I’ve had a lot of first days of school, so many that I’ve lost count. The first day of school usually (but not always) looks like this:
Put on a new item of clothing (today, it was a dress I bought a month or so ago). My mom even asked me the other day if I’d gone school clothes shopping and was a bit surprised when I said no. She told me to go shopping . . . but I don’t have the money right now.
Get to my classes early. I still worry that I’ll have a hard time finding the right classrooms.
Be excited to see former students. I’m almost always glad when a student decides to take another class from me. Today, I also ran into former students as I walked around campus. I don’t always remember the names, but I almost always remember their faces. And seeing them brings fond memories of good discussions in classes past.
Be excited to meet new-to-me students. I love meeting people, and on the first day of class, I get a sense of how the rest of the semester is going to go. Today, my students in Literacy Studies were smart, engaged, and made me laugh. I can tell it’s going to be another good class.
Memorize the name of every student in my class and find out a little bit about their lives. By the end of both classes, I had every name down. I knew who liked to travel and which students had kids. I know that by Thursday, I’ll forget a few of the names, but I’m almost superstitious about this now. I feel like I *have* to memorize the names on day one or I’ll never remember them. And I believe that it’s really important for teachers to recognize their students’ humanity–by acknowledging that they have names (!) and lives outside of school.
Do something to introduce the ideas that will be central to the class. Today, in Literacy Studies, I asked my students to share what they remembered about their literacy learning. I also tried to give an introduction to the discipline of literacy–and I talked a little about why I’d made certain curricular decisions. I don’t know whether students remember much about the first day of class, but it feels right to me to contextualize the class right away.
Try something new (yeah, I know, that’s my mantra right now). In my 175T: Teacher Lecture Series today, we worked on planning the syllabus together. I asked them what kinds of things they wanted to address in class, and it was really helpful to get their ideas. I’ve already emailed a bunch of teachers to see if they’ll be guest speakers in my class. Are any of you teacher-readers willing to drop by, as well?
Respect the knowledge that my students bring to the class. Also in 175T, one of my students is currently teaching at a local community college. He knows someone who would be a great speaker on one of the topics my students would like to address–I was more than happy to ask him to try to arrange with that person to visit my class.
End the class abruptly. Now, this isn’t something I try to do, it’s just something that seems to happen. I map out a lot of what I want to talk about, but I always fail to map out an ending. Ah, well. I guess it’s good for students to get a taste of what the semester will be like. The End. (See? That’s what my classes are like.)
I’m moving to an office down the hallway on Thursday, so I’ve been packing books and files over the last week. I’ve also been sorting through things, deciding which things aren’t worth the move. I’ve filled boxes and boxes with recycling and books/journals to donate to our department’s “orphan bookshelf.” It’s been good to purge many of the papers that have been piling up over the years, and I’m determined to do a better job of getting rid of things in the future.
As I’ve gone through piles and files, I’ve discovered some artifacts from my teaching past. Some of these artifacts have brought smiles to my face, particularly the notes that my 6th grade students wrote to me in 1990 when I was leaving public school teaching to return to graduate school. I loved these kids, went back to their middle school graduation two years later, and have frequently wondered what they’re doing 20 years later. Hard to imagine that they are mature adults who are older than I was when I left their school.
But I’ve also encountered some detritus that has reminded me about my struggles as a teacher. One of my biggest failures as a teacher was my first semester as a tenure track professor in small town Texas. I knew that my department wasn’t a good fit for me when I found the multiple choice test for a literature class someone had left behind in the copy room. I tried and tried to get my students to discuss and think for themselves, but they really just wanted someone to tell them what literature “meant,” so they could regurgitate that interpretation on a test. That wasn’t the way I taught literature, and I didn’t understand the student population well enough to help them adapt to a different kind of classroom. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the majority of the students in my Southwestern women’s literature class hated me and the class.
That class reminds me of what it’s like to fail as a teacher, and it has reminded me how important it is to listen to our students and try to teach the students we have . . . not the ones we wish we had.
But thinking about that class also reminds me of all the people who have helped me grow as a teacher over the years. So, Rick Hansen, Ruth Jenkins, and all my colleagues who have shared their successes, brainstormed with me, and otherwise taught me about good teaching, thank you.
I’ve driven to Utah twice in the last 8 months, and both times satellite radio has made my drive bearable. Usually during a 12 hour timespan, I don’t hear the same song more than 3-4 times which is generally fine . . . but for the songs I am obsessed with, that isn’t enough.
During my most recent trip, these two songs were the ones that I wished I could rewind to play repeatedly.
The other thing that makes these long drives bearable is the scenery. I didn’t take as many photographs as I should have because I did 13 hour legs. I loved driving across the Dine (Navajo) reservation and seeing scenery like this:
I also really loved the views of the Truckee River from the Reno/Lake Tahoe area.
When good teachers get together . . . collaboration happens. There doesn’t need to be “a teacher” or an assignment. In the Invitational Summer Institute this past month, teachers decided to collaborate across grade levels, asking their students to write for and work with each other. For example, Jeromy’s first graders and Erin’s English tenth grade English language learners are going to be sharing their work with each other. And Elva has some great ideas about asking her students to translate their understanding of principles of biology into picture books for elementary school kids.
When good teachers get together . . . they want to practice what they’ve learned. Our ISI participants wanted to try out digital storytelling, so they are working on videos we can use to promote our site.
When good teachers get together . . . they reflect on their teaching. Our ISI Fellows weren’t intimidated when we asked them to do teacher research. They are going to try integrating a new strategy in their teaching, exploring the effects on student learning and reporting back to us on our first post-Institute day.
When good teachers get together . . . knowledge is not only shared, it is constructed. Our ISI participants shared their teaching experience–and they created new understandings of teaching. Together, we figured out new applications of technology in educational settings. I’m committed to creating an ENGL 131 that will allow me to employ (and practice) the new knowledge I’ve gained from working with this group of teachers.
I have really enjoyed working with the SJVWP ISI 2010 Fellows. They are an amazing group of teachers and really wonderful human beings. I’m excited to see how their pedagogy will shift over the coming year. I’m convinced that they will do all kinds of great things in their teaching careers.
I’ve been thinking today about your upcoming move to Fresno. I love that you are so excited about this–and I hope that Fresno lives up to your expectations. As someone who has lived here for 11 years and now counts Fresno as home, I thought I’d give you some tips on adapting to Fresno. I hope that all my fellow Fresnans will feel free to chime in and add their suggestions in the comments section of this blog entry.
1. Live in the Tower, the Fresno High area, or Fig Garden. Sorry to all of you who live and love other parts of Fresno, but I ADORE these neighborhoods with their older homes and mature trees. Living in the Tower means you can walk to nearby restaurants and just about the coolest scene Fresno has. In the Fresno High and Fig Garden areas, life is quieter, but you get more yard/garden area and lovely streets to walk.
2. Explore Fresno and its environs. There are great, out-of-the-way places to be found both in the city and close by. Take the train to Hanford and eat at Superior Dairy. Go to Kings Canyon/Sequoia National Parks and hike or gaze at the enormous sequoias. Go downtown and visit the public library or some of the restaurants with their limited hours. There are lots of interesting things about the Fresno area . . . (A few years ago, I wrote a list of things I loved about Fresno. Click here if you’d like more specifics. You can also read our “recent” grad, Jefferson Beavers’s blog, Fresno Stories to get a feel for the Valley.)
3. Find ways of staying informed about what’s going on in Fresno. Visit such websites as The Fresno Beehive and Dumb Drum to keep up on all things Fresno (and then go do stuff!). There are actually three things I wish I could do tonight. There’s a concert by a North Carolina folk group who cover contemporary pop and rock. Another concert at a place in the Tower called Audie’s Olympic. But I’m going to one of the Summer Arts performances: Urban Bush Women (a dance troupe from Brooklyn). I wish I could do it all. Anyway, my point is that there are some nights when there’s a lot going on in Fresno.
4. Enjoy the people here. You’re entering into a department that can be a little quirky and absolutely affirming and supportive. I love my colleagues–and count many of them as my close friends. I know you’ve already met people from other departments as well. There are a lot of us who are really happy that you decided to move to Fresno. We hope that you love it here as much as we do.
5. And my last suggestion, leave Fresno occasionally and explore the rest of California. I love going to the coast or to San Francisco every so often. These places are easy drives from Fresno; they can even be day trips. And I’ve decided that I need to go north of San Francisco and see the rest of the state over the next couple of months. I love this dysfunctional, cash-strapped state.
I’m tired of apologizing for Fresno–it’s a great place to live and I love it here. I hope you will, too.
P.S. I blogged about a weekend in Fresno last fall, and people added comments on why they love Fresno. Click here for that blog entry.
I bought my Kindle because I was going to live in Norway for a year. I knew I’d be reading a lot as I traveled all year via plane, train, bus, ferry, and subway. I didn’t see the point of lugging heavy books all over the world, so I thought a Kindle would be a good purchase. It went everywhere with me. I always had something to read, and it was relatively light to travel with.
In the last year that I’ve been back in California, I haven’t really used my Kindle. I haven’t traveled nearly as much, and when I have, I’ve toted more academic books with me so that I could work. I’ve also bought a couple of hardback books (which I now regret).
BUT . . . over the last few weeks, I’ve been sorting through all my things, and I’ve realized that I have way too much stuff . . . including books that I read once and never look at again. I’m starting a pile of things to get rid of, to make room in my house to organize and to get rid of clutter. As I’ve sorted through my books, I’ve realized that I needed to break out my Kindle again. I love crime fiction, but, except for Tana French’s In the Woods, which I taught fall semester, I don’t see ever repeat reading specific novels. Even Michael Ondaatje’s Divasdero, a book that I adored, is not a book I need possess in tangible form. My pleasure at reading that book is about the content, the story, not the feel of the book.
I’ve started using my Kindle again. I don’t think reading devices are the death of books (unless by “books” you mean the physical artifact, not the content–and even that is debatable). In fact, my Kindle allows me to read and own more “books.” I can revisit them should I ever care to, and there are certainly still some types of books that I prefer to own in hardback (poetry, anything by Alice Munro, books that I might teach some day).
So . . . save a tree, make more room in your home, be an avid reader. Buy a Kindle.
Today, one of the participants in the San Joaquin Valley Writing Project’s Summer Institute picked out an amazing quote to discuss from the NWP’s publication, Because Writing Matters. When I read the book, my eyes must have glossed over this passage, so I’m very glad that Lesli pointed it out:
“If students are to make knowledge their own, they must struggle with details, wrestle with facts, and rework raw information and dimly understood concepts into language they can communicate to someone else. In short, if students are to learn, they must write.”
I love how this quote focuses on how messy learning can be and why writing is such a crucial part of learning. I suppose conversation could take the place of writing here, and that certainly is another important component of learning. But as I think about all the times in my life that I’ve written about a topic . . . even in email when I’m trying to communicate something important . . . I see how writing helped me, eventually, find clarity and a deeper understanding.
A couple of weekends ago, my neighbor Lori and I decided to go to the coast for the day. We chose Big Sur as our destination. We drove (a lot), hiked to see McWay Falls in the Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, sat on a bench and philosophized about life as we looked at the striking scenery, and took a lot of photographs of the gorgeous, gorgeous ocean.
I’ve been on quite the hiatus. I blogged about teaching a couple of times, then grading and all kinds of meetings hit and I disappeared. The last two months have been good. Classes are done, we’ve had two of the pre-Institute days for the Writing Project and are gearing up to start the Summer Institute in a week (love this group, by the way). I traveled to New York for a couple of days, and I’ve been reading a lot.
Today, I decided to de-clutter. I just have so much stuff in my house and I’m always complaining that I don’t have enough storage space, so I started sorting through things. I’m getting rid of books, old journals (everything’s on the internet now, isn’t it?), clothes, an electric blanket, table cloths I never use, and start up disks from a computer I haven’t owned in years. I love the feeling of getting rid of stuff I don’t need–I feel like it’s a way of making room for new things in my life (not just “things” as in “stuff,” but “things” as in “experiences”).
As I was sorting through my possessions, I listened to music and became rather obsessed with Flaming Lips. So . . . in honor of summer, here’s a song that is atmospheric, moody, and a little depressing. Enjoy.
And as long as I’m in Flaming Lips mode. Here’s another song I love, Ego-Tripping at the Gates of Hell:
Tomorrow, I’ll be talking about technology and teaching in both my classes, so I decided to try out some new sites last night. One of the most interesting sites is Wordle, which allows one to enter text into a box, then generate a word cloud. After a couple of tries, I learned to limit the number of words (150 is the default, I found that 40-50 created a more accessible cloud). I also learned to use the “mostly horizontal” setting, which I liked better than the other settings. Here are three examples of the word clouds I made:
This word cloud is made from the prompt I use for the unit plan assignment in my Methods class. I think it demonstrates how Wordle could be used to help students understand what’s important about the assignment. Notice that, besides the word unit, the largest words are “teaching,” “writing,” and “students.” The word “include” is quite large, too, a lesson to me that I need to find other verbs to use.
I also made a word cloud from my course description in my literacy studies class:
I was relieved to see words like “language,” “communities,” “practices,” and different forms of the word “literacy.” The important verb in this cloud seems to be “understand,” an unconscious reminder that this was new content for me and that this semester I’ve been learning with my students. If I teach this class again, I’ll do a new course description, then see what Wordle creates.
I can imagine using Wordle to help students process their own writing–and then to analyze what the results mean. Do certain words show up because they are important to the argument/topic? Or do they show up because the writer needs to expand their vocabulary?
I can also see using Wordle to replicate a passage from a literary text. Last week, I observed a student teacher who was just finishing The Great Gatsby. I love the last few paragraphs of the novel . . . which create this word cloud:
What stands out to me here are the words “green,” “wonder,” “back,” and “hardly.” That last passage emphasizes both the wonder of the New World and its loss–and these words remind me of the sense of impossibility at the end of TGG, the difficulty of going “back” to recover what once was.
I’ll be trying to use Wordle occasionally in my teaching. I see it as a tool that can help students focus on and analyze text.
