*mutters* I must not rant about my employers in public places. I must not rant about my employers in public places. I must not rant about my employers in public places....*cough*
So, I'll restrain myself to a rant about the curriculum. Harcourt makes me want to scream. We're on Week 17 of the program (according to school schedules, not the saturday academy, that's only been going for 8 weeks), and the teacher script (who FOLLOWS teacher scripts? I ask you) is still trying to get me to say things like "The name of this letter is B. Say the name with me. Hold up different cards showing same letter This is upper case B. This is lower case b. What is the name of this letter?"
The script never changes, as far as I can tell. I'd think by week 17 the kids would be so tired of it that they'd be throwing things at the wall. Not to mention that I really feel like the kids should be able to recognize and name ALL the letters by mid-November. ugh.
So on to the anecdote. Our current "project," to run over 3 weeks, is on "careers." Five year olds, of course, have never heard the word, so I had to explain it -- as a job, what grown ups do for a living. We were supposed to get the kids to list off as many careers as they could, so I asked my girls "What do some grownups that you know do?" As always, without missing a beat, C (of "you want punishment" fame), responded "...smoke?" She then, once I had clarified my meaning, went into a five-minute ramble about how they worked for the water department, except if they didn't do a good job they got fired, and then they couldn't work there anymore, and then they had to look somewhere else until someone told them they could come work for them, and then they better do a good job so they wouldn't get fired again, and... (there were multiple repetitions and "ums" involved.) I had to cut her off at this point to get back to the issue at hand, but man, you gotta wonder what these kids are seeing.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Regional Teacher Dialect #1
New words and phrases I am coming across in Philly that I did not hear in NoVA.
pass, v. To walk down the hallway or stairs in a school, or to go from the hallway into a classroom. Usually used in the command form. (as opposed to: I really don't remember what teachers say in NoVA. I suppose "go" or "walk to the next stopping point" or something like that.)
prep, n. the period (not lunch) during which the students are not with their regular classroom teacher. (as opposed to: specials, or even simply the name of the class: health, art, music, PE, etc.)
Likewise, prep teacher, n. the teacher who supervises the children during this time. (as opposed to: the actual title of the teacher, ie. art teacher, music teacher.)
pass, v. To walk down the hallway or stairs in a school, or to go from the hallway into a classroom. Usually used in the command form. (as opposed to: I really don't remember what teachers say in NoVA. I suppose "go" or "walk to the next stopping point" or something like that.)
prep, n. the period (not lunch) during which the students are not with their regular classroom teacher. (as opposed to: specials, or even simply the name of the class: health, art, music, PE, etc.)
Likewise, prep teacher, n. the teacher who supervises the children during this time. (as opposed to: the actual title of the teacher, ie. art teacher, music teacher.)
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Modern Segregation
There is a White child in the class next door. (I'm currently student-teaching first grade in West Philly, as of 2Jan. my fifth placement, third viable, since July.) I stepped in to cover for a minute while H went to the bathroom, and there he was, sitting by himself at a table reading a story. I wasn't prepared for the level of shock I felt at seeing him there. Blonde hair (straight hair, more to the point), pale, the whole nine yards.
Now, I am White myself. Many of the teachers in the building are White. But this is the only unmistakably, unarguably WHITE child I have seen in the entire building in the three weeks I've been there.
At my previous placement in Northeast Philly, there were several White children -- none in my class, but they were there. It was a more diverse school in general, though -- Hispanic children, Black children, Asian children (primarily Chinese), Middle Eastern children -- my class had a substantial representation of each of these groups. Currently, my class is made up entirely of Black children of various shades, (some may have a White parent, but I've yet to meet one) as is the rest of the school. At NES (Northeast Elem School) about 2/3 of my children were registered ESOL (although only five received services at any given time.) I found out quite by accident yesterday at a meeting that WES (West Philly Elem School, where I am now) even HAS an ESOL program. Culture shock, what?
I've been struck more than once, walking the halls of WES, of the absolute and utter failure of school integration efforts. ONE child that I've seen is not Black (and H thinks he's the only one in the school.) There are plenty of White people living in West Philly, but I guess their children all go to the Friends schools. And on the one hand, I can't blame them -- C (my cooperating teacher) mentioned offhand today that 80% of the kids at WES tested at Below Basic on the last round of standardized tests. Most of my class is certainly not up to grade level (I am trying my darnedest to avoid using terms like "low" and "high," they just make me crazy for some not-fully-articulated reason). And I've heard stories about the upper grades.
But on the other hand, I can't bring myself to think that segregating the children is the answer. How will a struggling group improve with no exposure to anyone who isn't struggling? And how will White middle-class children ever understand these children (or vice versa) if they don't get to know them and play with them? Argh.
Much as it speaks to the Inherent Racism of the System (tm) what these neighborhood schools really need is some White parents who are willing to get involved enough in their children's education to actually enroll them in a public school and try to ensure that they actually get a good education out of it. Pissed-off White parents would probably get some results.
I guess the test will be what I do when I have my own children. Or, honestly, what I do when the time comes for job searching. I really want to teach in an urban public school, for the sake of principle and of actually doing something worthwhile, but I just don't know if I can handle it. Honestly, the idea of having a classroom of my own is frightening, and the concept of being steamrollered by a group of preadolescent urban children (whose lives have conditioned them to be much tougher, in as many senses of the word as I can think of, than I am even now) is way too imaginable. First graders I can handle. My previous class of second graders I didn't have much trouble with. But third and up is a worrying idea -- all the more aggravating, because in my previous life as a substitute teacher in suburban DC, I really enjoyed third graders.
Sometimes I wonder if a one-year teacher education program can really prepare someone to teach. On the other side of the coin, of course, is the aggravation and low-grade frustration and boredom I would probably have had to deal with in any longer program. And Penn is a well-respected program, so I suppose they must be doing something right.
Well, we seem to have rambled completely away from the subject. Further bulletins as events warrant.
Now, I am White myself. Many of the teachers in the building are White. But this is the only unmistakably, unarguably WHITE child I have seen in the entire building in the three weeks I've been there.
At my previous placement in Northeast Philly, there were several White children -- none in my class, but they were there. It was a more diverse school in general, though -- Hispanic children, Black children, Asian children (primarily Chinese), Middle Eastern children -- my class had a substantial representation of each of these groups. Currently, my class is made up entirely of Black children of various shades, (some may have a White parent, but I've yet to meet one) as is the rest of the school. At NES (Northeast Elem School) about 2/3 of my children were registered ESOL (although only five received services at any given time.) I found out quite by accident yesterday at a meeting that WES (West Philly Elem School, where I am now) even HAS an ESOL program. Culture shock, what?
I've been struck more than once, walking the halls of WES, of the absolute and utter failure of school integration efforts. ONE child that I've seen is not Black (and H thinks he's the only one in the school.) There are plenty of White people living in West Philly, but I guess their children all go to the Friends schools. And on the one hand, I can't blame them -- C (my cooperating teacher) mentioned offhand today that 80% of the kids at WES tested at Below Basic on the last round of standardized tests. Most of my class is certainly not up to grade level (I am trying my darnedest to avoid using terms like "low" and "high," they just make me crazy for some not-fully-articulated reason). And I've heard stories about the upper grades.
But on the other hand, I can't bring myself to think that segregating the children is the answer. How will a struggling group improve with no exposure to anyone who isn't struggling? And how will White middle-class children ever understand these children (or vice versa) if they don't get to know them and play with them? Argh.
Much as it speaks to the Inherent Racism of the System (tm) what these neighborhood schools really need is some White parents who are willing to get involved enough in their children's education to actually enroll them in a public school and try to ensure that they actually get a good education out of it. Pissed-off White parents would probably get some results.
I guess the test will be what I do when I have my own children. Or, honestly, what I do when the time comes for job searching. I really want to teach in an urban public school, for the sake of principle and of actually doing something worthwhile, but I just don't know if I can handle it. Honestly, the idea of having a classroom of my own is frightening, and the concept of being steamrollered by a group of preadolescent urban children (whose lives have conditioned them to be much tougher, in as many senses of the word as I can think of, than I am even now) is way too imaginable. First graders I can handle. My previous class of second graders I didn't have much trouble with. But third and up is a worrying idea -- all the more aggravating, because in my previous life as a substitute teacher in suburban DC, I really enjoyed third graders.
Sometimes I wonder if a one-year teacher education program can really prepare someone to teach. On the other side of the coin, of course, is the aggravation and low-grade frustration and boredom I would probably have had to deal with in any longer program. And Penn is a well-respected program, so I suppose they must be doing something right.
Well, we seem to have rambled completely away from the subject. Further bulletins as events warrant.
Friday, January 05, 2007
First Post -- Two Stories
I am terrible at starting new blogs. (Ew, what an icky word.) So, I will start off with two short anecdotes from the Saturday Academy at which I am currently teaching a three-child (all girls) Kindergarten class in West Philly.
1.) We are primarily a literacy program, so we start every day with the alphabet. Say the letter, say the sound, say a word that starts with that sound. "A-aah-apple. B-buh-boy." and so on down the list. We have letter cards, but they aren't illustrated, so I have to rely on the children to remember from their regular Kindergarten classes what the words are that they use. I repeat it on a slight lag with them, hoping they won't notice. The first time we did this, one of the little girls -- more advanced than her peers, incidentally -- got all the way down through U, and then let out with "V-vuh-Value Village!" I was, by turns, impressed and reminded that I am now living in a Completely Different World than the one I grew up in.
2.) On the subject of the latter of these impressions, last week I read the girls The Cat in the Hat for our midday story time. We got 2/3 of the way through the story -- it's raining, the children are bored, in comes the Cat, the Fish complains, the Cat wreaks havoc, the Fish yells, the Cat brings his Things and they wreak more havoc -- and then we get to the line, "And I said, I do not like/The way that they play. /If our mother could see this,/Oh, what would she say?" And another little girl -- below level, incidentally, she's really in first grade -- came back, without missing a beat, with "You want punishment."
It would have been funnier if I hadn't heard her mother yelling at her at breakfast that morning. ("Sit down! I oughta beat your behind!") It was still pretty funny though.
1.) We are primarily a literacy program, so we start every day with the alphabet. Say the letter, say the sound, say a word that starts with that sound. "A-aah-apple. B-buh-boy." and so on down the list. We have letter cards, but they aren't illustrated, so I have to rely on the children to remember from their regular Kindergarten classes what the words are that they use. I repeat it on a slight lag with them, hoping they won't notice. The first time we did this, one of the little girls -- more advanced than her peers, incidentally -- got all the way down through U, and then let out with "V-vuh-Value Village!" I was, by turns, impressed and reminded that I am now living in a Completely Different World than the one I grew up in.
2.) On the subject of the latter of these impressions, last week I read the girls The Cat in the Hat for our midday story time. We got 2/3 of the way through the story -- it's raining, the children are bored, in comes the Cat, the Fish complains, the Cat wreaks havoc, the Fish yells, the Cat brings his Things and they wreak more havoc -- and then we get to the line, "And I said, I do not like/The way that they play. /If our mother could see this,/Oh, what would she say?" And another little girl -- below level, incidentally, she's really in first grade -- came back, without missing a beat, with "You want punishment."
It would have been funnier if I hadn't heard her mother yelling at her at breakfast that morning. ("Sit down! I oughta beat your behind!") It was still pretty funny though.
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