's lasted longer than five working days. I thought today would be a perfect day to introduce writer's journals to the kids. They could take the stack of magazines I keep in my classroom and cut out images and words that reflect their personalities and strengths, then decorate their journals in a way that has personal meaning. Hopefully, with a touch of their own style, the kids will be more likely to feel connected to their writing, and more motivated to share authentically in it. They dive into the magazines with zeal while I point out that the words and images they choose need to be appropriate.

"You mean no gang stuff?" says Jerome.

"Right," I respond.

"What about booze?" queries Paco.

"Yeah, we need to leave that out, too," I say. The boys seem unfazed by these parameters and go about their searching, cutting and gluing.

To go along with this relaxed atmosphere, I'm streaming live coverage of the Masters tournament. A few of the students here have been lucky enough to have been out on a golf course with a particularly kind staff member who happens to be a golf fanantic. Most, though, don't like golf. They don't follow it, don't care about it, and don't know of any golfers aside from Tiger Woods. But, I reason to myself, there's nothing like the sweet, tinkling sound of the piano music that they play during Masters coverage, the tweeting birds in the background, and the hushed voices of the commentators to set a relaxed tone. It's this kind of aural accompaniment that I think can really help keep the most explosive DYS resident fairly tame.

During 5th period, Alex remarks, "Yo Miss, you got any better music than this?"

"Why, you don't like it? This is the music they play whenever the Masters is on. It's supposed to be soft and calming, I guess," I point out.

"They don't got no Puerto Rican music? You know, bop bop bam bam, bop bop BAM!" Alex mimes.

"Yeah, I can see how that might liven things up a bit. But they tend not to play Puerto Rican music during golf tournaments. Especially this one. They like to keep things pretty chill."

I giggle to myself, imagining the brass at ESPN or CBS Sports or The Golf Channel trying to reach out to the Hispanic audience, experimenting with salsa music during the biggest golf event of the year.

Hmph. No wonder these kids can't relate to golf.

fringe benefits

2010-04-06T14:09:00.007-04:00

One of the fringe benefits of teaching in the DYS system is that teachers have no extracurricular requirements. You aren't forced to supervise any after school clubs, coach any sports, or suffer through detention duty. This is not to say that I don't value the educational opportunities that out of school time programs offer. I simply welcome not having to be an unwilling supervisor. But because we're mandated to work an eight hour day, DYS teachers are on the job site for a significant period of time outside of acadmic instruction, and some of that time includes those morning hours when the boys are getting up to start their day, eating breakfast, doing their chores, etc. I try not to get in their way, and they seem to go about their morning routine in a fairly calm and resolute manner.

In a way, I've come to enjoy this part of my working day. I have a full hour in my classroom before my students arrive. I greet the boys quietly in the second floor common room as I make my way up to my third floor perch. I leave the door to my room ajar, leaving open the opportunity for boys to say hello, or not say hello, or ask what we're reading in class today. Simple stuff. Chitchat. Conversation that won't be graded or judged in any way.

This morning, Omar's face appeared at my doorway. "Miss," he chirped. I saw that he had rubber gloves and three or four trash bags in his hand. "Miss, you need your room cleaned, or your trash taken out?"

This program, like others in the system, operates on a point system. The kids need to earn points to maintain their status level. Points are earned and lost for good and poor behavior, academically and otherwise. Kids who might be a little lower on the points ladder might go looking for creative ways to earn extra points. In Omar's case, I know that he lost points for getting into a squabble with another resident over the weekend. But he's always been a very willing, very cooperative student with me. "Well, sure, that would be great. Are you looking to get some extra points?"

Omar nods. I glance at the trash barrel, which is overflowing with garbage left by the third shift staff who uses my classroom like the basement of a frat house. "Can you take the trash out?" I ask him. "Yeah, uh, that's my chore this week anyway. So, I'll sweep the floor, wipe the desks, and take your trash. Is that okay?"

Omar's face, like the faces of all of these boys, seems so innocent right now, so freshly scrubbed. Sometimes I truly wonder how so many of these boys got into so much trouble. "That'd be great, Omar. 25 points sound okay to you?"

Omar smiles. "Yes, thank you." He goes about cleaning the room as I begin my morning routine of starting up my computer, putting out supplies and arranging my plan book. Omar finishes his job pretty swiftly, gathers the trash and heads down the stairs. In a minute, he reappears in the doorway with a funny look on his face. "Miss, staff is busy right now, and I need to take this trash out." I know very well that Omar can't exit the building without a staff present, but this seems like an unusual circumstance. With a high-risk kid, I would never agree to it, but Omar is such a straight arrow, no-nonsense type of resident. "I'll come out with you," I offer, and I grab my keys and we head out.

It's a beautiful morning. The cool air feels refreshing, invigorating. Omar trots out to the sidewalk with the trash bag, and as he does so I notice a woman to my right, walking down the driveway next door to G House. I hear her high heeled shoes before I see her. She's light brown skinned, maybe in her late twenties, wearing a very tight, revealing dress that shares more with the world than I can say I'm comfortable with. I glance up at the front porch of the house next door and see a man. Wearing only a towel. As my eyes take in this information, it all registers. There's business being conducted next door. Before I can bring my attention back to my charge, I hear the man on the porch say "good morning," and I look up in time to see him drop his towel, exposing his manhood to the brisk morning air. And to me.

Immediately, I see Omar fling the trash bag down and run toward the neighbor. "OMAR!!!" I yell. "Omar, get over here!" I manage to grab Omar by the sleeve, and somehow push and shove him back toward G House, where another staff, who has obviously heard my outside voice, comes to my aid.

"That guy can't do that shit," says Omar, breathless and clearly heated, once we get safely inside G House.

"Do you think he was trying to offend me?" I ask Omar.

"Yeah! Miss, that guy was so rude. I had to stand up for you."

"Omar, it means a lot to know that you would stand up for me. But I would never want you to get in trouble as a result. I tell you what: the next time you need someone to escort you outside, we'll find a male staff to do it. I'll stick to teaching. Deal?"

Omar smiles. "Deal," he agrees.

I head back up to my classroom, and Omar goes to wash his hands. I stifle a smirk as I consider how authentic learning opportunities can be found in the most unlikely places.

the best way out

2010-03-29T11:36:00.006-04:00

I follow someone on Twitter called @thedailylove, who populates the twitterverse with a variety of uplifting quotations and statements, some of which resonate with me. Today's daily love includes a quotation by the beloved poet Robert Frost.

"The best way out is always through."

"Out" is a place my students long to be, and some of them even earn this before they leave the program by demonstrating good behavior and strong commitment to education. If they play their cards right, they can qualify for home passes, and some of them manage to earn the chance to get home on a handful of weekends before they graduate. Still, a 36 hour home pass is nowhere near the same as the sustained freedom of being OUT. They pine for this. Wistfully, they talk about life on the out as if they are permanently marooned on a desert island, yearning for a mouthful of fresh water.

Up until recently it seemed that although they wanted nothing more than to return to life on the out, they were unwilling to take seriously the academic and clinical work required to complete their programs of adjudication. They wanted the fruit without doing any of the labor. Some have gone to extremes to try to avoid the direction of "through" by jumping out of second story windows and limping for their lives. Most stay put physically but show clear indications that they intend to go right back to their gangbanging, streetwalking, drug-selling ways. They're here, and they go through the motions, but they're going around, or under or over, not through. But I've noticed something happening lately in my classroom. My students are engaged in learning. You can see it. They're becoming willing readers. These oppositional boys, whom I have seen in full blown fits of rage in varying stages of bipolar freefall, are settling down to read. With me. In my classroom. Wow.

I feel an enormous sense of accomplishment, but I'm not the one that owns it. What I really want to do is this: take a picture of each class, each combination of boys, and blow it up to a large size that anyone and everyone can see. This is newsworthy! I want the world to know what changes have happened here in the clink! Look at what you boys can accomplish when you allow yourselves to go through the juvenile justice system. Above all, I want them to see themselves. This is what you look like when you're learning, I want to tell them. Isn't it beautiful?

The 'Hoodest White Girl You Know

2010-03-19T12:04:00.003-04:00

Overheard a moment ago at the end of my 5th period class:

Tariq: "Miss, I'm gonna start calling you Shaniqua. No, Shanaynay."

Me: "Oh yeah? Why is that?"

Tariq: "'Cause you is the 'hoodest white girl I know."

Me: "Wow, thanks Tariq. No one has ever said that to me before."

I try to connect with my students, to work and interact with them in such a way that they don't see me as some uppity white woman who's trying to teach them a brand of literacy that they can't relate to. I want to create a teacher-student connection that makes it easy for them to become better readers.

But I didn't see myself as being 'hood. Oh well. Maybe it's a good thing, after all.

come on baby, light my fire

2010-03-17T08:26:00.004-04:00

From the archives of Barbara J. Feldman, the purveyor of the web's Light A Fire daily inspirational quotations, comes this little nugget o' truth:

"Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great." - Mark Twain

This reminds me of the people who I've been lucky enough to know who are among the "really great." I remember how they have made me feel: powerful, capable without limit, warm, positive, benevolent. People who seemed to radiate goodness in such a way that I could practically absorb it, like sunshine, and shine brighter myself as a result. I just want to be that kind of teacher, that kind of person. It's the kind of fire that I want to light for my students. Some days, though, it seems it's all I can do to fan the embers enough to light my own way.

Dope Sick

2010-03-03T13:36:00.002-05:00

Here in the clink, there's no rest for the weary. We're moving right along, from yesterday's rhyming whimsy of Dr. Seuss straight into the harsh realism of Walter Dean Myers' Dope Sick. Actually, it is an impulsive choice to read this book aloud, mostly because of a first period scheduling error (I had two students of drastically different reading abilities paired together in the same class). At 8:00 am, I decide to go for it, and dive right in:

"My arm was hurting bad. Real bad. The bone could have been broken. I couldn't tell. I just knew it was hurting and swollen. I felt like just taking the gun out and throwing it away and giving up so I could get the mess over with."

Glancing at my two students, I can tell immediately that I've got them. Hooked. I swear, this job is so much like being an angler. That I love both fishing and teaching reading really comes as no surprise. There's this thrill I get when I know I've got a bite. I feel as though Dope Sick is great bait for my students, my (mostly) reluctant teen readers. So I let out the line, and give them more:

"I started to lift my arm to look at my watch and the whole arm just lit up with pain. The bone had to be broken. I figured it was two or three o'clock in the morning. Skeeter had called me just past midnight and told me they got Rico. I knew Rico was going to punk out. In a way I was glad they got him, but I knew he was going to blame everything on me."

"Yo Miss, what's this book? This book is crazy," remarks Jose. Jose, who reads at about a first grade level, is a self-proclaimed "non-reader." I think that this status is probably less a result of him not wanting to be a reader, but due more to the fact that reading brings such frustration. And shame. Jose knows that his classmate, Denzel, is a much more able reader, probably at a 7th grade level . But I'm reading aloud to both students with purpose, to level the playing field, to make the same text as accessible to one as the other.

"So, guys. What's happening here so far? Why do you think this character's arm is broken?"

I sit back and listen to their responses, and we talk about making predictions based on what we know so far and how it might relate to the title of the book. Before I can continue, Jose implores me to keep reading, and he wants to know if we'll be reading this book every day this week. "Well, I imagine we can fit this into our lessons this week. You like this book, huh?" Jose, wide eyed and alert, nods vigorously.

Hah, I say to myself. I got me a fishie.

Yo, Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss

2010-03-02T09:39:00.007-05:00

Today in the clink we're celebrating the birthday of Theodor Seuss Geisel, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss. Here are some sound bites from the day so far:

"What? Man, Dr. Seuss is like for babies, Miss. What we readin' that for?"

"Yo, you didn't show me the pictures. Show me the pictures after you read the page. I mean, please show me the pictures, Miss."

"You skipped one. You skipped a page. Miss, lemme read that. Gimme that book. Miss, can I read now? I can read better than that."

"All that brother had to do was rhyme, and he got rich? That's easy, man. I'm 'bout to do that."

After building the background of the legacy of Dr. Seuss, including the fact that Theodor Geisel was born in the city in which most of my students grew up, the boys appear to warm up slightly to the fact that I am reading a "babyish" book to them for today's lesson. "Go get your pillow, if you want," I tell them, and I see a little glint in their eyes, something that reminds them of the magic they perhaps used to feel when they were in early elementary school, and someone read to them while they got to lie on a soft carpet, listen to a kind voice and look at pictures. The idea of reading for pure pleasure...they go to their rooms and get their pillows (one brings back his blanket) and off we go.

"The news just came in from the county of Keck / That a very small bug by the name of Van Vleck / Is yawning so wide you can look down his neck..." I begin reading, with my most animated reader's voice, from Dr. Seuss' Sleep Book. I happen to be reading this one to my first grade son's class this afternoon, but I also thought this to be the PERFECT book to read to these kids, who are constantly telling me how tired they are, how all they want to do is go to sleep, how weekends are all about sleeping as late as they can. Ah yes...teenage boys. They can't help it, I suppose.

I finish reading the book and remark how similar the rhyming patterns that Dr. Seuss used are to rap and hip-hop lyrics. "Here, Kyle," I say, handing the book to a student. "Read a page as if you were rapping." Kyle, an aspiring rapper, easily obliges and puts on a little impromptu show.

"Everywhere / Creatures / Have shut off their voices / They've all gone to bed / In the beds of their choices," Kyle raps, complete with a puffed out chest and lots of hand gestures. "Miss, you're right!" Kyle chuckles. "That's funny."

We talk about the different rhyming words in the Sleep Book, and about rhyming patterns, including the difference between perfect and slant rhyme. I can tell they're getting into it. I assign a short writing exercise in which they create a rap, poem or song using whatever rhyming pattern they like. "Think about what you want your rap to be about. What kind of story do you want to tell? Or, what question could you ask?"

They jump right into this assignment. I don't have to say another word. What they come up with is clever, hilarious, and intelligent. And it all came from a lesson based on some "baby" book.

one simple thought

2010-02-26T10:20:00.005-05:00

I'm not going to wax too poetic on this blog entry. But I feel an urge to put down this one simple thought: that all of the materials I use to teach comprehension, fluency, vocabulary, phonics, and all the ins and outs of turning out better readers - would never lead to my desired outcomes if I left out one key ingredient: love. There is a certain kind of love that exists in my classroom. It cannot be defined, but it can be detected. My students come from places where they cannot let their guards down, where they lie, steal and cheat to survive. Somehow--I honestly don't know how--I figured out that my success depends on my being able to offer these boys a place where they feel respected, valued and safe on a consistent basis. Mine is a small classroom, but it offers deep dividends in potential for learning. And it's because of love. Without it, I'd be a failure. And I could never live with that.

10 Things On My Winter Vacation To-Do List That Will Help Make Me A Better Teacher

2010-02-15T18:39:00.009-05:00

Well, it's Day One of Winter Vacation. Most of the kids at G House didn't even realize that they had this week off when I told them last Friday. From the looks on their faces, you'd have thought I told them they were getting out of the clink early. "You know, you get a week off of school every February," I pointed out. They remained incredulous. I think that so many of these kids have been either incarcerated or truant for so long that they have lost that certain intrinsic rhythm that goes with the public school year.

I have to say that I am every bit as psyched as my students are. I felt this thrill this morning when my eyelids fluttered at 7am, a full two hours later than my normal Monday morning waking time. "Ahhhhh....yesssssss!!!!!" I thought to myself. Vacation week. I closed my eyes, smelled the coffee that the hubs started brewing (normally my task), and made a mental list of all the battery-charging things I will do this week that will, I tell you, WILL make me a better teacher once this week is over and I return to my third floor classroom to fight the good fight and teach my students how to become better readers.

And here's that list:

1. Olympics, Olympics, Olympics. It's all about the Olympics, baby!!! I am an Olympics addict, and this condition started when I was three years old and I watched the 1972 Munich games on a little black and white TV in the house I grew up in in New Jersey. I loved everything about it then, and I have watched every Olympic Games broadcast since. My first job after college was with CBS Sports, where I worked as a runner at the '92 games in Albertville. I didn't "run" as a competitor; rather, "runner" is/was a term that CBS used for temporary hires who worked for the duration of the games. I worked in the videotape archives. CBS housed us in a little ski resort called Valmorel. When we runners weren't working, we skied. There was a little pub at the bottom of the slope, and another one at the top. By the end of the games, Valmorel had been dubbed "Val-immoral." In '98, when I was pregnant with my first son and went into preterm labor at the end of January, I was thrilled out of my mind, because it meant that I would be able to watch each and every second of the Nagano games! The baby ended up being born past his due date. Uh, anyway, I'll be watching as much of the Vancouver 2010 games as I can. Thank goodness for DVR's.

2. Snowshoeing. If there's snow on the ground, I want to put on the 'shoes and go! I am lucky enough to live adjacent to conservation land and a state forest in western Massachusetts. When I want or need to be invisible, commune with nature, and get an excellent workout, opportunity is at my back door. Snow is forecasted for tonight and tomorrow. In the spirit of Napoleon Dynamite, I say yessssssssssssss.

3. Yoga. Why? It's simple, inexpensive, and centering. Plus, I can supervise my kids while practicing my asanas. Om.....

4. Spend time with my kids. I want to do lots of stuff with my sweet little red headed sons: read to them, play games with them, make popcorn, play outside in the snow, make indoor blanket forts, watch movies. I love having more time to do this kind of stuff, because the work/school week is always so darned structured that we tend not to get time to do the fun stuff.

5. Go see the new Percy Jackson movie. My older son is an avid reader, and he devoured the Percy Jackson/Lightning Thief series as soon as each book was published. Some of my students who were formerly reluctant readers have been really turned on by this series. So I'll take the kids to see Percy, and I'll consider it professional development (I'll need to preview this film in order to use clips in my classroom...some day).

6. Watch Season Two, Disc 1 of the HBO series "In Treatment" with Gabriel Byrne and Dianne Wiest. If you haven't seen it, it's a must for your Netflix queue. I could listen to Byrne's Irish brogue all day long.

7. Continue my nightly PTI "date" with the hubs. PTI stands for Pardon The Interruption, which is a show on ESPN that airs at 5:30pm Monday thru Friday evenings. Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon review the day's athetic events in a mock-debate format, offering their colorful commentary and critical insight. The Mr. and I are both lifelong jocks and, I guess you'd say, scholars of the connections between sport and culture. Eww, that sounds so erudite. Mr. Tony would probably tell me to SHUT UP if he read that.

8. Get myself to a museum. I've been wanting to hit Mass MOCA for a while now. I'll take the kids and load us all up with a bit of cultcha.

9. Do a few pedis. As some of you may know, I am indeed a licensed nail technician. Long story. But it's something I do on the side, and I have a few steady clients. And they pay me well. So I'll continue this little moonlighting gig, saving up for that sick mountain bike I've got my eye on...

10. Make my birthday cake. I turn 41 at the end of this week. I want a cheesecake for my birthday cake, dammit. So, over the next few days, I will peruse a few cookbooks and foodie blogs in search of the penultimate cheesecake. And then I will make one. And it will kick booty. And mine will get larger as a result.

There's nothing standing in the way of my accomplishing every task on my Vacation Bucket List. I know that completing each one will make me a better teacher, the way that students become better readers when they have more life experiences to draw from in building that necessary background for richer comprehension. I wish the next week would take a month. Even though it won't, I plan on making the most of every moment during my vacation week. I hope you do, too.

progress

2010-02-14T11:18:00.002-05:00

I did the biggest double-take on Friday, the last day of school before the winter break, and also the last day before Valentine's Day, which typically ranks up there among the biggest candy holidays in the school year. Walking past the common room on my way up to my classroom, I glanced in and thought I saw kids eating fruit. NAHHHHH, I said to my inner cynic, not believing what I was seeing. I looked back again and confirmed not my fears, but my hopes: every single kid was eating a piece of fresh fruit. "What are you eating?" I asked Jamal. "An apple, Miss," was Jamal's nonchalant response. "I'm hungry," he continued. "Is it good?" "Yeah, Miss, this apple's real good."

I didn't bother to ask where the fruit came from, or why I haven't seen the kids eating it more often. I left well enough alone, glad to see something nutritious going on at G House. In a very small way, it helps to balance out some of the less healthful things that happen there, such as kids who escape by jumping out a second story window at midnight because their withdrawal symptoms due to cocaine addiction force them to. Yes, people, fruit consumption in the clink is significant progress.

greens, blacks and browns

2010-02-10T12:22:00.013-05:00

So the boys came back from horticulture class this past Monday with an abundance of vegetables: salad greens, radishes, russian kale, parsley. During fourth period, under the guidance of Mrs. H., the horticulture teacher, they assembled a beautiful chop chop salad with the bounty of their harvest, adding hard boiled egg, bermuda onion, chopped apple, carrot, Chinese noodles, and more. It was stunning. "Miss," they said. "Are you going to have some of our salad for lunch?" "If there's any left over, sure!" I replied enthusiastically.

They looked at me kind of funny. I realized later that this funny look meant "we don't eat no stinkin' vegetables." It's true - I've never seen a kid at G House eat anything green and fresh. Or orange and fresh. Or anything that grows in the ground in its natural, unprocessed state. When I've asked them why they don't eat vegetables, most will say they simply don't like them. They were never offered them as young children, and so they have developed anti-vegetable palates. I observe what my students do eat, which consists of meat (chicken, pork, sometimes beef), rice or pasta, potato chips, and soda. That's all, folks. No fresh fruit. No salad (only on special occasions, and then it's in the form of iceberg lettuce, January tomatoes, and unidentified salad dressing).

And so my students--who are predominantly black or brown, 96% of whom are on behavioral medication, all of whom get little to no exercise, and all of whom eat unbalanced, unhealthy diets--are expected to learn, grow and meet the academic standards set forth by the Massachusetts DESE. This is a nutrient- and activity-poor recipe for failure, no?

What if...

-kids in juvenile justice facilities were provided with a wider array of nutrient-rich foods and given junk/treat foods only occasionally?

-there were reasonable limits set on the amount of time spent watching television and playing video games - for all kids, including those in juvenile justice facilities?

-each juvenile justice facility offered some kind of comprehensive physical fitness program?

-Mrs. H.'s horticulture program were expanded beyond the limits of the DYS program and right into the communities that these kids come from, so that kids and families could be connected to affordable and nutritious food sources while building up the communities at the same time?

-these efforts were pressed into action, if only to a minimal degree. Would we see increases in academic performance and decreases in behavioral issues?

It occurs to me that the latest national efforts to create standards for healthy lifestyles are far from becoming reality in the educational setting in which I work. The federal crackdown on getting junk food out of schools...the First Lady's Let's Move program, which addresses childhood obesity...even the quasi-hip Mediterranean Diet...do these concepts have any chance of becoming part of the reality at G House and programs like it at any time in the near future? Or is the juvenile justice system not considered part of "our nation's schools?"

I just read an article heading: "Low I.Q. Predicts Heart Disease." This comes from the latest headlines from the New York Times. I'll have to read it later but I can't get past this thought: that it is the cycle of generational poverty that weaves the web of academic underachievement, chronic health problems, drugs, crime, etc. We can't cure any one problem or issue using one single method or effort. It's like trying to perform social liposuction: it just isn't a healthy, sustainable solution. We have got to take a holistic, broad brush approach to all of these issues, not just waging little wars a la carte. Geoffrey Canada's Harlem Children's Zone is the best example of an anti-poverty effort that offers education, social service and community building programs. The data show that HCZ is working, and not just marginally. To read more about HCZ's dramatic success, take a moment to pore over its website at www.hcz.org.

I hear that President Obama intends to replicate Mr. Canada's success by creating 20 new "Promise Neighborhoods" across the U.S.. I cannot wait for this to happen. In the meantime, I'll keep fighting the good fight, teaching reading to my kids at G House, and figuring out a way to get some veggies into their mouths. Maybe I'll have to resort to bribery. Hey, it works for Geoffrey Canada.

Time With TED. Enough Said.

2010-01-27T12:22:00.005-05:00

Short post today - I'm home with a sick child - but one of the things that a family sick day allows is a little time to explore and peruse some of the more worthwhile links shared by people in my Twitter community. Someone retweeted a link to a TED talk by Eve Ensler about "embracing your inner girl," which was mildly entertaining, but it prompted me to wander a bit through the TED site. Funny, I never regret the time I invest in TED, yet I can recall practically hating myself for the time I used to squander on Facebook (I recently deactivated my account).

In any case, I'd like to share a link to Dave Eggers' 2008 talk on creative engagement with youth and schools via community-based tutoring centers. He points to the critical importance of the one-to-one teaching/tutoring model - something so rare in education today, but so effective and vital to the success of students who struggle most. If you've never checked out a TED talk, consider this your lucky day.

http://www.ted.com/talks/dave_eggers_makes_his_ted_prize_wish_once_upon_a_school.html

recidivism bites

2010-01-22T16:15:00.004-05:00

Last Friday we had a graduation for Jonah, a sixteen year old kid who is the father of two children and has another on the way. At the ceremony, we all bestowed our best wishes upon Jonah, saying positive words of encouragement and reminders about responsibility, hard work, and healthy goals. Jonah thanked everyone, including teachers, staff and other residents, and said he would keep his head up and stay out of trouble. To be honest, I had strong doubts about Jonah's future and his ability to make it out there (and by 'make it' I mean finishing school and getting a legitimate job, as opposed to earning a living as a purveyor of illicit drugs).

This morning I learned that Jonah was arrested for possession of marijuana, which means a few things:

1. he's going back to secure lock-up after only 6 days on the out
2. his community re-entry and education plans are totally derailed
3. I now know why I had such doubts about Jonah

In reading workshop, when I would ask Jonah to describe something in either oral or written format, he used to say to me, "Miss, I know what I am trying to say, but I can't find the words. I don't know...it's just...it's so hard for me." Jonah had also confided (in a very open way) that he had been smoking pot regularly since he was ten years old, and that he didn't know how he was going to make any money in life other than by dealing drugs. I asked him if he thought that plan would work for him in the long term. "What are my other choices?" he replied. "Well, education would be a good start, don't you think?" I offered. "Which would lead to a career path of your choice. It can be done, you know," I told him.

But I always saw a dismissive expression on his face when we had conversations like this one. I never got the impression that Jonah wanted to complete his education and get a job. Maybe he was addicted, to a number of things for a variety of reasons. But I still feel mournful at this latest twist in the tale of Jonah. I'd rather be writing about all the success stories of kids in DYS who actually use their time in custody to turn their lives around. These stories exist and are worthy of wide public broadcast. For now, though, I reflect dolefully on Jonah. Perhaps his latest learning experience will be the catalyst for some sort of positive change.

Man On Wire

2010-01-20T18:05:00.004-05:00

I just finished a mini unit on courage and perseverance using the Academy Award-winning documentary film Man On Wire as my focus story. Before watching the film, I indulged in a read-aloud of Mordicai Gerstein's The Man Who Walked Between The Towers. I'm sort of sadly amazed at how much background I need to provide to my students on things I used to think everybody automatically knows, such as What Was The World Trade Center and Where Is New York City and Why Is The World Trade Center Not Standing Anymore. That last one, having to do with a lack of awareness of 9/11, is rare among my students, I must admit. But it is a fact that the kids who come into custody of the Department of Youth Services tend to be 1)lacking in formal schooling, 2)from families that either cannot or do not support learning, and 3)are ELL's. Hence, I need to pre-teach a lot of stuff. On the other hand, that's why I'm here, right? I love teaching, reading and learning side by side with my students. So I guess I'm in my dream job.

"Can you 'see' yourself in this story?" I ask them, reminding them that we comprehend stories in many ways, two important ones being feeling and visualizing. "Miss, I would never do what he did. To walk on a wire up in the air, that far up? No way. Maybe I'd try it if there were, like, a trampoline or something underneath me."

I give an empathetic chuckle. "I hear you on that one. I can't see myself as a wire walker, either. But what do you think Philippe Petit's story has to tell us about things like following a dream and never giving up? Is there a message there for us?"

One of my students, Miguel, raises his hand. "Miss, it's like he's telling us that we are powerful beyond our wildest dreams. All we have to do is think it, dream it, and we can do it. I hear his message. I get it."

I look at Miguel, my eyes wide and glassy. "Yes, you get the message. You are all so capable and powerful," I tell them.

May my students set their goals in high and healthy places. And may they embody the true meaning of perseverance. I'll help in any way I can.

the smell that surrounds you

2010-01-07T14:28:00.002-05:00

I realize that this isn't the most savory topic for my first blog entry of 2010, but I've been moved to write from the heart. Whatever the substitute cook made for lunch today is causing every single resident to make painfully obvious their resulting indigestion. Every kid has passed gas since lunchtime. I can also hear staff members downstairs having the same problem. It is now 2:31 and I am contracted to be here until 3pm, but, dear Jesus, let's remember that heat rises, and it's becoming unbearable up here on the third floor. There's no escaping it. So, let this be a parting farewell, or a farting parewell, take your pick. I'm OUT.

Christmas in the Clink

2009-12-23T16:27:00.004-05:00

Today was the last day of school at G House before the holiday break. Keeping with tradition, we had a huge midday feast, complete with roast ham, pernil, roast turkey, seafood salad, rice and lentils, and loads of sweet stuff for dessert. As I sort through my mental snapshots of today, I call up images of lots of smiling faces, both staff and residents alike. The kids all received Christmas presents, consisting mostly of clothes, games and candy. Those kids from local neighborhoods were encouraged to invite family members to the feast. I truly enjoyed meeting the grandmother and aunt of a new student of mine, Antonio. It's been a rare experience to be able to make face to face contact with the families of my students in DYS, and I felt lucky to have the chance to see another facet of Antonio's life.

While chatting with Antonio's grandmother and aunt, I noticed a very quiet Manuel over my left shoulder, sitting in a corner chair. He had his hoodie zipped up all the way so that it covered his face. That's strange, I thought. Manuel didn't seem tired just a second ago. But then I noticed Manuel's chest shuddering, ever so gently, beneath that hoodie. Suddenly, I got it. Manuel's family. They're local. He invited them. They didn't come.

It's easy to look at these kids as statistics on paper and just dismiss them. If most people saw Manuel's rap sheet, they wouldn't have a shred of sympathy for the kid. Manuel has done some pretty bad things to pave his way into lock up. Most of these kids have. But they're kids. They're human beings, and they've got so many unmet developmental needs. One of those needs is love. The kind of love that's demonstrated by showing up for an hour to see your kid and get some pretty damn good free food at the same time.

So that's Christmas in the clink. Some good times, some bad. I suppose it's just like everyone else's Christmas, with bits of sadness sprinkled in with the holiday joy. I know I can't ask for a world without tears. But I'd really like it if misery would walk through the back door of these kids' lives a little less frequently.

little triumph

2009-12-16T14:50:00.009-05:00

Last Monday, as Luis walked into my classroom, I could tell something was wrong. When something's wrong with Luis, I can read it all over him: a scowl on his face, heavy, deliberate steps, throwing all his weight into his desk chair, slumping down low in his seat. His eyes are the color of hot, black coffee when he's having a good day; on this day they looked like dark brown charcoal.

"Hi Luis. What's wrong?"

"Awwww, Miss," Luis began, his cranky tone easily making its way through his thick Puerto Rican English dialect. "I got dropped."

"Well, actually, I heard. So now what?"

"So now I can't graduate nex' Monday. I been good here for 7 months, never got in trouble once, and now they drop me down to C level and I can't graduate? Man, that got me so..."

"Angry?" I offered.

"Yeah," Luis replied.

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think it wasn't fair? Tell me what happened that led to your getting dropped."

Luis and I took the next ten minutes or so to talk about what led to his loss of level. Getting "dropped" means that a resident is moved from a higher disciplinary level with more privileges, which he earns by displaying good behavior, to a lower level with fewer privileges, usually as a result of bad behavior or some other sort of transgression.

Luis told me that on that Monday, he went to his first period class and "didn't feel well." From what I know of Luis, Monday morning is not his friend. He, like many teenage boys, is often sleep deprived on Monday mornings, his circadian rhythms thrown off by a weekend of late nights and later mornings. He was tired. He felt frustrated in an early morning academic setting. And, in his frustration, he began to speak to another resident in Spanish. Now, granted, this is a Hispanic group home, but the kids have to speak, read, write and listen in English during the academic day. The teacher whose class Luis was in had gotten a little tired of his act, and she deducted points from his total, thereby dropping Luis' level. Thereby preventing him from graduating. All because of one incident on one morning involving a tired kid who got frustrated and spoke Spanish, his primary language, instead of English.

"So, I'm heated. I wan' write a letter to Mr. G. I wan' appeal this. I asked the other teachers and they say they can't help me right now." There was no way Luis was going to be able to write a sentence, much less a letter, on his own. In the three months that Luis and I had worked together, his reading level had risen, but he still tested at no more than an early first grade level in fluency and decoding. He would need significant help with this letter. If he didn't graduate, it could lead to further, more serious setbacks with far-reaching consequences.

I glanced at my lesson plan for Luis for the day. "Let's go then. Let's write that letter."

Together, for the next 45 minutes, we composed a letter of appeal, addressed to the director of the program, asking for reinstatement of Luis' level, apologizing for disrespectful actions, and describing how important it was to Luis to be able to leave this program on a positive note. We used proper grammar, accurate spelling, and complete sentences. Luis read it - slowly - out loud.

"This is good. Thank you, Miss."
____________________

Flash forward one week to today, Monday, December 21. We just had Luis' graduation luncheon. He received a scholarship award for academic success and a framed diploma. The smile he couldn't seem to wipe off his face was priceless.

I know how it feels to visit a foreign country where you don't speak the language, yet I can only imagine how it feels to be Luis, whose language skills in both English and Spanish are so very weak. People tell him to try hard in school, but it really isn't that simple. Luis is challenged by not only his ELL status, but by a home environment that doesn't support or value literacy, a learning disability, and, I suspect, lead poisoning. He's a great hands-on worker, however, as evidenced by his efforts in the local school-to-work initiative and the DYS horticulture program. I believe that Luis, in spite of his challenges, can create his own brand of success out there in the world. I'm still holding out hope that he follows through on his promise to get a library card.

two juicy tidbits

2009-12-08T08:10:00.006-05:00

Just a couple of things to chew on this chilly Tuesday morning:

"Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest." ~~ Mark Twain

And, on the left, this delectable duo...though I don't recommend actually masticating these. But they're very enticing!

candy girl

2009-12-07T10:39:00.005-05:00

Recently, I had a vision. I imagined little Starburst candies as earrings and thought they'd look adorable. So I made them, and guess what? They're adorable! They look exactly how I wanted them to look: little, lovely and luscious. It's like having sugar all the time but never rotting my teeth. It's ear candy that grabs the eye. I thought other people might like them, too, so I made a bunch and created my own Etsy shop where, if you're so inclined, you can buy a pair and give them as a gift to the sweetest girl you know. And, if that girl happens to be yourself, then all the better!

Here's the link to my shop:

http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=36046117

One of the other reasons I wanted to make these earrings is that I knew they'd be instant attention-getters. In my DYS classroom, where my students are not always the most motivated readers, every little effort to get these kids to perk up makes a difference. If they're watching me, they're more likely to listen to what I have to say, and less likely to look out the window at the crack house next door. Teachers, take heed! Score yourself a nifty pair of my starburst earrings and watch your students' test scores skyrocket! Pretty far-fetched, I know. But at the very least, kids (and adults) will notice these. And that's a start...

view from an urban fault line

2009-12-03T11:16:00.006-05:00

each morning
driving up the avenue, I see the palette on my right:
prim clapboards, freshly painted
in warm, classic tones
tall, sloping rooflines
wide, sweeping porches
antique, stained glass,
sidewalks well-tended
and fertilized foliage.
Faces
freshly scrubbed,
expressing seriousness
and careful intention
on getting somewhere.

on my left
not fifty feet away, another painted scene:
scattered, overturned trash barrels
belching out debris,
cars, not new, disabled
Cracked foundations,
siding in obvious need of repair,
plywood sheets
where single-pane windows used to be.
Skin
in tones of varying shades,
all of them darker
(or is it dirtier?)
than white.

Here is the polarity
of my morning city commute.
Here is has,
and there is has not,
divided by route 83
and the apparent intentions of a few
to make the lives of so many
Less than.

The Talented Dr. Seuss

2009-12-03T07:48:00.002-05:00

Dr. Seuss brings me my daily nugget of wisdom today. He's quoted as saying:

"Sometimes the questions are complicated, and the answers are simple."

Yes, wise doctor. You speak the truth.

an afternoon, and an ode to Miller Williams

2009-12-02T13:25:00.006-05:00

We had yet another graduation today. About an hour ago, Jonah walked out the front door of G House, carrying a white plastic garbage bag with all of his belongings, as well as a visible parcel of pride and sense of accomplishment. Jonah came to G House via a lock-up facility in western Massachusetts after he stabbed someone last March, blind drunk and high.

I'll miss Jonah. I know he's got a tough life to go back to, but he's developed a solid array of coping skills and behavior management techniques during his time here. He went up at least two grade levels in reading during the three months I spent with him. Sure, he has challenges, but he's also acquired some newfound protective factors in his life that might just be the difference for him. I'll remember Jonah in my prayers.

After graduations here at G House, classes are suspended for the remainder of the day, for what feels like a of two-period holiday. On days like this I find myself with extra non-instructional time, which I can fill with lots of tasks on my never-ending punch list. I could be doing lots of Title I-related paperwork, updating student individual reading plans and combined record sheets, calculating fluency rates, planning lessons. But what I'd rather do is put my feet up and read Miller Williams' beautiful poetry.

Williams has spoken of poetry as a modern day life support system in a time when we are so tempted to pull away from the world, when the world offers so much to withdraw from, when we feel so frequently the urge to want to be a little anaesthetized, or a little more than a little. Poetry is the real amidst the fake. It's the rhythm among the chaos. It's the reminder to see things like compassion, and relations, and the loveliness of order within language. Miller Williams writes in a way that when I read his work, I feel like I am touching a grounding wire. His poetry removes the static, the low grade anxiety that seems to go along with how it feels to go about my day, each day, in this day and age.

Williams reminds me of something I feel I need to remember in order to stay alive when he writes, "We need poetry as we need love and company. It's a matter, finally, of whether we bring into our lives the real thing, naked and demanding, or something we simply inflate to look like the real thing, which neither demands nor gives."

On my way home from work today, I am going to stop at a bookstore, purchase a copy of Mr. Williams' work, wrap it up, and give it to my husband for Christmas. I look forward to discovering it, over and over again, with him.

come on, baby, light my fire

2009-12-02T07:54:00.003-05:00

Today's Light A Fire educational quote of the day struck a chord:

"When we are unable to find tranquility within ourselves, it is useless to seek it elsewhere." ~~ Francois de La Rochefoucauld

I gotta hand it to that Barbara J. Feldman, the purveyor of Light A Fire quotations. Sometimes they really hit home with me. Thanks, Babs!

a small thank you

2009-12-01T14:36:00.003-05:00

Well, after previewing the photo I just attached, I realize that either I had the shakes when I took this shot or the resolution on my phone camera is pretty subpar. The picture I took is of the tender good-bye note from Mr. Lopes, who did, in fact, leave the program (on good terms) yesterday. I had let him borrow a book over the Thanksgiving break, which he read cover to cover, and he did, in fact, return the book to me - much to the surprise of several staff members and one clinician. Seems like people here thought J-Lo was either going to 1) never crack the book, or 2) steal it. Neither of these scenarios took place.

It warmed the cockles of my heart when I arrived at my classroom door to find Hoop City sitting on a chair with a handwritten note. I realize that Mr. Lopes' inscription isn't quite legible in the image above, so I'll transcribe: "Thank you Miss, I loved this book. It's a graet book and I want to tank you for what you started in me becuase I think I love to read now. Thank you again. J-Lo."

This is the kid who, on his recent home pass, decided to drive a stolen car without a license and got himself arrested, no less than 48 hours before he was to have graduated from G House. This is the kid who everyone says is never going to make it, because of a lack of common sense and sound decision-making skills. It's true, J-Lo may be the kind of G House graduate who ends up in the adult system as a lifer. But in my eyes, I have to celebrate this tiny success story: a kid who announced to me on our first day of class, "Yo, Miss, I don't read" became the young man who thanked me for lighting a little fire of literacy in him. What a dramatic change.

I found Mr. Lopes before he headed out with his caseworker yesterday. I thanked him for all his hard work and dedication he showed in my class. I gave him two books to take with him, wished him the best of luck, and gave him a hug. Then, I went up to my classroom, sat at my desk, and had myself a quiet little cry.

I'm getting a new student tomorrow. And the story begins again...

pomp and (unfortunate) circumstance

2009-11-18T17:41:00.008-05:00

As I drove to work on Monday, I thought about the noontime festivities that would await. Another graduation was going to take place, which meant 1)there'd be a house-wide gathering in which I, as well as the other teachers, would be expected to speak about the graduate-to-be; 2)one of the "old timers" (a kid who's been there a looooong time and was a wee tad older than the rest of the crowd) was finally gonna fly the coop; and 3) it didn't matter that I forgot my lunch, because with graduation comes a feast. Mmmm...I hadn't had much breakfast I guess, which is why I kind of meditated/obsessed on that last thought. The line staff at G House are excellent cooks, and they have a knack for using spices in a way that makes me salivate every time I hear the word "graduation."

So I was psyched for this day as I bounded up the front steps, bookbag on one shoulder, laptop case on the other. I punched in the code to unlock the front door, but it opened before I hit the last digit.

"Good morning, Miss," I heard a male voice say with a certain sort of intention. I peered around the corner into the office where the voice came from.

"Good morning?" It was a question, not a statement.

"Just to let you know, we will not be holding graduation today. Mr. Lopes was arrested over the weekend during his home pass for driving a stolen car without a license. He has gone back to lockup."

I see. So much for all the text-to-self connections we made to real life situations from our reading of realistic fiction. So much for comprehension strategies, for all of the work that the clinicians and line staff did with this young man. We all create our own learning curves, it's true. I had just hoped that this boy would have realized that the city in which he lives is crawling with cops, just waiting for him and other kids like him to screw up.

Cops 1, Young Mr. Lopes 0.

Today Mr. Lopes returned to G House for what I hear is another week and a half's worth of "hard time" before giving graduation another college try. November 30 is his next shot. Stay tuned...

Tuesday 10 November

2009-11-10T17:46:00.007-05:00

I spent the better part of this morning administering a post-TABE test to Jonah, a nice kid who's going to be leaving the program in the next few weeks. As I was filling out my portion of his bubble sheet, in walked Jonah.

"Good morning, Miss."

"Hi Jonah, good to see you. Take a seat and I'll be done with this in just a sec."

I glanced up to see some weird looking red mark on his neck. For a split second I thought: HICKEY?!? Then I realized that this would be very, very unlikely. At least I hoped that's not what it was.

"What's that on your neck?"

"Oh, that," Jonah remarked, pulling back his shirt collar a tad to expose the mark in its entirety. It now looked less like a hickey, and more like he had gotten into a fight. Well, lo and behold, I was right. "That kid, Tyler. He kept comin' in my room last night, talkin' shit and messin' with my stuff. I told him to stay out, said I'm tired of his bullshit. Next thing I know, I'm in the bathroom, and I come out and the kid just frickin' jumps me."

"Really? He just went at you?"

"Yeah, so, like, what was I supposed to do, right? I just went at him, popped him in the face pretty good. The kid was crazy."

"Did staff file a report?"

"Yeah."

"What's that on your leg?"

"Oh, that. That's from when he tried to grab my legs, and I kneed him in the face. You should see that kid's eye!"

"Well, actually, I think I'd rather not. Listen," I said, trying to steer the conversation away from last night's Mixed Martial Arts bout and toward the task at hand. "I'm sorry to hear that there was a fight. Why don't we get this test started. The sooner you finish, the more time you'll be able to get outside with the rest of the guys."

Jonah completed his test with diligence, with enough time to allow him to get outside before the afternoon classes started. I went downstairs, looking for Tyler. I know Tyler has had some issues with his temper, both in this program and in previous settings.

Coming down the stairs, I practically knocked over the program director. "Good morning, Mr. G.," I said, stepping aside.

In a low voice, he said, "Good morning, Miss. I was just coming up to your classroom to tell you that Tyler will not be in your class today." I studied his face for a second, then realized that what he meant is that Tyler will not be in my class any day. Ever again.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

The kid got booted back to lockup, a western Mass version of the place in which I taught last year. I totally get it, why he had to go. Tyler had gotten into/started at least four fights since arriving a month ago. Jonah was not the first kid who sported battle scars as a result of a scuffle with Tyler. But I had been rooting for Tyler to get it together! He had admitted to me, in private, that he had been working on his anger issues, and he'd even been able to work with a boxing coach while he'd been on the out. "I miss boxing, Miss," he had said one day. "I know it sounds like a violent way to manage a violent temper, but it gives me discipline. It's harder for me to deal with things without it." In class, we'd started reading the book Fighting El Fuego, about a young punk kid whose brother gets locked up and starts getting into trouble. Can't control his anger. "Miss, this kid is just like me!" Tyler exclaimed after we'd read the first couple of chapters. "My brother got locked up, too. Ever since then, I've just been, like, crazy. Only in the story, the dad is still there. Who knows where mine is."

I'd like to know, too. Where do all these fathers go? I keep wondering about this as I work with more and more kids whose dads are just absent. In the meantime, I'll keep Tyler in my prayers, and hope that somehow he finds his way.

Swine Flu in the House, Yo

2009-11-08T13:45:00.004-05:00

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of my students for sharing so generously their virulence with me last week. Because I've been FLAT OUT this weekend - this, of all weekends, with its unseasonably glorious weather - with what I believe to be the Scrabble flu (yep, H1N1). The group home where I teach is a perfect petri dish, I've found, for all things that produce fever, phlegm and inflammation. Even though I'm so heavily armed with Clorox wipes, sanitizing spray and Purell, I guess there's no stopping this virus, especially in a place that's this dirty and inhabited by so many young men with poor personal hygiene.

I feel like there's a small elephant sitting on my chest. I'm tired, in spite of getting 12 hours of sleep last night. I don't feel like watching football, and my bloodshot eyes can't follow more than a line of text on a page. Typing this blog entry is exhausting. I think I just caught myself starting to drool.

But I'm dying to get back to my reading workshop tomorrow. We have to keep reading Fighting El Fuego so that we can find out how the book ends before two of my students graduate this Thursday. FEF is about a young Puerto Rican-American kid who has a big anger management problem and gets into fights all the time. I have some of the most reluctant readers actually begging me to read this book with them. No need to build background here, folks.

So, it's off to bed with tea and cough drops. And my rally cap.

she's got a gripe

2009-10-25T17:03:00.003-04:00

It's rant time.

For one thing, I still don't have internet access in my classroom. All the cool web-based lessons I used last year - poof! Gone. I keep hearing that a wi-fi hookup is coming, but I've given up hoping and waiting. It'll never happen. Sure, there are plenty of other paths to literacy, methods of instruction that don't require electricity, much less a computer. But what about the "new literacies?" Those podcasts, wikis, blogs, video technologies, gaming software, technologies that establish communities on the web, and search engines are a huge part of the changing landscape of reading and reading instruction. If we are expected to prepare our students as readers, writers and thinkers, we need to include in our instruction the kind of information that they will be accessing at home and in the workplace. No internet = no brainer = no wonder there's such a growing gap between the what students do in school and what they do at home. This has to be addressed. YES, EVEN IN THE CLINK.

The other half of my bitch session has to do with other unenlightened colleagues who think that if you only see one or two students at a time, you've really got it easy. There's one co-worker in particular that comes to mind here. She has a tendency to imply this sort of thing when in conversation with me. It's getting to be pretty irksome. Title I reading is a pull-out, intensive, individualized method of reading instruction that offers, as a perk, a shitload of paperwork for progress monitoring and tracking. It isn't the regular classroom; it's not supposed to be.

Okay, enough for now. I won't get into the cleanliness issues I face in my new classroom (remember, it's a third shift hangout for staff who "need" to watch TV to stay awake). I won't mention how I come in each morning to find food containers, greasy handprints and God knows how many strains of viruses on my desk. Oh, and the adjacent bathroom? Oh golly, I won't go into how it has paper towels littered all over the floor...ramen noodles clogging the sink...pee splattered all over the toilet seat. Nah. I'll keep those juicy tidbits to myself.

Wait...what's that sound? It's Gloria Gaynor's voice, loud and clear. I hear ya, Glo!And I'll do more than survive.

modern love

2009-10-11T12:20:00.003-04:00

A quick post, on this beautiful Sunday of Columbus Day weekend. I wanted to share a link to my brother in law's essay that was published in today's New York Times. He writes about my nephew, Michael, and the unique beauty and challenge that comes with raising him. It's lovely. In a modern sort of way.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/11/fashion/11love.html

hot child in the city

2009-10-10T20:00:00.013-04:00

The kids in my program have access to a great horticulture class in which they learn the basics of gardening and composting. One day each week, the kids travel by van to the greenhouse on the other side of the city and tend their plants, get their hands dirty and, I'm guessing, resist the temptation to assault each other with shovels and spades. Last week I became the lucky recipient of some of the fruits of their labor. "Miss, would you like some peppers to take home?" Umm...would I? I like peppers, especially those toward the really mild end of the heat spectrum. I remember eating a whole jalapeno as a teenager on a dare. I thought the resulting inferno in my mouth would never go out. Ever since then, I've been sort of timid when it comes to anything beyond the blissfully sweet bell pepper. Okay, maybe straight up chickenshit is more appropriate a description than "timid." But when a smiling, wide-eyed Josef offered me two tiny red peppers that he had cultivated and produced with obvious pride, how could I refuse?

Tonight I learned about the potency of Josef's classwork. I made a pot of chili for dinner, and I thought I'd play it safe and add roughly an eighth, maybe less, of one of the peppers to my recipe. Just to be sure I didn't set my family's mouths on fire, I decreased by half the amount of chili powder the recipe called for. This'll be fine, I thought. After carefully mincing the miniscule amount of pepper and adding it to the pot, along with the sauteeing garlic, onions and ground beef, I had the weird sensation of sunburn on the fingers on my left hand. It smelled really good, though, so I continued adding chopped tomatoes, green bell pepper, tomato puree, and a little cilantro. It seemed a little wanting for liquid, so I poured about half of the beer I was drinking into the pot, gave it a stir, covered it and let it simmer for about half an hour.

The final product? Let's call it "well beyond warm." We each ended up giving our bowls very generous dollops of plain yogurt, plus lots of shredded cheddar cheese. It was still hot, but not inedible. The fact that my little guy ate two big bowls of the stuff is enough proof that I didn't use too much of the mysterious pepper. But my hand still feels sunburned, even after washing several times.

I think I'll save a pint of my chili to bring in for Josef on Tuesday, just to show him I appreciated his thoughtfulness. After all, it's the little things we do that mean a lot.

graduation day

2009-10-08T20:58:00.010-04:00

A kid in my program graduated today. In this program, "graduation" refers to the day when a kid leaves the group home and goes out into the real world, whether it's back to his home, a foster home or an independent living situation. In the case of today's graduate, Nico, he went to a foster home in a town about 45 minutes away, where he'll live, attend high school and, hopefully, graduate and go on to college. I have to admit that most of the time, when a kid is discharged from the system, I think the chances are likely that he'll get out, do something dumb, get recommitted and end up back in the same or a similar program. It happens all the time, and although I hate my pessimistic outlook, that's just the reality here. If you looked at Nico's case history and track record, you'd peg him as the next poster child for recidivism, too.

My money's on Nico.

Now, I did not inherit the gambling gene in my family, and I've been advised that if I am ever in a betting situation, to always bet with my head, not over it. I've only been working in this program for five or six weeks. I counted the number of class periods I've had with Nico (nine). Knowing what I know about the likelihood of kids in the system getting out and continuing to steadily screw up their lives, I should know better. Especially after today's graduation ceremony, where Nico's biological mom and dad showed up in what had to be a combination of drunk and high (but hey, at least they showed up), it's so clear this kid comes from such a fucked up background. How do you shake that, at age 17, and transcend it?

I remember the first day I had Nico in class. I gave him a basic diagnostic fluency screening, having him read a hundred-or-so-word passage out loud while I timed him. I practically dropped the stopwatch on the floor as he began to read. Even though the passage was just some sterile excerpt from an assessment book, Nico's voice had feeling, expression, warmth, and flow. Not the monotone staccato I typically hear from my students the first (and second, and third) time I do a fluency screen. Nico was polite, cooperative, and willing to make eye contact. And I could pretty much tell he wasn't just selling me a ticket.

What I've come to realize is that Nico is done selling tickets (among other things). By all accounts, he is poised and ready to use his natural skills and abilities to move forward with his education and his life. At the graduation ceremony, everyone - staff, clinicians, caseworkers, teachers, and residents - spoke so warmly and supportively on Nico's behalf. Even his foster dad, who blessedly seemed a full 180 degrees from Nico's mom and dad, said positive words of encouragement. Everyone expressed sincere well wishes for Nico, and I believe that he will truly be missed by all.

I know I'm really going to miss this kid. Not just because he was willing to do what I asked of him in reading workshop. Not because he was a beacon of light in what can be such a raw and rough environment. Nico definitely had a sort of positive osmotic effect on the other residents. He brought the whole program up a couple of notches and, just by being there, made my job a lot easier. But it's funny: I've never felt more strong a desire to never want to see someone again.

The Return of the Clinkmistress

2009-09-24T17:27:00.006-04:00

Actually, I've been in the new clink for a little over three weeks now. Sorry for the delay, my three fans. I guess I've been "settling in." It has taken some time for me to absorb my surroundings, and to realize that I'm in a completely different place than the one in which I worked before. I have a hard time calling my new teaching site a clink. Mostly because it isn't one. This isn't jail. No bars, no shackles, no state-issued uniforms. It feels more like off-campus housing for some unknown Hispanic educational institution. I teach in a group home, kind of like a halfway house for kids who have just come from secure treatment and are spending a few months in this facility before being released to their parent(s), or other family members, or foster care, or independent living. My classroom - which functions (apparently) as a third-shift lounge for support staff - has its own bathroom, which, like many college apartments, is in screaming need of a woman's touch. Or just a shitload of Lysol.

There are three classrooms on the first floor: two regular education classrooms, and one special education classroom. My classroom is on the third floor, adjacent to two student bedrooms. I call it the Reading Penthouse, because 1) it's at the tippy top of the building, and 2) although it may not look like it now, I vow to make it the slickest, most tricked-out reading nest EVER. Kids are going to make HUGE strides in reading with K-Bizzle! Um, I mean, with Miss. Yep, that's right: "Miss." Residents call teachers and staff by Mr. or Miss throughout the program. The first time a student called me Miss, I confess that the thought "do I honestly look like a fucking waitress?' drifted through my mind. I realize that it's just part of the way this program works, that no, they don't expect me to serve them up a plate o' buffalo wings, and that "Miss" mirrors in English the Spanish term "Senorita," which in Hispanic culture is perfectly respectful. Plus, it's easier to say "Miss" than it is to try to remember the name of the 198th teacher you've had in your life. Maybe I should simply take it as a compliment that they think I look young enough to be a Senorita.

Anyway, I could go on about the differences between the job I left in hard core juvie and the one I've taken on in Halfway House Hood. It will take time to settle in. I'm writing this post from my hotel room at the New England Reading Association conference, where I'm soaking up lots of ideas and practices for engaging reluctant readers. The best I can do is to arm myself with lots of teaching tools, march right up to that third floor on Monday, and welcome my new boys with open arms and high expectations. And Clorox wipes.

getting out of jail

2009-08-17T09:37:00.003-04:00

I'm leaving the clink. Well, at least, I'm leaving the particular DYS facility in which I currently work. You see, my husband and I have this house out in the western part of the state that we tried to sell this past year but were not able to. Stupid, stupid housing market!! To make a long story short, we're going back, for either a long time or a short time, to make some improvements to the property and to try to sell it again, soon, or maybe not soon.

It's kind of funny. I never thought getting out of jail would feel like such an undesirable situation. I really love the work I do here. I teach these kids because I think they need me. And, in a weird way, I think I need them. There's a feeling I get from teaching in the clink, a kind of personal and professional satisfaction that I have never gotten from any other kind of work I've done. I'll miss these kids.

Fortunately, I have a boss who is very understanding and very good to me, and she worked to find me a position doing pretty much the same job out west. I may find pastures just as green ahead of me. Or maybe I won't. The hubs is going to keep his working situation in Providence (he's an independent artist/designer), so I'm going to be a one-woman show for much of the time. It's gonna be hard. But, as my mom always reminds me: it's going to work out...because it has to.

So, this is probably my last post for the next two weeks or so. Look for new tales from the new clink in September. Let's all try to enjoy these waning dog days of summer.

OMG!

2009-08-13T12:35:00.008-04:00

If I were writing the supermarket tabloid version of my experiences in the clink--the kind where only the Most Shocking And Outrageous Headlines made it to print--here's what you'd see:

"Cell Phone And Charger Found In Resident Rec Room! No One's Admitting Anything!" (editor's note: remember, in jail they don't let you have cell phones...or chargers)

"Three Residents Infected With MRSA! Really Poor Hygiene Or Illicit Sexual Contact To Blame? Or Both?!?"

"Resident On Anti-Psychotic Medication Regularly Cheeks His Meds - And Gives It To Other Residents So They Can Get High!"

"Generous Parent Donates TV To Juvenile Detention Center - With Hidden Gun Inside?!?"

"Resident Steals Scissors From Classroom, Eludes Guards And Holds Case Worker Hostage!"

(related to previous scandalous headline) "Although Guards Were To Blame For Not Noticing Scissors In Resident's Sock, Guards Get Mild Reprimand While Teacher Whose Classroom They Were Taken From Gets Shit-Canned!!"

"Guard Engages In Sexual Activity With Resident On Third Shift While Others Either Sleep Or Look Away!"

It's a crazy, crazy approach to teaching in this place. It's a far cry from Waldorf education. Being a teacher in the clink requires a certain constant watchfulness that I never had to muster when I was teaching in public schools. There is much possibility for chaos, and even more chance for danger.

So why do I do it?

I teach reading to these kids because they've gotten the short end of the stick in life, and they need someone to give them a chance to succeed, in spite of everything. And that "everything" means their criminal records, their angry dispositions, and their convictions that they're still going to keep hustling when they're discharged. That's the hard part: when I overhear my students making plans to get back on the street to keep dealing, stealing and gangbanging. Makes me disappointed, dejected, depressed.

But I won't give up.

certainty and doubt

2009-08-10T07:45:00.004-04:00

Just checked my e-mail inbox, where I found Barbara J. Feldman's daily Educational Inspirational Quote du jour:

"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain
of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts." ~ Bertrand Russell (1872 -
1970)

Hmm. This one resonates.

19 down, 11 to go...

2009-08-03T09:15:00.005-04:00

It's day 19 of 30 here in summer school in the clink. I know what you're thinking: HAH! Sucks to be you! I used to think that any teacher who has to work during the summer must be either broke or psychotic, or both (ooh, bad combo). While I'll admit to being somewhat financially challenged, it's far from a miserable existence here in SummerClink 2009. I've decided to do a completely freestyle approach to literacy, taking into account my students' individual preferences. Here's a rundown on what each of my boys are reading/thinking/doing in my reading workshop:

Danny: My most willing reader, my most agreeable student in general. I sometimes wonder what on earth got him into a place like this. Anyway, Danny is totally into Rick Riordan's The Lightning Thief series. I just went out and bought him book 4 of the series, The Battle of the Labyrinth. You should have seen the look on his face when I pulled it out of my book bag this morning. He immediately opened it up and started reading, but then strangely, he put it down. I said, "Let me guess. You don't want to blow through that book during reading workshop time, and you'd rather read something else now and save this for when you're in your room." "Um, yeah," he said. So I brought out a big, hardcover Mythology book from the "ology" series. It's part book, part scrap book, part pop-up book. But not babyish. Just interesting and cool. I thought Danny would find interesting the Greek mythology stories that are so closely linked to the storyline in The Lightning Thief. From what I saw, he digs it.

Sha'Vaughn: Another very willing reader, but one who is somewhat hampered by the medication he's on for behavioral issues. It's really hard for Sha'Vaughn to stay awake in my class, but he manages, and it's probably got to do with the fact that I bought him the first two books in the Pendragon series. He loves them. We talk about the plot, the characters, the predictions he makes and the visualizations he sees.

Mauricio: Mauricio is yet another willing reader, but his attendance in my class has been affected by his behavioral issues during second shift. Mauricio is bipolar, and this condition takes him to incredibly angry places at times. When his behavior is good, we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. We read it out loud to each other, which is such a powerful way to read a book. In fact, it was Maya Angelou herself who said, "Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with deeper meaning." I really look forward to Mauricio's class time. We just finished chapter 6 of IKWTCBS, in which she describes a fanatical churchgoer she witnessed as a young girl and the hilarious way her brother imitated this woman. Mauricio and I were both laughing so hard we had tears running down our cheeks.

Jimi: One of my youngest, and less willing readers. Jimi declared to me months ago, when he first arrived on the unit, that he wouldn't need reading because he was going to be a pig farmer in the Dominican Republic when he grew up. He was really obstinate, Jimi was. But I think that over the past several months, Jimi has really matured, both as a young man but also as a reader. He shows a greater ability to comprehend, both text as well as greater life issues. Jimi had struggled with decoding earlier in the year, but he has really improved in his fluency, decoding and comprehension. I think he still wants to be a pig farmer, but he's warming up to the idea that even farmers need to be literate. I'll support his dream however I can. We read shorter texts, excerpts from longer texts, and different forms of electronic media, like podcasts, blogs and wikis. He likes street literature, and he loved a book called Black & White that he read in another class.

Dominic: Dominic is still here. Dominic is my oldest student, and he recently took his GED test. A huge, huge step for him. Dominic had been reading The Yankee Years for some time, but when he finished that we really focused in on preparing him to take the GED writing test. Dominic finished the test about a week and a half ago. The day after he took the test, he found out that a dear friend of his was gunned down and murdered. Dominic has withdrawn considerably, and I know that his future rides on his GED results. I fear that if he does not pass, he will go back to his former lifestyle, the one that got him into this place. He's going to find out his test results any day now. Until then, we've been relying on the NY Times Bats blog and any related Yankees online literature to get us through. That, and Scrabble.

James: My newest student, my least willing reader, and one with comprehension levels lower than I have ever seen. James is my biggest challenge. He has great difficulty remembering anything he's read. Even from one paragraph to the next, from one sentence to the next. I believe he has a pretty severe learning disability. Until that gets figured out, I turn to short stories, word games, puzzles, and anything else that's fun to keep his interest level up. We have to work on his comprehension, but that task has to be approached carefully and in small doses. James comes from an urban/street background, so anything in this genre will be good for James - as long as it contains a message of non-violence and redemption. Suggestions welcome.

That's my classroom in a nutshell. SummerClink 2009. In eleven days, I'll get a chance to do my own free reading. Maybe even on a beach...

don't wipe that smile off your face

2009-07-21T11:38:00.004-04:00

Following is a transcription, more or less, of a conversation that I just had 20 minutes ago during my 4th period class with Mauricio. We had just finished chapter 3 of I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, and we sat down to play a quick hand of Scrabble Slam:

Me: Want to listen to Pandora while we play? We can put on that Michael Jackson station you made.

Mauricio: Yeah, that's cool. That music's ill.

Me: You know it! (sings in a mock-MJ falsetto) "You got to leave that 9 to 5 up on the shelf, and just enjoy yourself..."

Mauricio: (looks at me, smiling, shaking his head) Can I ask you a question?

Me: Shoot. But pick a word first, then deal.

Mauricio: Are you ever, like, not happy?

Me: (giving him quizzical look) Well, sure...why?

Mauricio: Because, you're like, always happy. You're always in a good mood.

Me: Well, you see me when I'm at work. You see me here. And I'm really happy here. I really enjoy working with you guys, teaching reading.

Mauricio: (keeps dealing cards) Yeah. I was talkin with Duggan (another student of mine) and we was sayin' how, like, there's something wrong with you. 'Cause you, like, are always happy.

Me: (chuckling) Oh yeah?

Mauricio: Yeah, Duggan goes, "I beat her at Scrabble Slam, and she goes 'Oh well, guess I'll have to do 9 pushups!' That's wack, yo!" (laughs)

Me: So? He beat me, and I throw in that little rule, which I only make myself adhere to. (laughing) Is that bad?

Mauricio: (laughing) No, I guess not. We're just...not used to someone like that.

Me: Not used to being around someone who's happy?

Mauricio: Yeah.

Me: I see. Well, I could change that. But I really don't feel like it. Besides, I have someone's butt to kick at Scrabble Slam. Let's go. Play.

It doesn't bother me that they think I'm unusual for being happy all the time. I don't wear a maniacal grin on my face 24/7. I have my ups and downs like everyone does. But it is an absolute truth that I adore the work I do and the population I work with. How did I get so lucky to reach this professional nirvana?

What does bother me is that there aren't more happy people in the fabric of my students' lives, both in the clink and on the out. People who smile and look them in the eye upon seeing them, people who ask them how their day is going, people who care enough to listen to their good and bad and in between. The realization of this bums me out. But I save these thoughts for moments outside of instructional time. Class time is sacred, and the attention I give my students is best delivered undivided.

5th period starts in 11 minutes. Gotta go.

nails from the clink

2009-07-17T10:20:00.013-04:00

Brace yourself, dear reader, for what I am about to confess is going to sound weird:

I want to do my students' nails.

For those of you who either know me personally or have read my full profile, perhaps this isn't such a sick, twisted declaration. Several years ago, while I was working for a holistic skin care company, I enrolled in a nail technician licensure program, the intention being to create a natural nail protocol in my company's education & training department. The only problem with this plan was that, upon attaining this license, I realized that I desperately missed working with kids, kids with tough lives, real needs and big problems. Dealing with the skin care dramas of people who have never known the meaning of hungry or broke was, I realized, not going to be a satisfying vocation.

So I'm three years back in the classroom, yet I still carry this funny nail tech license in my wallet, which I sort of use, mostly in the summer, for the occasional pedicure party. I don't think of myself as a member of the Nail Care profession. But lately, I've caught myself looking at the hands and nails of my students as they hold their books and thinking, "God, if I could only trim those cuticles." WHAT? I've tried to shake those thoughts clear out of my head, reminding myself that this is my reading workshop in a house of corrections, not Katie's House of Nails. SNAP OUT OF IT, I tell myself.

But their hands, for all of the mischief they've encountered and crimes they've committed, are beautiful. They have long, healthy nails. None of my students are nail biters, from what I can tell. All of them could stand a manicure, if for no other reason than to get their nails down to a more sanitary length. They'd love the hand and arm massage that I provide, and with the biodynamic skin care products I use, it would be like a little slice of heaven right here in the clink. There's not a lot of nurturing human touch in this place. And they don't have free access to nail scissors for the same reason that sharp, weapon-like objects are generally frowned upon in jails. Plus, some kids have been known to use their own torn fingernails as tools of self-mutilation. If I gave them regular manicures, there'd be fewer opportunities for them to hurt themselves (and others).

Sounds like plenty of good reasons to offer up my services, right?

Here's why I won't do it. These kids have already had all of the boundaries that should exist in normal, healthy relationships skewed up and screwed up. Most of the female role models in their lives thus far are women who want to have sex with them for drugs, money or both. At best, the women in my boys' lives have been dishonest and unhealthy. If I, as a reading teacher, were to introduce a layer of physical touch to my students, even if it were as part of a 15-minute therapeutic nail treatment, it would change EVERYTHING. Our relationship would change permanently, and for the worst. I would never again be an effective teacher. I'd be just another woman who crossed a line and touched. It would confirm what they've suspected all along.

So I'll continue to watch their nails grow and grow. We'll just keep reading.

happiness is...

2009-07-14T17:09:00.003-04:00

I have decided that I love my job. I love teaching reading to kids in jail. In fact this is, hands down, the most satisfied I've ever been in my life, career-wise. May the deities of DYS and DESE in the Bay State continue to smile down on me, and keep funding the mega-grant that keeps me working with these very challenging but very capable boys.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

the reader

2009-07-09T20:46:00.003-04:00

Note to self: do NOT show movie The Reader to students just because title suggests good pro-literacy flick...can you say S-T-E-A-M-Y?!? Ja.

Check It Out - I Won An Award!!

2009-07-05T17:57:00.010-04:00

Wow! I've been bestowed with the Honest Scrap Award for honesty and authenticity in my writing. My friend Colleen Sculleigh Osman, who writes a fabulous blog called Bay State Brumby, is responsible for this coronation. She herself is the essence of everything real and authentic. Yes, you are, Sculldawg! If you haven't read Brumby yet, you ought to: www.baystatebrumby.blogspot.com

Honest Scrap is an honor that comes with a few obligations:

* Say thanks and give a link to the presenter of the award.

* Share "ten honest things" about myself.

* Present this award to 7 others whose blogs I find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged me.

* Tell those 7 people that they've been awarded HONEST SCRAP and inform them of these guidelines in receiving it.

So, here are my ten honest things:

1) I was born in an elevator. My grandfather nicknamed me "Katherine the Impetuous" as a result of my grand entry into this world.

2) I am competitive to a fault. I find it incredibly, incredibly difficult not to kick my students' asses at word games such as Scrabble. I know that if I let this part of my nature take over, I would be a bad teacher. So I let them win 99.5% of the time. This is hard.

3) When one of my students was about to be discharged recently, I made him promise me that he would walk a straight line when he was out in the real world. Two weeks later he was arrested for holding up a gas station with a bb gun. He's in adult prison now.

4) I believe in sustainability. I believe in art. I believe in being a locavore.

5) I once broke my neck in a diving accident. I was 21. I was drunk. I learned a lot from this mistake and it made me a wiser person. It's embarrassing to talk about it.

6) I knew I wanted to teach reading to kids in lock up when I learned that Anne Lamott and Wally Lamb teach/have taught writing in correctional facilities. It felt like a calling.

7) I live around the corner from a seafood processing plant near Narragansett Bay. When we moved in, the smell of steamed quahogs was absolutely nauseating. Now I love it. I can smell it as I type this. Mmmmmmm.

8) The coolest job I ever had was right after college, working for CBS Sports at the 1992 Winter Olympic Games in Albertville, France. I worked in their videotape archives. Saw tons of events, in person. Did lots of skiing. Had so much fun!

9) The second coolest job I ever had was as a pool caretaker. I drove all over northern New Jersey one summer and cleaned pools for wealthy people who spent their summers down the shore. I'd clean a pool, jump in, take a swim, and then move on to the next one.

10) My husband is the most real, authentic, no-bullshit person I have ever met. He inspires me all the time, and I rarely tell him. If he were a blogger, he'd be my first choice to receive an Honest Scrap. Dave, you're the real thing. It's why I married you.

Now, here are my Seven Honest Scrappers, whose work really lights up my world!

The MashUp: A blog about books for teens. Connected to www.adlit.org. Jamie Watson is Adlit's consulting blogger/book reviewer. www.adlit.org/mashup/

readingrockets.org: Promoting reading and literacy for all kids. Awesome site/blog!

Bitten. Mark Bittman, food writer for the NY Times, writes a blog about the glory of food and simplicity. I love his ideas, his recipes and his angle. bitten.blogs.nytimes.com

Books on the Nightstand. Just a site devoted to blogging (and podcasts) about books. I get great recommendations from this site. www.booksonthenightstand.com

I.N.K. Interesting Nonfiction for Kids. An assortment of contributing writers comprise the work for this wonderful resource. http://inkrethink.blogspot.com

LiteracyLaunchpad. Amy is an early literacy teacher who, like me, is passionate about getting kids interested in reading. Amy's writing is honest, tender and funny. She's so deserving of an Honest Scrap (I bet she's gotten a slew of them by now)! http://literacylaunchpad.blogspot.com

Lastly, Bay State Brumby. I realize that my friend Colleen is the one who gave me my Honest Scrap, which would mean she's already gotten one (yes, quite recently) herself. But listen, folks: no other writer I know puts as much authenticity and transparency out there. She tells it like it is from the saddle of her paint mare. She's that good. http://baystatebrumby.blogspot.com

p.s. thanks, Scull ;)

some thoughts while on summer break

2009-07-01T10:37:00.004-04:00

Summer school starts next Wednesday. I wonder how many of the books I loaned to my students will actually be returned to me? I find it simultaneously surprising and unsurprising that my books, particularly the popular ones, get stolen in jail. Um, like, isn't this a secure facility? Then again, a lot of the kids I work with have extensive experience with five-finger discounts. Oh well. When my books go "missing" I hope it means they're out in the world somewhere, enriching a young mind. I'll go buy more.

bring the noise

2009-06-25T06:55:00.004-04:00

This past week was the last week of school, and to celebrate, my program welcomed world renowned drumming master Tony Vacca for three days of percussion instruction and performances. Let me tell you folks, he was loud with a capital L. But he succeeded in grabbing the attention of everyone--kids, staff, and teachers alike--and by the end of his stint, we had a bonafide drumming ensemble going on in the clink! It was a sight (and sound) to behold.

Tony didn't just show up and go, "Ok kids, here's how you play the drums," whambamwhambam and then let them go off and play willy-nilly. No. Tony talked about his experience with drumming, some of the people he's met in his drumming travels (he's been all over the African continent and beyond) and--here's the best part--he talked extensively about the drum as a voice. Drumming, like all music, is self expression. But the drum has the unique ability to capture the simple essence of rhythm. It can be done with very little in the way of knowledge and materials. And when you add the sung and spoken word, as Tony did with a set on drumming, poetry and creative writing, you've got something magical. I saw it happen. Kids of all "reading" abilities were engaged and able to shine. It was beautiful.

During a break, I talked to Tony and told him I loved what he did with the kids, how they really seemed to respond to his presence and open up to a stranger. Not something they do easily. It occurred to me that Tony and I are both literacy teachers. I work more with the traditional "big 5" of textual reading instruction (phonics, phonemic awareness, fluency, vocabulary, comprehension). But Tony's bent on literacy has to do with developing and expressing voice, and becoming literate about the self and our relationship to the world. How can you have one without the other? To be a truly literate person, you gotta crack the books and bring the noise.

I'd love to be able to weave pieces of Tony's drumming workshop into my instruction during the regular school year somehow. Suggestions welcome!

do you hear what I hear?

2009-06-17T08:16:00.004-04:00

I listen to an NPR radio program called The Takeaway on my drive to work every morning. This morning, John Hockenberry was interviewing the BBC's Kate Arkless Gray, who is spearheading a cool project called Save Our Sounds, which has to do with collecting, cataloguing and archiving audio data. Seems like we're all more inclined to save and preserve visual information, but what about sounds? How is sound a valuable piece of historical data? How do sounds define a place and time? A culture? A region? What sounds are common, and are any actually endangered, as Arkless Gray postulates?

I've thought about the specific sounds of the place I work and teach for some time now. These sounds are unique, distinctive, thought-provoking and, at times, sort of scary. The one that rises to the top of my audio-consciousness is the sound of shackles. I can't get used to this one. It's metal on metal, which by description seems pretty ordinary, but the sound of shackles is different. Hearing this always makes me sit up straight, eyes open wide, a bit more alert. Throws me into a mild state of fight or flight.

The shackle sound isn't perpetual in the clink; that is, my students don't walk around in them 24/7. Here's how it works: a kid gets put into shackles when he is adjudicated and transported from court, and they're taken off (just outside my classroom door, coincidentally) upon being admitted to the unit for detention and treatment. The kids are also put into shackles any time they're transported from the unit (court dates, doctor/dentist appointments). I hear the shackles and I think: Who's coming? Who's going? And I'm reminded, sort of against my will, that no matter who's arriving or leaving, it's a felon. Watch your ass.

Other clink sounds include: the slamming of locking metal doors, the strained shouts of residents and staff during fights and subsequent restraints, the shuffling and sliding of cheap, institutional plastic flip flops on the concrete floors, the coarse profanity that seems to seep into everyone's lexicon, in spite of visibly posted rules against it.

The BBC Save Our Sounds project offers lots of options for people to submit their audio, from high tech (.wav and MP3's) to low tech (cassettes mailed via post). There's a really cool Iphone app called AudioBoo that allows you to record and upload sound to the web. Tag your sound with "BBC_SOS" and it gets fed straight into their map via an RSS feed. Geotags then enable the sound to be placed exactly where it was recorded. Clever. I've just downloaded AudioBoo, and I plan on uploading some audio samples from the unit today. This project has a focus on "endangered sounds." I'd like the sounds of the clink to fall into this group, but I have a feeling they're going to stand the test of time.

You can visit the Save Our Sounds map at http://www.bbcworldservice.com/saveoursounds and follow them online at http://www.twitter.com/bbc_sos.

the wise Bobby Frost

2009-06-16T07:37:00.002-04:00

Today's Light A Fire quote of the day comes from one Robert Frost, who once said:

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self confidence."

Really? He said that? I thought he was all about bent birches and rustic stone walls, and New England roads taken and not taken. But apparently he had some insight into some other arenas. I cannot picture a straight-up, pissed off Robert Frost, nor can I envision him diffident and unsure. I didn't realize he knew these qualities. But I suppose that he was human, at one time, after all.

This quotation makes me think of my students, a bunch of young fellows who are so prone to losing the above personality traits at the drop of a hat. I half wonder whether some of them have ever known what it feels like to be confident. I know they all think they're cool, but at what point does the adolescent male trade in cool for aplomb?

I can hear it now: "Yo, what the fuck is 'aplomb?'"

I shall print and post Bobby's quote in my classroom. We'll see who notices it. Thanks again to Barbara J. Feldman for distributing her Light A Fire daily educational quotations. You give me, and my students, plenty of food for thought. Here's the link to her page, once again:

http://www.lightafire.net

Grammar Girl

2009-06-10T07:16:00.003-04:00

Something about the phrase "free book" has a knack for catching my reading teacher's eye. So when I saw that Grammar Girl was having a contest to give away free copies of her book Quick And Dirty Tips For Better Writing, I sprang into action. Here I am, posting her contest on my own blog and hoping that I'll be the lucky girl chosen to receive a copy of her book. Grammar Girl also does a neat little podcast on English grammar. She's witty, smart and fun. Here's the link to her contest:

http://cli.gs/B5vRJH

Long live grammar. Long live Grammar Girl!

Scrabble Slam!

2009-06-08T15:05:00.005-04:00

I love Scrabble Slam, the new hot game in my Reading Workshop. What is it? Scrabble Slam is a deck of 55 cards, each with a letter on the front and the back. Start by making a four-letter word, then change that word one letter at a time, rapid-fire, until someone plays all their cards. That's it! No taking turns as in regular Scrabble...that's too priggish. This is the clink, baby! Builds on sight-word recognition, word attack skills, even phonics and phonemic awareness. Take that, National Reading Panel!!

The best part is the special rule (which I made up, naturally): the number of cards left in your hand at the end of the game is the number of pushups you have to do. Hit the floor, dawgz! That's a direct quote from one of my students...I'm guessing at the spelling of 'dawgz' but I realize I should check UrbanDictionary.com. I don't actually force anyone to adhere to this rule, but after they see me drop and bang out a quick ten, my students can't seem to let themselves get outmuscled by KBizzle. We're getting huge in Reading Workshop.

Summer Reads 2009

2009-06-04T09:32:00.004-04:00

I'm teaching summer school this year, for the first time in a while. So this means that, in July and August, I'll have less time for that thing called Reading For Pleasure in the setting like the one above. But dooooon't you worry, I'll manage to get my feet in the sand, avec bathing suit, beach chair, boogie board and book bag. Topping my list of what to toss in the tote? The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. It's a tome that's caught my eye primarily because it was so effusively recommended by one of my favorite authors, Wally Lamb.

Mr. Lamb writes, "I savored Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain for many reasons: a dog who speaks, the thrill of competitive racing, a heart-tugging storyline, and--best of all--the fact that it is a meditation on humility and hope in the face of despair. Since finishing this engagingly unique novel, I’ve found myself staring at my own dog, thinking, Hmm, I wonder ..."

Sounds good enough for me, Wally. My personal reading aside, I continue to look for good reads for my students, to build up my classroom library but also to deepen the wells of their literary worlds and experience. Clearly, they won't be chillin' on the beach under an umbrella this summer, but that doesn't mean they should also be deprived of access to the lighter, fun reads of the season. So, gentle reader, I ask you: what's on your summer read list? Please share your recommendations for teens, adults, & kids here. Thanks!

I'm in love with a guy named TED

2009-05-28T07:34:00.003-04:00

Okay, it's not a guy, but love is not too strong a word to describe the way I feel about the website www.ted.com. TED, which stands for Technology/Entertainment/Design, is an audiovisual collection of talks and presentations by the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers. At an annual conference, they present the talk of their lives in under 18 minutes. Over 400 lectures are available at the TED site. All free.

There are so many that have gotten my attention, but one that I plan to show in class today is a performance by a beatbox group called Naturally 7, who assembles an orchestra's worth of sounds as they perform their cool single "Fly Baby." What does this have to do with reading? Not that much, I suppose, in terms of things like decoding and fluency. I don't necessarily plan to weave in a reading or writing lesson to this particular TED piece, but I want to expose my students to a wide range of ideas and culture, so that we can simply engage in discussion, expand their thinking, and perhaps even sow a few seeds for future dreams. I like the sound of that.

I'd love to hear what others think of TED. Check it out! What are your favorite talks?

the new literacies

2009-05-23T09:44:00.004-04:00

Happy Memorial Day Weekend, everyone. Here in the Northeast, it looks to be a rainy start, so I'm not that disappointed that I have to wait for my car to be serviced before taking off for the Cape. I thought I'd post my latest Clink-related musings, while I've got a moment or two to spare.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about "the new literacies," those newer, more technology-oriented types of reading that include podcasts, blogs, wikis, Kindle, and other web-based texts and resources. There are more avenues to reading now than ever before. To keep my students up to speed with these new literary paths, I've been giving some of them a road test in my classroom. I've managed to sell a few tickets to the young men I teach, and I've been pleased to see them buy 'em up and come back for more.

For Domenic, whose main goal is preparing for the GED test, we've been using baseball and the New York Yankees as an inroad. In addition to reading The Yankee Years (see previous post), I've introduced the Bats blog on www.nytimes.com to Domenic's reading rotation. On a daily basis, Domenic starts his first-period class with ten minutes or so of reading Bats, which provides in-depth coverage of the Yankees and Mets. He reads both the posts made by the writers (Tyler Kepner, Jack Curry, Joe Lapointe, and others) as well as the comments posted by readers. It's a great daily lesson in language mechanics, grammar, punctuation, topic development, and more. One of Domenic's mini goals is to compose and post his own comment on Bats. Not only would he be refining his writing skills, but he would get the huge ego boost and satisfaction of seeing his words, his voice out there in the real world. To me, I see this as a vital part of the plan to reconnect Domenic to the world and transcend the incarcerated existence he's known for many of his developmental years.

I've also taken a liking to a little vocabulary-related podcast called Hot For Words, produced by a very attractive woman named Marina. Hot For Words podcasts are a series of educational short films that explore the meanings and origins of words and phrases. I've been able to use Hot For Words as a means of pre-teaching vocabulary words prior to reading other articles or texts, so that the kids can ultimately gain greater comprehension of what they read. Put simply, they love it. They can't take their eyes off the screen (which is pretty small, given that they watch it on my IPhone). After watching a podcast, which lasts anywhere from 60-90 seconds, we discuss the word and its meaning, write it, speak it, and use it in sentences. It's a great word-attack strategy and vocabulary-building tool. I do need to be judicious in which podcasts I allow the boys to watch (for example, I elected not to show the podcasts titled "Pull A Boner" and "Peeping Tom." I'm sure I don't have to explain my reasoning here). But Marina's podcast for the term "Kangaroo Court" was a great scaffold for the Bats post that described the mock court used in the Yankees' clubhouse as a way of cultivating a lighter team atmosphere. Check out Hot For Words and see what you think. Am I using sex to sell reading? Maybe. But I see it like this: I'm meeting these boys where they're at, and I'm using this platform responsibly to teach a few simple words and concepts that they can then build upon for further learning.

The new literacies could never be a replacement for real books. But as a teacher, I believe it is my responsibility to prepare my students for the real world and offer tools they can use to engage safely and productively with their surroundings. I hope I can make a difference.

the man who walked between the towers

2009-05-15T11:07:00.003-04:00

For some time now, I've been fascinated by the story of Philippe Petit and his historic, astonishing wire walk between the north and south towers of the World Trade Center in 1974. Earlier this year, in an effort to bring more picture books into my students' lives, I grabbed a copy of Mordicai Gerstein's The Man Who Walked Between The Towers off my younger son's bedroom bookshelf and placed it on display in my classroom. I've read it a few times to some of my students, and they always fire off question after question at the book's conclusion: Yo, did that dude fall? How'd he do that? Was he crazy? Is he still alive? I've realized that the themes in this story are particularly meaningful to the population I work with: having a dream, safety, right vs. wrong, crime and punishment, radical self-expression.

I recently got a new student, a 14 year old kid who has been in the system for too many years of his young life. I was warned before I got him: "Watch this one. Started a lot of trouble in the last program he was in. Tough kid." When She'Vaughn saw the book on display on my shelf for the first time, I couldn't help but notice the changes on his face. His eyes got wide, his lower jaw went a little slack, and--he smiled. "Yo, I remember this book. Read it when I was in 4th grade. This book's ill."

"She'Vaughn, I love this book. We'll read it here, if you'd like to."

"Yeah."

Today we read it, and talked more about the story. I loved watching She'Vaughn hold the book, flip through the pages, feel the raised Caldecott stamp on the cover with his fingers. I asked him to imagine himself as Philippe at the moment he stepped out onto the wire and describe how he felt, what he saw, and what he heard. Here is what he wrote in his writer's journal:

The Man Who Walked Between The Towers

If I was him, I would see, a huge city! A lot of cars.
I see me up high. Watching the statue of Liberty. Saying hi
to it. Hearing birds chirping, asking me why am I so high
in the sky? I say I'm livin the dream I always dreamed. Feeling
free away from all of the Bad and the Good. Relax! Having fun,
feeling amazed of what I'm doin here. Praying I don't fall.
Screaming I'm on top of the world!!....Being told nothing.
Feeling what the towers feel. Knowing I'm making history,
knowing that no one could stop me until I feel like I had a nuff
of the day. Looking at New York harbor, saying I'm free as a bird.

My eyes got glassy. I told him I loved what he wrote.

Beavis and Butthead Do Reading Assessments

2009-05-12T17:09:00.004-04:00

Butthead: Hey Beavis, check out this stupid reading assessment.

Beavis: Yeah, heh heh. It’s like, really stupid.

Butthead: Why do stupid teachers spend so much time giving us these dumbass assessments? It’s not like they show everything.

Beavis: Yeah, heh heh, heh heh. That’s why it says ASS at the beginning of ASSESSMENT! Heh heh.

Butthead: No, you moron, you don’t pronounce it that way! And besides, assessments do show some stuff…like how much you get what you’re reading, and how many words you know…

Beavis: Yeah, but does it help you figure out how to get CHICKS? Heh heh…

Butthead: Shut up, Beavis! This is about reading assessments, and how teachers just hafta know that they can’t tell everything about a reader using just a bunch of stupid tests. Teachers are stupid.

Beavis: Yeah, heh heh, they're really stupid...

I’m sure that after I administer a series of reading assessments to my young teenage male students, they may have a dialogue sort of like this one going on in their heads. Mind you, I do not think teachers as a whole are stupid, but sometimes, to be smart at our game, we need to consider what our reading assessments don’t tell us as much as what they do. Sometimes teachers (and administrators, and districts) focus too much on assessment, effectively inundating students with redundancy and repetition without considering how much value lies in the result, and to what extent the result will be used to inform instruction. Teachers need to be aware of the inherent limitations of assessment results.

Different reading tests measure different skills. That must be why I have a forest’s worth of reading assessment materials on multiple bookshelves in my classroom. Being new to the gig of “reading specialist/Title I Teacher,” I have taken my boss’ instructions to heart to focus significantly on the DAR (Diagnostic Assessment of Reading) as one of my primary assessment tools. The DAR offers data on student performance in the following areas: print concepts, phonological awareness, letters and sounds, word recognition, word analysis, oral reading, silent reading comprehension, spelling, word meaning, and fluency.

Results of DAR tests have given me good jumping-off points for instruction. I have used them to create lessons and activities that my students seem genuinely interested in. All of my students have made steady progress on periodic testing using the DAR. Then again, wouldn’t we expect fluency scores to increase the more a student reads and rereads the same 100-word passage over time? I’d imagine pretty much every kid would get at least somewhat more familiar with and read with more accuracy the passages by sight and by sound. I’ve also wondered to myself: what do I do with these fluency scores, aside from placing them on each student’s IRP form and showing it to my boss when she comes to observe me? Not that much at all.

Except for this: the one useful thing I use these fluency scores for is motivation, which is not an aspect of reading ability I can measure using DAR or any other kind of test, yet we educators know that this is the biggest key to reading success. I make it a point to show these scores to my students in an effort to point out to them that they’re making great progress, and they don’t have to take my word for it. They can see it in black and white. I’ve seen kids sit up straighter, strut around the room, even brag openly to their peers about how they’ve made great strides in K-Bizzle’s reading workshop. They take more pride in their reading and they’re generally more invested in the learning process.

The DAR, as well as other similar assessments, might not always bring out the best effort in a student. And in this setting, plenty of my kids have an automatic bias against anything that smells like a test. In order for them to buy into what I’m trying to sell, many of my kids have to have a genuine interest in the material in front of them. The DAR doesn’t necessarily bring out everyone’s A-game. So will my results be reliable?

While the DAR and other reading assessments offer a lens through which to “see” our readers, we teachers have to keep it all in perspective and not let assessments cloud our view of the big picture. The overarching theme I try to promote in my classroom is that reading brings joy, so I try to toss at least a little joy into the lesson every day. My students – and thank God they’re not as challenging as Beavis and Butthead – all tell me they like reading more now than they used to. Wow. And they had to come to jail to realize it.

team-teaching with the yankees

2009-05-11T09:32:00.007-04:00

I've used basketball to sell reading with Matt de la Pena's book Ball Don't Lie, and I've succeeded in getting the attention of several reluctant readers. Recently I acquired a new student and, in the course of discussion during our reading interview (in which I gauge a new student's interests, academic strengths and challenges, and so forth) it became clear that I have a baseball fan on my hands. Not just an everyday baseball fan, who can tell you the difference between a ball and a strike but not the difference between a batting average and a slugging percentage, nor the distinction between Joe and Dom DiMaggio. No, this young man is of a different ilk. He is a Yankee fan. Upon realizing this, I thought to myself: HAH. Little does he know his reading teacher is a life long, bona fide, jock lady Yankee Fan who, if left to her own devices, could easily spend a day reading the New York Post sports section and listening to WFAN radio as she could showing up for a day of work.

We've got ourselves some common ground, I thought. Until I heard him say, "I don't read." What? Sorry? Come again? "Miss, I just don't like to read. I don't read on my own...it's not something I do."

Did.

"You say you like the Yankees, right, Domenic?"
"Yeah."
"Have you read the new Joe Torre book?"

Domenic looks at me with a stare that could win all staring contests. "I've heard of it," he finally says, still eyeing me with part curiosity, part shock.

"Let's go shopping. Come here." I motion for him to move his chair a little closer to where I'm sitting at my computer, and I pull up the Amazon website. In a flash, I have the order placed. "I should have this by the end of this week. I've been dying to read it, too. This will be fun."

Well, fun it has been, but it's taken some scaffolding to get the party started. Domenic's assessed reading level is roughly 5th-6th grade; The Yankee Years, by Joe Torre and Tom Verducci, is written at about a 12th grade level. Ah, the learning curve of the first year reading teacher. Whoops. But, I figure, that's okay. We'll read it together in class, out loud, together, whatever. This kid needs to read something that he has genuine interest in, something that's current and relevant. Domenic started reading TYY a few weeks ago. He (we) are on page 49. Pace is not something that concerns me. Steady progress is. Discussing this book with Domenic, making connections to his experiences, using it to create writing lessons - this is where the real value of The Yankee Years lies.

Recently, after the Red Sox took their fifth win in a row from the Yanks this season, I asked Domenic what he thought of the Yankees' hopes for playoff contention. He gave a thoughtful response and pointed to many angles, from the pitching staff to production at the plate to managerial issues. "They've made some mistakes, sure," Domenic said. "But if you look at the whole picture, they're made of good stuff. They have hope."

Kind of like you, Domenic, I thought. No. Just like you.

the joy of fishing

2009-05-06T07:21:00.005-04:00

I've been fishing again. Okay, still. The kind of fishing I do in my classroom, where I toss out my bait (cool books) and wait for a tug on the line, brings a similar kind of joy and satisfaction to that of real fishing, which I also happen to enjoy. I try to load my tackle box with all the stuff I think my fishies will like: realistic fiction, non-fiction, sports themes, urban literature. They don't always bite, but sometimes the reward comes from just knowing they're considering getting caught.

My latest catch comes using Matt de la Pena's Ball Don't Lie, a story about a hardscrabble inner city kid who devotes his life to playing basketball. Sticky is a young man who makes his home in a variety of foster settings but lives primarily at Lincoln Rec, the gritty L.A. gym where he has found a family among the serious players, mostly black men. Told in the rhythmic, hip-hop language of the street, Sticky’s is a riveting story about a young man’s struggle to attain a college basketball scholarship and deepen his relationship with his girlfriend. Some readers may be thrown off by the disjointed narrative, which loops between past and present. Others see the nonlinear storyline as a reflection of Sticky's own internal struggles as he comes to terms with violent childhood tragedies, numbed emotions, and his sometimes-compulsive behavior (he repeats certain actions such as shoe-tying until they feel right). Teens are strongly affected by the unforgettable, distinctly teen male voice; the thrilling, realistic basketball action; and the questions about race, identity, self-worth, and what it means to build a life without advantages.

Ball Don’t Lie seems to capture both the angst as well as the attention of many young men in the DYS secure treatment program. Kids gravitate toward this book because they can see themselves in it. It’s been particularly rewarding to see kids open themselves to this story – kids who would have previously described themselves as either non-readers or not lovers of reading. BDL is something of a pivot point for many DYS kids; this appears to be a book with the potential to change a young person’s mind about reading. I see it as a great, engaging story that holds keys to further doors into the world of literature.

picture books and teen readers

2009-04-28T10:05:00.004-04:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about how to make more inroads with my students in my reading workshop. I consider all of them to be reluctant readers, with some being downright hellbent against reading anything that's not explicitly part of their deal to get out of lockup. It occurred to me, after a few months of teaching in DYS, that not only do my kids lack literacy-rich backgrounds, but they also lack exposure to art. Maybe I could bring more picture books into the fold, I mused. Would they think these to be too "babyish?"

Little by little, I've been testing the picture book waters by bringing in books that have sparked my interest. At first, I don't say anything about the book, but I display it in a prominent place in my classroom and wait to see who picks it up. It's kind of like fishing. So far I think I've used some good lures: Mordicai Gerstein's The Man Who Walked Between The Towers, which tells the fascinating story of Philippe Petit's 1974 highwire walk between the World Trade Center towers in New York; and Brian Selznick's The Invention of Hugo Cabret, which is such an artful, literary gem of a work (see my review in an earlier post). Both books have succeeded at getting the attention of all of my students. Doors that were once shut tight are now opening, shedding light on new ideas, new thinking. It's exciting to see - and I realize I have to keep a steady flow of these books coming.

My latest discovery, thanks to Barbara Lindsay, my Literacy Learning For Older Children instructor, is Eve Bunting's Riding The Tiger. Barbara read this book aloud last Thursday night to a class of twenty or so teachers, and it was as if the words themselves came to life and rose up off the pages. Bunting, along with David Frampton's distinctive woodcut illustrations, tells the story of young Danny, new to town and eager to belong. She uses the vivid allegory of the tiger, who befriends an impressionable Danny, to represent the allure of gang culture. Danny believes in the tiger's promise of respect and power, until he realizes that fear is at the core of the tiger's prowess. Riding The Tiger offers a powerful message about temptation, submission and loss of control that comes when we accept a ride on any kind of tiger.

Thematically, I don't know how much more relevant I can get than this. Tomorrow I plan to go fishing with a tiger in my classroom. I wonder who I'll catch?

i heart vacation

2009-04-24T10:27:00.003-04:00

Well, another vacation week comes to a close. I should be spending some time on my Reading Specialist licensure coursework, but the day is so beautiful and the weekend promises even better weather. Girls, we know what this means: it's pedicure season! I had to invest some time today in my feet. I chose this robin's egg blue for my set of ten.

As much as I love my job, I also love the necessary battery-charging time away from it. I had a great week off. Time for a weekend full of baseball, fun and flip flops. Somehow I'm going to have to make time for my classwork. I'll put it off as long as I can.

Walter Dean Myers is on my wish list...

2009-04-21T15:42:00.003-04:00

Saw this article today via a tweet from Adlit. How I would LOVE to get Walter Dean Myers to speak at the program where I work!

http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2009/apr/18/author-visits-detention-center/

I now have to read Monster, his book about a 16 year old who goes on trial for homicide...the pile on my nightstand grows taller and taller...

light a fire

2009-04-17T09:14:00.003-04:00

I get a daily e-mail from someone named Barbara J. Feldman, who distributes, among other electronic educational material, "Light A Fire: Education Quote of the Day." I'm as likely to actually open these e-mails as I am to just send them to the trash folder, unviewed. Today, for some reason, I decided to see what nugget of wisdom ol' Babs had to share:

"We all need someone who inspires us to do better than we know how."
- anonymous

Isn't this the truth? It's a magnificent feeling of empowerment when we find that person who inspires us, but it's even more impactful when that person recognizes their role as S/he Who Inspires Others. I hope that I can be that inspirational someone to my students. Even to just one kid. That's what I really, really hope.

I know who my big inspirational someone is. I'm married to him. And I'm going to make sure he knows this, too--by telling him, not just by forcing him to read my blog.

Here's the link to those educational quotes, for anyone interested:

http://www.lightafire.net/

a reprieve for grief

2009-04-16T10:08:00.014-04:00

first period, under the din
of singular staccato oral reading,
into my left ear
the husky, supervisory voice
carefully murmurs
the tragic news
nearly inaudibly.

I make this much out:
Melvin.
next period.
bad day.
best friend.
shot.
Killed.

our eyes meet,
a brief transaction of significance:
prepare yourself
a seventeen year old world
got shaken to the core
Again.
Learning
is probably not in the cards
for him
today.

eventually
I hear a familiar shuffling,
a pace slower than usual.
Good morning Melvin, I say
to an ashen face.
tight braids, once exact
now transformed
into a wild afro,
a soundless scream of grief.

Instinctively
with radical compassion
I become his accomplice,
conspiring with the youthful offender
to grant him freedom
(the kind I keep in my classroom)
We escape
for a while
with a young French wire walker
dancing in the clouds
between tall twin towers

That dude coulda fallen
he finally says,
and I nod.
But he just didn't,
he says, looking up.
And I nod.

Ill Colors

2009-04-13T10:20:00.004-04:00

Sometimes the best things come in the smallest packages. Over the weekend I invested in a 4 pack of neon dry erase markers. I came in a tad early today and washed my white board 'til it squeaked. Let me tell you, every one of my students has commented on how bright and springy my board looks. "Yo, K-Bizzle, those day-glo colors are ILL," remarked one. I take that as the highest possible compliment.

April is Poetry Month

2009-04-09T07:21:00.009-04:00

In a nod to Poetry Month...

ready to learn

I always hear them before I see them
the unmistakable shuffling
the slow, methodic pace
State-issued plastic sandals
scuffing on concrete
sliding down the hallway
Making their morning commute
to my classroom.

pausing at the doorway, we greet each other
gaze to gaze
He,
silently asking permission
to enter the room.
Good Morning, Augustin
comes out of my mouth
and nothing comes out of his,
but I know
he is glad to be welcomed
somewhere. Here.

Here
ready to learn looks like this:
loose, khaki pants
suspended--by some miracle--
below the hips,
dark green, poly/cotton
illogical golf shirt
and those (hideous) sandals.
Exact
perfectly patterned
beautiful cornrows,
sparkling smile
eyes the color of dark chocolate
making brave contact with mine.

Hope,
in spite of everything,
is standing at attention
at my classroom door
Waiting,
eagerly,
for today's lesson
to begin.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret

2009-04-05T11:13:00.008-04:00

I finally bought The Invention of Hugo Cabret for my classroom. I attended a Title I conference last fall where Megan Lambert, Instructor of Children's Literature Programs at the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, conducted a great workshop on using picture books in the older grades to develop visual thinking. Someone mentioned this book, and she remarked that it was an "essential" book for struggling teen readers. I returned from the conference, got it at the library and read it aloud with two of my students. Instant hit.

Brian Selznick's artful words and charcoal sketches combine to tell the unforgettable story of Hugo, a French orphan boy who lives in the walls of a Paris train station in the 1930's. Hugo lives a lonely life maintaining the station's clocks and repairing the automaton, a strange mechanical man he rescues from a burned out museum. When he repairs the automaton, Hugo believes it will write a note that will save his life. Hugo's world is disrupted when the old man who runs the train station's toy shop confiscates his precious notebook--the one in which Hugo records notes on the automaton. Without it, he can't repair the mechanical man, upon whose existence Hugo's life now depends.

Hugo Cabret is a story of magic, survival, hope and triumph. Because it is equal parts novel, old movie, graphic novel and flip book, Hugo is a one of a kind experience that is sure to hook even the most reluctant reader.

I had planned on bringing Hugo into the classroom tomorrow, but when my sons, who are eleven and six, saw me tucking it into my school bag, they both cried out, "HUGO!" The pleading looks that followed said it all. There's no way I can refuse. Classics are meant to be read again and again, aren't they?

Just A Schema Dreama

2009-04-03T13:21:00.001-04:00

I love alliteration. In fact, I recently created the first Alliteration Poetry Slam in the program in which I teach, which was pretty enthusiastically received by students and staff. So when I read Debbie Miller’s nugget of wisdom related to explicit modeling in Reading With Meaning (Stenhouse, 2002)—“proper planning prevents poor performance”—it pressed the on-button of my schema, my background knowledge, to make a meaningful connection. “Explicit modeling requires thoughtful planning,” she writes. We’ve all winged it at times in our storied teaching careers, but do not attempt this approach when it comes to modeling our thinking for our very impressionable students. She couldn’t be more right on the money. These are the years during which we as teachers have a fantastic opportunity to imprint our kids with thinking strategies that will last a lifetime. We’ve got the chance before us to mold their pathways of thought by modeling ours. Is this wing-it time? Heck no.

I love Miller’s comparison of book shopping to clothes shopping. Talk about tapping into my glorified schema of retail therapy. If we don’t select books intelligently – meaning yes, we’ve got to try them on to be sure we can make authentic connections with them – then they’re sure to remain the books that sit on our shelves with stiff, intact spines and pristine pages. Unopened, unused, undiscovered, unloved. I'm describing the books, but we might also use these words to describe the minds of the children we’re being paid to shape. Interesting.

In my current teaching setting, I am working with students who generally have a hard time using schema. They have weak literacy backgrounds, combined with a lack of enriching life experiences that we hope teenagers would have at this point in their lives. There’s less with which to connect. As a teacher, I realize that I have two choices: give it my best shot and model authentic questions, connections and inferences, using texts my students are more likely to relate to; or not. I have to go with the first option. After all, time spent in lock-up counts as gaining personal experience. We can start preparing them for future connections by building schema right here, right now.

rhymes with college

2009-04-03T07:44:00.000-04:00

When asked to spell the word "knowledge," the majority of my students write "nollege." Makes sense phonetically, but seeing it misspelled again and again is making me cross-eyed. Hence, the above impromptu wall display. It's like I've created an ad campaign for a single word. A sort of Sesame Street-esque tack, no? But it's a smart approach, I think. The more they see it spelled correctly, the more it will sink in. And, hopefully, the more of it they will actually possess.

she has a pulse

2009-04-02T15:20:00.000-04:00

Hello, blogosphere. I knew I had to post something today, if only to reassure all you gentle readers that I did, in fact, survive April Fool's Day in jail. No surprises. Just another day in the salt mines.

No more to post today. Just got home from Literacy Learning For Older Children & Adolescents. Great class, always interesting topics...but my brain is full. Going to watch a little baseball on the MLB network and turn in.

April Fool's Day In Jail

2009-04-01T12:23:00.000-04:00

As I drove into work this morning, I realized that April Fool's Day in juvie might not be the same experience as it has been in my previous years as a teacher. Getting punked by kids in elementary school = harmless fun. Getting punked by hardcore gangbangers = I might not be physically able to laugh. If you don't see a post tomorrow, feel free to assume that it got ugly and I'm on workman's comp.

one more word

2009-03-31T07:51:00.000-04:00

In rereading my previous post, it occurred to me that it might not be obvious to the average joe that my students can't sign their contributions on oneword.com with anything that would be a clear indication of their identity. Well, let's just say that they could, but then I'd be at fault for allowing it. And then I'd be hitting the pavement again, looking for another job. Not a scenario I'm looking to carve out for myself any time soon. Let's remember: I like my job.

Contact between those that are in and those that are out is closely controlled here. Certain websites are blocked within the system for security purposes. Local news in print, video, audio and web format, is a no-no. The kids would be all over the police log and latest A&B stories, reading about the goings on of their fellow friends and gang members, as well as those of rival factions. Those aren't conditions we want to invite into the hallowed halls of DYS. These kids are here for treatment, which includes not just learning how to improve their academic skills, but also their life skills, their coping skills, their emotional intelligence. Careful steps are taken to minimize the distractions.

Note that I didn't say eliminate. I didn't say "eliminate the distractions." Wonder why?

oneword

2009-03-30T13:44:00.001-04:00

Okay, I have something of a microfantasy/pseudo-obsession happening. No, no, nothing to do with having the winning powerball ticket, limitless shoe shopping, bathing in chocolate, etc. It's all about this ridiculously simple website: http://oneword.com/. Click 'go' and on the next page you see a word, and you've got 60 seconds to write about it. Anything. Everything. Whatever part of that word's meaning your brain wants to latch onto, just write. I've been using this with the kids as a warm-up or close to a lesson. At first, it was hard for them to wrap their heads around the fact that there were no rules, no directions. They really dig it now. It gives them a voice to an outside world with which they're allowed very little contact. Naturally, they sign their posts with initials only, and I give them a generic (fake) e-mail address. Check it out, you'll see what I mean.

Swan Dive

2009-03-29T17:10:00.000-04:00

I've had blogging on my mind for a while now. It's a rainy Sunday afternoon and I'm moving in super slow-mo (thanks to my late night watching March Madness on DVR delay). I've got plenty on my to-do list, so I didn't actually need to add "set up new blog" to my already unmanageable docket. I guess I just got to the point where my thoughts, musings and metacognition piled up enough inside my head that it all needed a place to go. So, here before you is some of the spilloff!

A bit of background on me: I am a Reading Specialist, working currently with committed teenage males in a secure treatment facililty in Massachusetts. Yep, jail. Lockup. Juvie. The clink. It's my first go at teaching reading; prior to this I've worn other hats: health teacher, zit zapper (I worked in the skin care field for a bit), soccer/basketball/softball coach, educational publishing grunt, seasonal fishmonger...would you believe licensed nail technician? (story for another post). I've pushed piles of paper and been closed into countless cubicles. I figured out a while back, though, that teaching is where it's at for me (forgive the improperly placed preposition). Kids are as real as real gets. Lots of teachers say the same thing about this profession. And "real" is part of the reason why I had chosen to teach Health. What could be more relevant? I'd thought. But when Health teaching jobs started to wane post-big tobacco settlements, I knew I needed to find another field. And reading was it.

Think about it. You can't be literate without having health. And you can't have health without being literate. It was a perfectly sensible move. And now I see very clearly, day in and day out, how important health is to literacy, and vice versa. I've been made aware how a dearth of health and literacy is affecting kids, families, communities, regions. My students have had tough lives. They've managed to survive some very challenging circumstances. But they've also made some big mistakes. They have been committed to the state's system for secure treatment. ("Committed" means that the kids have been charged, tried and sentenced, as opposed to "detained," which refers to kids who have simply been charged and are awaiting trial.) Committed is a word that has always meant to me something having to do with determination...a solid work ethic...a promise. My students are committed. Alright then. So am I.