~ Dorothy Day
It is really, truly amazing how many things can get in the way of the things that matter if we let them, or if we're not paying attention, or if we're not ADAMANT that the things that matter will take priority over ANYTHING else. This week I have been in countless meetings, been to my own children's school for an appointment, attended an all-day job fair trying to recruit teachers for next year... and it is only Wednesday morning.
Oh, and it was Fat Tuesday yesterday. I mean, the excuses just keep rolling!
HOWEVER... I will be resuming my Learning Walk beginning 3rd period today (9:45).
Science.
At least until I get called out.
For something not NEARLY as important as observing Teaching.
And Learning.
9:50am - Third Period
I take my seat in the back of the room. At the front, on a lab table, sits a large contraption that they will soon do a demonstration on. Of course students are curious about it. It sits directly on the front lab table. Two kids sit at the same table with it.
In the room are some of the same junior level students that sat in the English class during 2nd period. Some are different. As I look around the room at the kids who comprise this entry level Science course, I see the guitar player who performed at Battle of the Bands this past Friday night. He will also be in the upcoming Spring Musical - "Once Upon This Island." I see a football player who struggles to get to school on time on a daily basis. I see a varsity basketball player who rode the bench most of the year because she wasn't quite the calibre of the rest of her team. I see a student who is not involved in anything at all. He transferred here at semester and is still trying to figure out the culture here at our small community high school of only 700 students.
The student I have been shadowing suddenly blurts out that the boy next to her is making fun of her drawing of the equation she has been recording from the notes on the board.
There is laughter and joking, even from the instructor.
It's all in good fun.
At the same time, it reminds me of elementary school, where kids suddenly blurt out of nowhere that someone is looking at them, someone called them a name, someone's tummy hurts. You get the idea.
It reminds me that they are still kids. Just in bigger bodies.
There are 16 kids in the room. As opposed to the English classroom 2nd period (close to 25 kids), one would think that there is more of an opportunity to ensure that every single kid in the room receives attention, that every single kid is known well, that every single kid in this room understands the content well. And it's not that the master teacher in English can't give every single one of her kids attention, can't know every single one of her kids well; indeed, she does. Rather, it's more about whether or not the teacher has the motivation to do so. Which he does. More on this later.
I asked the other day whether or not students in higher level courses can remain at least as engaged as when they are in courses that contain content that is a little more exciting (recall that they were learning about proper formatting for an MLA-style major paper). This is a prime example. Every single student is engaged and attentive. Every single student is paying attention to the demonstration up front. Most of the kids in the back are craning their necks so that they are able to see.
The kids in the back.
Let's talk about them for a moment.
In the back are five boys who may be the exception. They are spread out and, for the most part, sit at different tables. At least three of the five have headphones in their ears, the other end of which is connected to their phones. Listening to music, perhaps. Perhaps not.
My attention is drawn, momentarily, to two other students who have moved toward each other and have opened a survey they've apparently created. For another class.
The five boys in the back have all put their Science materials away and are now fully engaged in whatever is on their phones. There are still 10 minutes left in class at this point. The teacher has made his way to the back of the room and is asking them if they are working on Science, engages in some conversation with them, discusses the video they were watching on their phone (related to the class). The new boy sits by himself with both headphones plugged into his ears, the table top in front of him blank. Clearly wanting to be left alone. He gets his wish.
My student sits in the very front of the room. She continues to utilize every available minute. She has brought out little containers of snacks that she munches while her pen flies across the paper, figuring solutions and conversing with the teacher. She makes notations as he guides and corrects her. I check her grade. She still sits at a 76.6%. I notice that another grade has also dropped since last week. Her Honors Spanish III is now sitting at a 78%. Another C. But her work ethic is strong. I don't worry too much about her.
The period is about to end and I turn my attention to the back of the room. There is no one there. The boys have snuck past me and are waiting at the door for the bell to ring. I want to follow my student to her next class - a higher level Math class - but I'm also thinking about my five boys. One in particular. I decide to pull up his grades before we leave. He's failing the Science course with an incredible 39%. He's also in a higher level Math. With an 11%.
11%.
What's the difference between him and my other student?
My other questions still remain.
But I have more.
As I prepare to leave the room, I look at my own schedule, see when I can get back to the shadow project, dig in a little deeper.
I see that tomorrow is out -
I'm out-of-district all day, leading a group on a site visit of another school.
Friday I have meetings from 7:00am until 1:00pm.
Plus it's an Early Release.
Students are done at 12:40pm.
Another day where other things take precedence over the real work.
I made it to exactly one class today.
If you throw in the one class I observed last Friday,
that's a grand total of two class visits over four school days.
Two.
Not all that great.
It is really, truly amazing how many things can get in the way of the things that matter if we let them, or if we're not paying attention, or if we're not ADAMANT that the things that matter will take priority over ANYTHING else. This week I have been in countless meetings, been to my own children's school for an appointment, attended an all-day job fair trying to recruit teachers for next year... and it is only Wednesday morning.
Oh, and it was Fat Tuesday yesterday. I mean, the excuses just keep rolling!
HOWEVER... I will be resuming my Learning Walk beginning 3rd period today (9:45).
Science.
At least until I get called out.
For something not NEARLY as important as observing Teaching.
And Learning.
9:50am - Third Period
I take my seat in the back of the room. At the front, on a lab table, sits a large contraption that they will soon do a demonstration on. Of course students are curious about it. It sits directly on the front lab table. Two kids sit at the same table with it.
In the room are some of the same junior level students that sat in the English class during 2nd period. Some are different. As I look around the room at the kids who comprise this entry level Science course, I see the guitar player who performed at Battle of the Bands this past Friday night. He will also be in the upcoming Spring Musical - "Once Upon This Island." I see a football player who struggles to get to school on time on a daily basis. I see a varsity basketball player who rode the bench most of the year because she wasn't quite the calibre of the rest of her team. I see a student who is not involved in anything at all. He transferred here at semester and is still trying to figure out the culture here at our small community high school of only 700 students.
The student I have been shadowing suddenly blurts out that the boy next to her is making fun of her drawing of the equation she has been recording from the notes on the board.
There is laughter and joking, even from the instructor.
It's all in good fun.
At the same time, it reminds me of elementary school, where kids suddenly blurt out of nowhere that someone is looking at them, someone called them a name, someone's tummy hurts. You get the idea.
It reminds me that they are still kids. Just in bigger bodies.
There are 16 kids in the room. As opposed to the English classroom 2nd period (close to 25 kids), one would think that there is more of an opportunity to ensure that every single kid in the room receives attention, that every single kid is known well, that every single kid in this room understands the content well. And it's not that the master teacher in English can't give every single one of her kids attention, can't know every single one of her kids well; indeed, she does. Rather, it's more about whether or not the teacher has the motivation to do so. Which he does. More on this later.
I asked the other day whether or not students in higher level courses can remain at least as engaged as when they are in courses that contain content that is a little more exciting (recall that they were learning about proper formatting for an MLA-style major paper). This is a prime example. Every single student is engaged and attentive. Every single student is paying attention to the demonstration up front. Most of the kids in the back are craning their necks so that they are able to see.
The kids in the back.
Let's talk about them for a moment.
In the back are five boys who may be the exception. They are spread out and, for the most part, sit at different tables. At least three of the five have headphones in their ears, the other end of which is connected to their phones. Listening to music, perhaps. Perhaps not.
My attention is drawn, momentarily, to two other students who have moved toward each other and have opened a survey they've apparently created. For another class.
The five boys in the back have all put their Science materials away and are now fully engaged in whatever is on their phones. There are still 10 minutes left in class at this point. The teacher has made his way to the back of the room and is asking them if they are working on Science, engages in some conversation with them, discusses the video they were watching on their phone (related to the class). The new boy sits by himself with both headphones plugged into his ears, the table top in front of him blank. Clearly wanting to be left alone. He gets his wish.
My student sits in the very front of the room. She continues to utilize every available minute. She has brought out little containers of snacks that she munches while her pen flies across the paper, figuring solutions and conversing with the teacher. She makes notations as he guides and corrects her. I check her grade. She still sits at a 76.6%. I notice that another grade has also dropped since last week. Her Honors Spanish III is now sitting at a 78%. Another C. But her work ethic is strong. I don't worry too much about her.
The period is about to end and I turn my attention to the back of the room. There is no one there. The boys have snuck past me and are waiting at the door for the bell to ring. I want to follow my student to her next class - a higher level Math class - but I'm also thinking about my five boys. One in particular. I decide to pull up his grades before we leave. He's failing the Science course with an incredible 39%. He's also in a higher level Math. With an 11%.
11%.
What's the difference between him and my other student?
My other questions still remain.
But I have more.
As I prepare to leave the room, I look at my own schedule, see when I can get back to the shadow project, dig in a little deeper.
I see that tomorrow is out -
I'm out-of-district all day, leading a group on a site visit of another school.
Friday I have meetings from 7:00am until 1:00pm.
Plus it's an Early Release.
Students are done at 12:40pm.
Another day where other things take precedence over the real work.
I made it to exactly one class today.
If you throw in the one class I observed last Friday,
that's a grand total of two class visits over four school days.
Two.
Not all that great.
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