Accept No Substitutes

After an odd week where I was out of the classroom on more days than I was in it (due to an ill child and two days of curriculum meetings) I have had more experiences with substitute teachers in the span of five days than I would typically have in an entire marking period.  My three subs ran the gamut from "amazing at dealing with snafus" to "incapable of clicking through a PowerPoint presentation."  My students, on the other hand, were consistent.  No names were left on the rabble-rouser list, and at no point did the students try to undermine the intended goals of the class hour.  This put me in the awkward position of lauding my students for what should be the norm.  If the adult in the room isn't me, high-schoolers are still old enough to stick to a plan and follow directions.  Whether it is attributable to the classroom environment I establish or not, I haven't had an instance in my seven years where all hell broke loose while I was gone. 

So, when I did return yesterday, I thanked the students, told them that I appreciate the way they behaved, and told them that the results were exactly what I had expected.  But it still feels like this all boils down to me praising something that shouldn't be praiseworthy, akin to a member of my carpool telling me that he appreciates my use of the turn signal and the fact that I didn't hit any other cars while driving us to work.  That would get really old (and rather creepy) really fast.

I then think about my son, and how so much of what I say to him is praise for doing basic things.  "Good using words," "Good listening," "Good petting the puppy gently," "Good eating."  At his age, he needs a tremendous amount of direction and guidance.  I see him as this blank slate, on which everything I say or do makes a mark.  So, I make a concerted effort to praise him when what he is doing is what I want or expect him to do.  I wonder when that will stop-- when I won't feel like I must congratulate him on the awesome job he does with climbing up stairs or brushing his teeth.  I also wonder if what I am doing now will help him be the sort of kid who, regardless of whether the adult in a room is the regular classroom teacher, a flaky substitute, or a robot (it's ten years until he's in high school-- it could happen), will do not just what the teacher expects of him, but what I expect of him.  That's the type of student I was in high school, but what if the marks I make on his blank slate don't produce the same results?  I guess I'll wait until my son's name appears on the rabble-rouser list before I worry too much about that-- in the meantime, I'll stick to complimenting him on how well he cleans up his toys.

Reach for the Stars

After reading this article, which gives new meaning to "oops," I can think of quite a few school districts that would have appreciated a share of the millions of dollars that were spent on this-- to borrow a word from a beer commercial-- travishamockery.  I have to laugh at the word "likely" being used in the headline, because when I am not sure where my keys are, I'm not satisfied with knowing their "likely" location, let alone a quarter of a billion dollar spacecraft.  I'm sure the men and women at the National Aeronautics and Space Administration are quite upset, and so am I.  It's not that I think NASA and its projects are completely useless, it's just that I can think of so many other earthy endeavors, education only one of them, that would be better recipients of taxpayer funds.  And while public perception of what is spent by NASA and the actual percentage of the Federal Budget that they receive are worlds apart, it doesn't change the fact that I think the funds are misappropriated.

Were a student to tell me that he or she wanted to become an astronaut, I would find it difficult to choose between simply encouraging the dream or supporting the interest in science while nudging him or her toward a vocation that could pay dividends for the occupants of this planet.  As it is, I haven't had a student tell me that, most likely because the phrase, "I want to be an astronaut when I grow up" is much more commonly heard in an elementary school setting.  And at that point, the dream is very unlikely to come true, as evidenced by the fact that every third male walking down the street isn't wearing firefighting gear, a police badge, or a space suit.  Do I want my son to become any of these three things?  Not particularly, but I won't discourage him from expressing early and often what his career interests are.  At age two and a half, we aren't there yet, but if his imaginative play is any indication of what he will some day become, the best bet right now would be Santa Claus.

I do know that there are any number of unrealistic and probably not-too-beneficial-to-the-world (one Justin Beiber is enough, dammit) dream careers that my son may one day aspire to.  I'll deal with that when I get there.  My actual fear is that he will set his sights on a more grounded career path that I don't like, for whatever reason.  In 1997, I decided I wanted to teach high school, even though I was still just a tenth grader.  I knew what I wanted to be, and I got nothing but encouragement from my teachers and family.  Before my 21st birthday, I was teaching high school.  I set a goal and received support on my way to it-- any critics among those I cared about were silent.  I can't know for sure that I'd be where I am today if someone had voiced disagreement or doubt, so I am grateful that no one did. 

A fear much larger than the prospect of a misplaced set of keys, or even a phone-booth-sized 278 million dollar satellite, looms on the horizon.  What if the biggest obstacle between my child and his future career ends up being me?

If You Choose Not to Decide...

That's right, Rush, you still have made a choice.  'Tis the season in high schools for course selection.  Freshmen, sophomores, and juniors are determining what the next steps in their high school careers will be.  As a teacher of English, I try to help students pick literature and composition classes that will help them get where they want to be at the end of high school, challenge them, and interest them all at the same time. With literature classes, I stress that students should choose a class they would be highly interested in.  If a student doesn't love Shakespeare, taking our school's Shakespeare class because it might look impressive on a transcript is, in my opinion, a bad decision.  When given a choice in the matter, life is too short to spend time, even just a semester, studying something because some university might approve. 

For some kids, they already know what they want, and all they really need me for is a signature telling the counselors that I okayed their choice.  I have seen over the years that these kids do not fit the stereotypical "nerd" profile, and in fact, they don't fit any stereotype at all.  They employ a variety of means of expression, manners of dress, and are not defined by any one social label, but what they have in common is knowledge of self.  They know what they like, as opposed to merely knowing what they don't like.  But in truth, most students don't have a strong opinion on the matter of which literature class to take.  Their opportunity to have an opinion is impeded by their lack of knowledge of self when it comes to reading for enjoyment.  For once, I don't think this can be blamed on apathy, because students who aren't sure of what to choose when they look at the list of literature class options seem genuinely confused about what to do and earnestly seek my advice on which class I recommend for them.  I think a lot of their ignorance of their own literary interests can be connected to how infrequently they read anything that they actually want to read, aside from text messages from friends and status updates on Facebook, of course.  Since the studies mentioned in this article from Education World predate the ubiquity of smartphones in the hands of teenagers, I would imagine that Sustained Silent Reading programs are even more beneficial today.  Many students now inhabit a world where the internet is literally available to them at all times, yet they choose to do other things with it than immerse themselves in the world of eBooks and online magazines that can be accessed through it anytime, anywhere. 

And then I think of my son, who right now has a deep, burning interest in books-- particularly those featuring things on wheels, things that float, animals and their living quarters, and bunnies that are sleeping and/or are about to go to sleep.  What will he be reading in ten years?  And how?  Will he be the first generation to carry all of his textbooks on a tablet or e-Reader?  Will a chip implanted in his wrist project a 3-D image of words into the space in front of his eyes with a verbal command?  Okay, that one is probably a "no," but while I don't have the answers to the other questions, I know that I will do all I can to infuse in him a knowledge of self when it comes to literature-- to know what the likes and what he doesn't when it comes to reading, so that if and when he has the opportunity to decide which type he will be immersed in for a semester of high school, he won't need his teacher, or me, at all.