I have 29 students this year (my new one enrolled Monday). 2 less than my highest total of 31 and about 4 or 5 more than what is typical for me. I also teach a 4th and 5th grade class. I call them "young" and "old." I try to make them feel as if they are a true multi-age classroom. If you can handle the work, here, try it. You should see my writing lessons. They are a macabre dance of packets and prophetic Smart board truths from years past--how to milk the reader into reading the next paragraph, using questions to draw readers into their intros, using quotes to drive the narrative, ending with a memorable line. Some are working on commas and capitals. My son knows there should be a capital "I" in sentences. Why don't my fourth graders? We furiously erase commas and introduce semi-colons. My high kids, both the fifth and fourth grade alike, yawn, roll their eyes and trudge ahead with essays and typing their final drafts. They hunt down those that aren't achieving not so much to help but to perhaps boos their own ego, to tell on them, shame them in front of their peers. "Mr. Cordova, he's not even using periods!"
Reading is when I see their struggles and successes magnified. They work in teams of 2 or 3, and they are singled out with their grades only. Two different novels I'm teaching, while sprinkling in a dose of the district basal reader, non-fiction supplements, computer-based assessments and vocabulary exercises driven towards exploring synonyms and multiple meanings. They have 30 minutes to master a concept. Sometimes it's just enough time to finish, and other times not enough. Anytime my grandmother ever made dinner, she always had enough. And this called for having seconds, enough for someone who just arrived and packing enough for the ones who weren't there. I never learned her mastery of portions. It's a lesson that would serve me well when conducting my lessons.
Even within their grade levels there is great disparity. I have one fourth grader that might as well skip and move to fifth. I have at least 3 that have no business in fourth grade. The rest weave through the narrative of the day when their effort affords them to. They sometimes don't maintain the effort it takes to succeed, and other times no matter how hard they work they will find my way of instruction or the material daunting.
My fifth graders are a wonderful challenge as well. Some I've had for two years now. They know my routine and I know their moods. We were conversational the first day of school, which is sometimes a curse in itself. They talk to me like I am their friend. Most of the time they don't even raise their hand. Some of this is learned behavior as well. My son Cruz hugs everyone he sees. I do this too. so it's no wonder during silent hallway time they try to walk beside me to chat about their day. Most of the time I oblige them. I'm the same way with my staff. During fire drills, I talk to fellow teachers when the students are supposed to be quiet. I joke with the custodians, hi-five kindergartners. When I get after a kid for not lining up or fighting at the bus stop, I have to scold someone else for making it a joke. I'm less and less sarcastic when I talk with them. When I don't give you a hard time, then you should be worried.
The year is almost done. I stress less about the test that drives my instruction, my employment, and more about their lives beyond the walls of room 160. I've been eating lunch with my kids this past week. It gives me a time for them to update me on their lives, how their siblings are doing. Some are shy and sit far from the group, while others won't even start eating until I begin. For the first time ever, I had two kids on separate occasions deny the chance to come back. I don't know if I should take the snub as a slight or that they are just too insecure to grab their lunch and walk down the hallway without some driven fear that they are somehow in trouble. Are these the two boys that will fall through the cracks we whisper about in the teacher's lounge? I think along the way to becoming a teacher I fell through canyons.
This past Monday we added a new mantra to our daily pledge. We say the pledge of allegiance, then the room 160 saying, "Shady Lane Students will LEARN, LEAD, and ACHIEVE," and now "My Identity."
I am a new creation
I am deeply loved
fully pleasing
and totally accepted.
I am absolutely complete.
There has never been another person like me
in the history of mankind,
nor will there ever be.
I am original,
one of a kind, really somebody.
I lifted this from a bible study of "The Search for Significance." If you search for the book, you'll come across the identity mantra they share aloud with each meeting. There's some fanciful editing of mine that took place. Law requires me to excise the use of God or Jesus in my daily teaching, but they cannot take what's in the heart.
So I type my lessons, clear my desk for the next upheaval, and jot down a series of dots, lines and codes for absences and behaviors. During recess, I take down score and call fouls for the fifth grade basketball game. In a way, it's like my day. I catch most infractions--the talking, the constant rummaging through a desk, unauthorized dragon drawings--and other times I'm caught napping because my head is down recording a rebound. The kids turn the ball over, they steal it back, sometimes even a game-winning shot. That's all they need. A pick on their defender, that look at the basket. Swish.
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