You’ve Done Wonders…

The teacher who had my classroom before I moved in stopped by for the first time since he moved out in the summer. (It’s amazing how some staff members rarely venture out of their wing to see the rest of the school! I, myself, can be guilty of this.) As he peeked in the door, his eyes popped. “Wow!” he said, “You’ve done wonders with this room!”

“Thank you!” I replied, thinking to myself: Oh, my friend, you have no idea how happy you have made me with that single statement.

“Yeah,” he added, “Well… you saw it before.” And with that, he gave me a smile and headed back to the first floor.

I am insanely proud of my room, and while I know it’s not perfect, I feel like I’ve been able to do a lot with what I was given. When I came on the scene, the room was set up in long, straight rows, with little more than a giant chalkboard, graffiti-ridden bare bulletin board, and beige walls.

This is what it looks like now, complete with Semester Two improvements!

Message Board

Full View of Class Arrangement, “Circle of Rows.” This was a new design that I came up with to keep me always within three desks of any student, plus it makes it easier for them to see both the chalkboard and the projection screen, which are on different walls, without their views being obscured.

Plus it gives TONS of space in the middle for me to roam around in as I lecture.

Ask and ye shall recieve–I finally got my laptop and projector, which lets me do Powerpoints, video clips, interactive internet stuff, and more! AWESOME.

I keep this guy by my desk to remind myself that not only do I have a cool job, but I also get PAID to do it.

Supply closet, with some nice images!

Publication wall for student work.

Every morning, I gather my things on a sunshiny table, look out the window at the pine tree, and beyond that, the city streets. I take a deep breath, smile, and get ready for another day!

Calm, Assertive Energy

One of my senior students waltzed in my door during my prep hour for a meeting that we had scheduled to work on some scholarship applications. “Hello, Ms. Cranky,” she said, smiling, and plunking her books down on a desk. “I hate it when you’re cranky. It makes me feel tense.”

Ah, yes. I deserved that. That particular day, I had been forced to regroup my morning senior class several times after they had erupted into various disruptions. The yelling across the room, petty remarks, and general sense of simply NOT PAYING ATTENTION had been building in a steady crescendo over the previous two weeks. Day after day, I became increasing irritated by their notorious line-walking, their immaturity, and their resistant attitudes. I began to get frustrated with myself. What was I doing wrong? The same class who was peacefully co-existing with me for weeks was suddenly reverting back to the way they had behaved the very first time I met them. Where did I fall off of the classroom management wagon? In an effort to reclaim my territory, I just started snapping at any student who put a toe out of line.

However, it didn’t seem to be doing much good. And now I was “Ms. Cranky” on top of it. To hear my student’s reaction caught me off guard. I mean, I knew that I was cranky. But I had no idea how evident it was, nor how much it was affecting the mood of one of my best students. That night, discouraged, I flopped in front of the TV to indulge in a guilty pleasure–The Dog Whisperer on the National Geographic Channel.

Now, if you are a dog lover, as I happen to be, The Dog Whisperer is one of the greatest shows ever. Cesar Millan, trainer and dog psychologist du jour, works with animals and owners to create behavior changes (both in the dog and the human) that correct damaging habits that range from aggression to barking to fear to anxiety. While Cesar’s touch seems to be magical, it really comes from a very small set of simple concepts. Number one is that the human must be a pack leader. And this leader must demonstrate calm, assertive energy at all times. If the pack leader becomes fearful, tense, or anxious, that behavior will trickle down to the other members of the pack, making them erratic. Or, worse, the dog may see weakness in the owner and try to take over as pack leader! That makes perfect sense, I thought to myself, I know that my emotions are definitely influenced by those around me.

DING. A lightbulb went on in my brain. Calm, assertive energy. Even animals recognize this as leadership, and people certainly look for it. I started to envision myself in front of my class, shoulderblades clenched, just waiting for what I believed to be an inevitable outburst. I was tense, on-edge, shaky. Definitely not very assertive, and surely not calm. Just as Cesar accuses dog owners of “creating” their companion’s bad behavior, I started to question whether I, too, was in part creating the bad behavior of the morning class.  So a plan started forming in my mind. Ok, I told myself, Tomorrow, we will test out Cesar’s theory with people. Seems to work with dogs. Why not try it? With that in mind, I set out to purposely project an attitude of calm, yet assertive energy. If it was to work like it did on the show, my students would become calm when I was calm. (Of course, this seemed a little, well, crackpot. But what was there to lose? At least I wouldn’t be called “Ms. Cranky.”) I opened day one of C.A.E. with a deep, slow breath, a small smile, and the simple words, “Welcome back. I’m glad to see you guys. Let’s get started.”

Believe it or not, this simple, conscious change in my voice, body language, and attitude throughout the hour made a GIGANTIC difference. Seriously, it was a very visible change. I was blown away by how much more calm, pleasant, and open my students instantly became. It was kind of ridiculous how well it worked! It’s been about a week and we’re still going strong. I am now making a renewed effort to be more aware of what type of “energy” I am projecting when I teach. A very calm, happy person by nature, I am gifted with a natural talent for leading groups of people with a gentle authority. However, if I let negative emotions of anxiety, fear, or frustration to corrode that natural zen, I have nothing. I do love what I do, and I want my kids to see that. A person who loves her job is not on the verge of screaming or pulling her own hair. A person who loves her job is in control, with that small smile lurking on her face, saying, “Wait ’til you see what I’ve got for you today.”

Take it from me, and from Cesar. Half of being a leader is showing a calm, assertive energy at absolutely all times. It’s great psychological advice for puppies, for people, and likely many other species.

Keeping the Lines Open

Something I stress in my teaching is teacher-student communication. From day one, I tell them to remember to speak up if they EVER need help with something, have a special need or concern, or need to let me know about what’s going on in their lives. As I tell them, I’m willing to bend over backwards to get them what they need, but I need to know what that is first. Trust and respect are two other things that I often talk about. I try to do more than “give the respect speech” but to truly demonstrate and expect a high level of respect and a willingness to trust.

When I get disillusioned, though, I sometimes start to give up on those ideals.I start to think, “Why should I care?” And that’s a dangerous thing. I was starting to feel that way a little bit last weekend, after reading some disheartening student responses–one of my seniors, Deshaun, had written two detailed poems about how much he hates my class, wishes he could be back with his former teacher, and thinks school (with the emphasis, again, on my class) is a giant waste of time.

While normally immaturity doesn’t get to me, this incident hit my heart for some reason. It made me so angry. “Why,” I asked myself, “Am I spending hours assessing these students who don’t give a damn about me or what we’re learning? What a waste of MY time.” After being miffed for a few minutes, I decided I’d take a trustful approach, and that I would tell this student honestly and openly about how I felt. I wrote him back a paragraph, where I said something to the effect of… “I’m really sorry that you dislike my class so much. I know what it’s like to be stuck in a class missing the preferred style of a former teacher. Obviously, I can never be Ms. L.  But please tell me what I can do to make English 12 bearable for you, otherwise it will be a long, l-o-n-g  year for both of us. P.s. While it might not seem like it, I do have feelings. Imagine how I feel when I’m logging hours grading papers and this is what I get. Ouch!”  While part of me felt weird being so open with a student (maybe it was more professional to just ignore it?), I really believe that one cannot teach without solid rapport or relationships. So I left it at that, and decided to hand it back to him.

On Monday morning, I ran into Deshaun as he came in to school. Having heard from another teacher that joking is a good technique to use with him, I smiled and yelled after him, “Deshaun!”

“Huh?” He said, turning around to face me. “What?”

I put my hand on my hip and cocked my head. “Why you such a hater?” I asked him.

“A hater?” He broke a small smile.

“Yeah,” I said, looking stern now, “What’s with you writing on all your assignments about how much you hate me and my class?!”

“Oh, Ms. H! I didn’t mean that stuff… I was just playin’. That’s just what I do.”

“Oh, all right,” I said, hesitantly. Then I added, “Well, just know that if you’re for real, we can talk about it.” Later that day, I handed back the anti-Ms. H poems with my note. I felt kind of silly for getting so worked up, but I still wasn’t sure if Deshaun was just trying to appease me face to face. Who knew if he would even read what I had to say.

The following morning, as class was wrapping up, I was getting some things sorted on my desk before the bell, and I heard a gentle, “Ms. H?” I looked over–no, up–to see Deshaun, with his 6’5″ frame, wide shoulders, and crazy mohawk, towering beside me.  “Yes?” I said, noticing the concerned look beaming out of his dark brown eyes.

“I just wanted you to know that when I wrote those things on my papers, I was just joking around. And I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I just like being sarcastic and playing around, but that’s my way of saying that I do like your class. Trust me, if I didn’t like you, you’d know already. So I’m sorry that I made you feel bad. I like your scarf.”

“Thanks, Deshaun,” I said, “I just wanted to make sure. I’ve been in that situation where I’m stuck in a class I hate, so I didn’t want to be responsible for making you feel that way, but I’m glad to hear that you do like the class. Thanks so much for communicating with me.” I was floored… and relieved.

Later that week, I had a “class meeting” with my seniors where I opened a Real Conversation about what we can do as a class (and what I can do as a teacher) to make this sometimes-rowdy group a more respectful, effective, and welcoming place. I thought it might be a train wreck, but instead they really responded to that opportunity. Many of them came forth with both honest frustrations and excellent suggestions, and we came to the conclusion that we’d all work harder to become “more of a family.” I was so proud of all of us, working together, like real people should, instead of going through the motions of coming and leaving by the bell, unconcerned about the interpersonal realities of a classroom. My biggest point was, “I will be real with you if you are real with me. We need to trust each other. The more I can trust you, the more freedom I can give you. Let’s get better together.”

It takes guts to be honest. But I’m proud of the fact that both my students and I are learning how to take that risk, because it really, truly pays off.

Maximum Capacity

I love to write celebratory posts, where I focus on small successes and new ideas. But reflecting on challenges is also important, and it’s something I think I need to do more. So here are some ruminations about what I consider my biggest challenge of all–large class size.

I’ve taken to sitting at my kitchen table and saying aloud, “I am the old woman who lives in a shoe. I have so many children, I don’t know what to do.” I jest, of course, but only partially. A reality I live with: My students are vast in number. One hundred and sixty to be exact. And that’s a lot of children to have. I really feel like, if I had one more student, I might actually lose my mind.

My school is a traditional one, with eight periods of 45 minutes of instructional time, separated by four minute passing times. This “factory model” of education sweeps kids, thirty-some at a time, in my door and out at what seems like breakneck speed. Sometimes it’s very overwhelming, just to manage these large groups of young people that fill my room. I am a one person wonder, responsible for making sure everyone is present, safe, awake, engaged, inspired, and learning. And someone always needs something. At any given moment I’ve got someone needing to go to his or her locker, someone needing to go home sick, someone who needs more explanation, and someone who needs to be told to bring his or her focus back to the classroom.

My style of teaching involves a lot of conversation, a lot of individual feedback and attention. And, unfortunately, it’s not possible to commit to this natural preference completely with my giant classes. Just think–even if I spent my entire class period on individual conferencing, a class of 35 would only get 1.3 minutes of my time per student. I can’t get to everyone individually everyday. It’s just not possible.  But I wish I had more time to give.

Sometimes it blows my mind just to think that I am monitoring the progress of 160 human beings, daily, all by myself. So how do I make this crazy factory model of education work for my individualized style of teaching? Here are some things that I try to use to my advantage!

*I speak individually with as many students as I can during independent work time.

*While grading, I write conversational feedback on student assignments in order to affirm, instruct, or redirect.

*While lecturing, I involve student input as much as possible, and try to be captivating and passionate enough for each and every student to have something that catches their imagination. I try to leave nothing at the door.

*I trust that my students can fill in the gaps in instruction that I must necessarily leave. I trust them to meet me halfway.

Whenever I start to get overwhelmed or daunted by the number of students I have and the fact that time is racing ahead while I’m still trying to figure out if they “got” what we were talking about five days ago, I try to put things in perspective by asking myself this question… What is my job?

My job is not to agonize over every word my students write (or don’t write), or every single thing they know (or don’t know). My job is to place the ladder, to supply tools, to boost them up on my shoulders and say, “Here, guys. We are building something together. Here’s our schematic. Let’s get to work.” Some will build me the Taj Mahal, others might only be able to install a doorknob or two. But the point is that something more is there, when all is said and done, than was there when we started. They work with me, they work with each other, they work with themselves. Really, the energy of running the class comes from within them. I’m just the one steering this energy in the best direction I can.

I just witnessed an appearance of this mysterious force last week, when I spent the hour before school pinning up stellar examples of student work on the huge “publication board” in my classroom. I may have put the papers on the board, but the students did the work. (And mighty fine work it was.) When each class came in, they all buzzed exitedly around the board, looking for their names, peering over shoulders, shrieking out when they saw something that their best friend wrote pinned up for all to see. (Yes, even the eighteen-year-olds were practicing this giddy behavior!) This tells me that they’re proud to be here with me, that they’re happy to be recognized, and that they’re invested in what we do. This community energy that helps me do my job is sometimes measurable, sometimes invisible. But when I see it, it makes me smile. It reminds me that while I am the adult leader, I’m merely one small part of the learning that’s taking place in my class.

P.s. All that being said, I still would prefer classes of 20 kids or fewer.  

Class Aesthetics

We live in a world where design matters. Whether it’s the latest hip renovation at a local restaurant, the subtle texture combinations in a bride’s bouquet, or the painstakingly selected shade of perfection in a newly-painted kitchen, we’re all seeking aesthetics that capture a the right vibe. By “vibe,” I mean mood, idea, feel, environment, inspiration.

As I’m looking forward to preparing my new classroom, I’m thinking a lot about what vibe I want to send to my students and how I can use my love of design to help accomplish this. Come with me as I mentally meander through some of my thoughts on Class Aesthetics. (Or, if you will go so far as to humor me, “Classthetics”.)

A very dear friend of mine, who also happens to be a first-year teacher–let’s call her Ms. Matthews–made a brilliant switch in her class vibe during her student teaching placement last semester. Being at a school where extreme behavior issues and safety could be a concern, she had to implement a policy of checking each student’s ID at the door before allowing them into the classroom. Definitely a pretty strict practice for most high schoolers, this ID check could make the school seem like a prison. However, Ms. Matthews gave the situation a genius twist. She began to refer to her classroom as “Club Matthews.” With a simple name change, a prominently placed sign, and a dash of humor, she turned the line of students at the door from a group of inmates to a line of hipsters proving that they were worthy to enter this exclusive “club.” She promoted her classroom as a place that was desirable and cool–excellent vibe!

It’s this kind of attitude switch that I want to use the power of aesthetics to create. We have all been in classrooms plastered from floor to ceiling with informative posters about “How to Use Adjectives” (which nobody ever reads), those inspirational “You Can’t Have Success Without Effort!” pictures (usually featuring some white ten-year-old from the 90′s painting a picture of a dove), and some stereotypical cardboard apples with glasses-wearing worms popping out of them (by the end of the semester, everyone wants to take the smirk off of that worm’s face). What am I saying here? Am I decrying the long-held tradition of happy, squeaky-clean, educational posters in classrooms? Am I really going that far? Maybe I am.

Here’s my issue with the cute posters in high school classrooms–their vibe is false. Generic posters with syrupy messages do not reflect the dramatic inner lives of teenagers, nor do they give students the feeling that they are in a place that is interesting to them or even concerned about them. My point of view is this: give a classroom a personality and an aesthetic that is mature, inspiring, and genuine. Skip the apples. Students already know they’re in school. Often, they’re trying to forget that they are in school. So, I say, stop schooling them to death with school-related learning propaganda. Rather, enrich their visual environment for maximum inspiration and interest. Create a place that is organic, comfortable, fascinating, and true.

Go from this:

Please, no.

Even worse.

To this:

"The Sun" by Edvard Munch

"Lillies on Fire" by Emily Bartos

Now comes the tough part… HOW does one go about creating a unique and appropriate classroom vibe? It’s kind of scary territory to step outside of the educational poster box. So here are some helpful tips that I have for myself and others.

HOW TO CREATE THE IDEAL CLASS AESTHETIC

1. Determine the vibe you’re going for. Just as the teacher’s presence makes a huge first impression, so does the appearance of a classroom. What look are you trying to achieve? Serious and businesslike? Bohemian enclave? Spunky and colorful? Soothing and peaceful? Knowing the  message you’re after will help you select the right images, colors, and overall organization.

2. Ditch the learning posters and replace them with beautiful and interesting fine art, photography, and student-created art/writing. Period. Display at will.

3. Attempt to create a more comfortable space, whether this means utilizing natural light from a big window, installing some colorful curtains, featuring some alternative seating in a specific area (bean bags, carpet, castoff armchairs), or incorporating colors that stimulate the brain and outweigh the otherwise overbearing off-white walls. The actual aesthetics of a classroom should draw students in and invite them to stay, rather than create a desire to get out as soon as possible.

4. Consider seating arrangement. Are traditional rows of desks best for what you are trying to achieve? Consider large tables, or pairs/quads of desks if collaboration is typical. You can also go for the classic discussion circle. I’ve also heard that a large V-shape with just two rows is great for classroom management because each student is fairly near to the teacher at all times.

5. Compartmentalize. If there’s enough room in the classroom, creating separate “stations” for computers, a classroom library, or writing center can add interest and offer a refuge for all types of students during study time.

6. Add new things or change aspects of your design periodically to keep the look fresh. Consult student input on any new additions in order to involve your class community!

7. Currently the most important tip for me… Find a donor who can help you fund your classroom aesthetic aspirations!

Happy class designing!

Ingenious Attendance

I thought I’d share a quick little strategy that I stole from one of my college professors: the index card attendance method.

Each student gets an index card with his or her last name printed nice and big on the front. Before each class, the cards are spread out on a table or desk. As a student enters the room, he or she is responsible for finding the card and placing it on the teacher’s desk (or projector or other location of your choice). Once all the students have arrived and moved their cards to the desk, the teacher can simply grab the pile that’s left and click off attendance in a matter of seconds.

I like this method for several reasons.

1. It makes taking attendance quick and painless. (Just a quick spot check is needed in case of fraudulent card relocations.)

2. It gives each student an action that says–everyday–”This is me, and I am here, ready to learn.” The students, though a little resistant at first, really learn to love this routine. Trust me, if you forget to put them out, you’ll have kids genuinely upset, saying, “Where’s my card?!” Even high school seniors.

3. The cards can also be used to assign groups at random (pick three cards–there’s your group), assign seats for a test (just leave the cards on the desk where the student should sit), or record participation points (have them handy during class discussion and keep tally marks).

Attendance cards. It’s a good thing.

My Own Personal Classroom Management Nightmare

When I started my ’09 student teaching placement in January, I was warned by my cooperating teacher that my freshman class was “crazy.”  Considering that she also warned me about her philosophy that the only way for a student teacher to learn to teach was to be on her own without anyone else in the room, I began from a place that was admittedly intimidated.

Day one was anarchy. My class was composed of thirty-some kids. Some kids who have been in prison. Some kids who are gang members. Some kids who barely speak English. Some kids who would rather physically fight in class than sit next to who they were assigned to sit next to. And a whole bunch more who simply wouldn’t give me the time of day, talking over me and back to me, no matter how engaging my lesson was. Screaming, laughing, and shrieking–these children were my living nightmare. I was harrowed, on edge. The class was off the chart. I didn’t even want to go to school. I had no idea how I would survive for the next eighteen weeks. The only thing that kept me going were my twelfth-grade students, who were an absolute joy to teach. But the freshman made me feel sick.

I had always believed that kicking a student out of the room was counterproductive and that it sent the message “I can’t deal with you, and you can’t learn, so I give up.” But I soon found that if I never cracked down hard, my class would think I was a pushover. Encouraged by the wise words of my dad–”Be compassionate and fair, but you can’t take any crap”–I bumped up my bravado. One day during class, a particular boy would not sit down and continued talking back to me. I threw open the door, and said, “Get out.”

“Aw, come on, Miss. You don’t really mean that.”

“GET OUT!”

“But–”

“NOW!”

Thrusting a referral into the hands of the security escort, I slammed the door behind the student as he walked out of the room. Then, I heard a sweet sound: total silence. All eyes on me, I continued with my lesson.

I had to write several more referrals before the message was clear, but my freshmen learned to respect me. And I learned that sometimes, when a student is out of control and clearly jeopardizing the learning environment for the rest of the classroom, he or she has to go. Every once in a while, a show of force is neccesary in order to create the environment of respect and professionalism that’s conducive to the way I prefer to teach: with a gentle, understanding, welcoming nature.

It wasn’t just the moments of harsh consequence that helped my class. It was also a slow journey of teaching interpersonal skills: How do we act in discussion? How do we listen? Why is respect important? What is the mature way to resolve conflict? What do we do when our emotions make it difficult for us to think straight? These were topics that I wove into my lessons, that I taught and assessed. And they learned them.

The day that I knew my freshman had transformed was the presentation day for my speech unit. We had discussed many times why absolute respect and attention was due to a speaker, and how much courage it takes to speak in public. We also talked about the importance of support and encouragement. As my students prepared to give three-minute speeches on social issues that mattered to them, I felt nervous. Many of these kids started out the year hating each other’s guts. I was afraid I had set them up for a brawl. When the first student walked up to give her speech, I was astounded. The class erupted in cheers and applause of encouragement. As the speaker cleared her throat, they all fell silent. She gave her speech with poise and grace, after which she was met with a standing ovation. And it wasn’t just her. My students showed the same support and respect for every single speaker. When one student began to cry in fear when she froze before her speech, another girl got up and stood with her arm around the other, reading the first few  lines with her until she was reading it on her own. It was all the more remarkable because these two had been bitter enemies at the beginning of the semester. After she sat down, one boy raised his hand to say, “I am so proud of her for going up there and facing her fear. ” Everyone cheered in agreement. I cried. I told them how proud I was. It was incredible.

Now, with two weeks to go, I can’t believe the transformation that has occured in that classroom. I can now laugh and joke with my freshman. I trust them. While things aren’t always perfect, and sometimes they still get wild, I have an intense bond with these students, many of whom stop to talk to me throughout the school day. They have learned that I deeply respect them, that I want to give them a strong learning experience, and, yes, I will shut down misbehavior when it goes too far. I have learned that there is no such thing as “crazy.” We as teachers owe it to our students, no matter how much of a nightmare they start out as, to create an environment where they can shine.