education

A Birthday Resolution

No, it’s not my birthday. That was last month. Did you miss it? That’s okay. I really don’t mind.

Fact is, it’s been years since I made a big deal of my birthday. I can’t remember the last time it was a big deal. Well, three years ago I brought an amazing friend with me on a birthday visit to my family. She made cakes, and the experience was pretty memorable.

Cake with Gaping Flesh Wound

But really, we could have—and probably would have—done it without it being my birthday.

I’m not so different from a lot of other people. Birthdays remind me that I’m getting older. Then I delve into thoughts of, “Am I where I thought I’d be or wanted to be by this age?” In some ways, no. Cue disappointment, depression, and general malaise. In other ways, I’ve done some very positive things I never imagined five years ago.

Still. Birthdays. Meh.

At least, that’s how I felt until something made me think about it the other night.

I have pretty awesome students. You might have heard me mention it before. Even the ones who drive me bonkers find ways to make me glad I work with them now and then. Earlier this week, I attended an award ceremony for top seniors around the city, including one of my students, whom I’d nominated.

I’ve taught this student for the past five years, from Algebra 1 all the way to Calculus. I’ve chatted with her mom several times, and did again this particular night. This student has a few health issues, no surprise there, but her mom mentioned something I didn’t know before.

When she was born, no one expected her to make it. They came in and told her mom—a first-time mother—that her baby would not make it through the night.

As her mom says now, though, her daughter is a regular donkey with the stubbornness. And here we are, eighteen years later. Eighteen years longer than the doctors expected. Alive and lively.

I’m not going to gripe about my birthdays and getting older anymore.

Happy Birthday, Paige!

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The Undefinable, Undeniable Teen

What are teenagers like?

Don’t answer that. No matter what you say, you’re wrong. Unless you say something like, “Depends on the teen,” or, “As varied as adults, toddlers, senior citizens, or anything else.” Those are cop-outs anyway.

Teens (like so many other groups) get a lot of generalizations applied to them. Like every other generalization or stereotype, you can point to textbook cases where they’re true, and often just as many where they’re utterly false.

Example: Teens are irresponsible.

If we’re judging based on how some of them drive, then absolutely. On the other hand, I know teens who budget their money, make sure to take their car in for regular oil changes, and warn me two weeks in advance that they’ll be missing school and need their homework.

The whole essence of “teenager” is that it’s this amorphous time between childhood and adulthood where they have several traits of both stages at the same time … and those traits are often in flux from one moment to the next.

This is on my mind today because of a particular pet peeve of mine—talking to teens like they’re little kids.

I can’t fathom how common this is in schools. Not like all teachers do it, or even most, but enough to puzzle me. I’ve often wondered—but have never had the guts to ask one of the perpetrators—why they talk to students as they do. They’re not rude or anything. It’s just this tone and approach to interacting with students that I know would drive me bonkers if I were a teen.

Do they really regard teenagers as roughly the same as elementary students? I don’t know.

I can’t say I treat students exactly the same as I treat adults, or even talk to them exactly the same way. But it’s close. I try to acknowledge that they’re in that transition, which means they’re partway adult, but still in flux.

Maybe this attitude in teaching has informed my writing, because I try really hard to never talk down (write down?) to my audience.

And maybe that consciousness is why that “I’m talking like you’re nine years old” tone drives me nuts.

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Hating Math

Last week I discussed my deep and abiding love for calculus. I understand not everyone feels this way, and in fact, some people don’t even have the slightest hint of positive feelings toward any kind of math at all. If you’re one of those, this post is for you.

I’m not going to tell you it’s wrong to feel that way, or that you have to change your mind. (I will ask that you try to refrain from saying, “Ugh, I hate math!” around children who are still forming their own opinions. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a student who tells me, “My mom/dad hates math and thinks it’s stupid and doesn’t think there’s any point to learning it.” Thanks for sabotaging my work, Mom/Dad.)

The people I know who hate math usually fall into a couple different categories. Some hate it because they really struggle with it no matter how hard they try. Sometimes a learning disability is involved. Sometimes nothing’s been diagnosed, but it’s clear their mind just isn’t wired for numbers.

I recently had a student like that. Brilliant artist and some strong writing skills, but math just Would. Not. Click. Bless her, though, she kept trying and was incredibly patient, no matter how many times she had to erase and rework a problem. And the thing is, she did make progress. Not at the same pace as her peers, but she improved, because she didn’t give up. She admitted she didn’t like it at all, but she hung in there.

I think most of the math-haters I know, however, fall into the second category: those who had at least one really bad math teacher, usually at a critical juncture in their math education. This often happens either at fractions in elementary school, or a little later somewhere around pre-algebra/algebra, when things start to get more abstract.

What’s the key to teachers not facilitating the mathematical downfall of their students? I think a big part is recognizing that many students are likely to hit a wall a those junctures, so the teacher needs to be extremely flexible. One way of explaining a tough concept isn’t likely to work for everyone. If a kid isn’t getting it, you have to look for another bridge to get them across.

Even bigger key—don’t make the kid feel stupid for not getting it right away. Kids are good enough at doing that on their own. They don’t need our help.

Many times, I’ve had adults watch me teach or listen to me discuss a lesson and say, “If I’d had a teacher like you, I probably would’ve liked math.”

Best compliment I can receive, but I don’t really mind the hating math. My goal with the haters in my class is for them to hate math a little less. Even if they still hate math, I try to make sure they like the class. Because if they do, their minds stay a little more open, and even if they don’t want to admit it, they learn.

Are you a math-hater? If so, which category do you fall into? Or is there another reason I haven’t accounted for here?

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But … I WAS Teaching!

Funny thing happened the other day. Less “funny-ha-ha” and more “funny-huh?”

My school has this thing where a collection of administrators and specialists rotate around, observing different classrooms each week. Some look at how we’re using ASL, curriculum, or technology while others just look at the general classroom experience.

A few weeks ago, I had one such observation. I had a great little activity for my class. We briefly reviewed what we knew about three different types of functions, and I explained the activity. They’d be making predictions about a list of equations, checking those predictions, and then forming some generalizations. I circulated as they worked, dialoguing with them about what they were noticing. It all went really well.

I didn’t think about it again until I got an email from the observer a while later. She apologized for not getting any notes to me sooner, but she’d had a hard time writing up anything because she “really had not observed a ‘lesson’ so to speak.” She wanted to schedule another observation when I was teaching a new concept.

Excuse me, what?

I had taught a new concept. I’d taught my class how to recognize linear, quadratic, and exponential functions by their equations and without graphing them. The students were actively engaged in learning the whole time, doing something, rather than sitting there in a lecture-coma as I told them everything from the board.

Clearly, though, she wants to see something that looks more like a traditional “lesson.” So she’s coming back this week to observe a lesson in my physics class.

Le sigh. I don’t mind being observed again. I do mind the fact that I’m trying to follow nationally recognized “best practices” is being discounted as “not a lesson.” If it wasn’t a lesson, what did she think it was—busy work? That, I definitely mind.

Is it just me? If you were back in math class, would you rather take notes on a lecture or work on an activity that helped you figure out a concept for yourself?

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Teachers Don’t Always Like Being the Grown-Up

This is a real shocker, right? Of course teachers take joy in torturing students with mountains of homework and giving detention. They would never want to do anything else. They don’t even exist outside of classrooms.

What, you didn’t know that? We evaporate if we try to go anywhere the normal public goes outside school hours. Very painful.

Seriously, there are times I think to myself, “I should be more strict and stern. I’m supposed to be the adult in the room.” But my students make me laugh too much. (Not all the time, but in some classes, often.) Then I remember that super-strict isn’t my style, and in those classes with lots of laughter, the kids are still learning. Laughing while they do it means they often hate math without hating math class. Sometimes that leads to not hating math so much, either. I’ll take what I can get.

Here’s something students don’t always believe: Just like they have days when they’d rather not have to think so hard and work, there are days we’d rather not think so hard and teach. But because we’re grown-ups, we suck it up and do it anyway. It’s always nice to see teenagers reach that point of realization. “I don’t feel good/I’m tired/I’m distracted, but it doesn’t matter. I have to get the job done anyway.”

There are other times when the knowledge that I’m the adult in the room is a little scary. When a student is upset, or gets hurt, or two of them are spiraling toward a full-out brawl … I have a split second of “Yikes! I’m the one who has to handle this.”

And then I do.

So remember, teachers are people, too. If you’re a parent, make sure your children are aware of that little-known fact. And if you’re a writer, try not to make every teacher in your writing a one-dimensional caricature. 😉

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Tracking vs. Self-Esteem—Where’s the Line?

I don’t know about all of you, but when I was in elementary school, they split us up and shuffled us around to different rooms during certain times of day. Math, for instance. Sometimes for reading.

It’s not hard to figure out who’s who. ‘Smart’ kids, average kids, and strugglers. And that can be a lousy feeling.

I can see a lot of good cases for heterogeneous grouping. With the right curriculum and solid teaching practices, the strugglers can make up ground, the ‘smart’ kids can be challenged, and everyone can learn.

On the other hand, there are situations where it just doesn’t make sense.

My current school has a full range of students … and I mean full. Everything from kids above grade level to kids with severe disabilities, and everything imaginable in-between. We don’t have them all in the same classes.

We do, however, have workshops.

It’s an ongoing frustration. The entire high school gathers for workshops every other week on a variety of topics. Here’s what happens:

Half the students can’t believe they have to listen to things they’ve known since they were eight years old.

The other half are lost.

End result: No one likes workshops.

We’ve talked about splitting them up into smaller groups (size-wise, that’d be better anyway) so their specific needs can be addressed more. Same topic but different levels. For some, the very basics. For others, more of a discussion, letting them talk about what they know and what issues are important to them.

Sounds good, but we haven’t done it. There are logistical reasons, but there’s also the fact that the kids will know they’ve been somehow labeled. “Ha, I’m with the smart kids. You’re with the dumb kids.” Boy, wouldn’t that be fun.

Maybe there’s a way we can avoid or lessen that effect. Or maybe there’s another alternative we haven’t thought of. Some way to make sure all the kids benefit, but not making any kids feel more defeated than they already do.

Any ideas?

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