(March 22, 2017. 12:10 - 1:45 PM)
The classroom is as empty as it was last week, but this time Ms. S doesn't really have a reason why. Q is the only one from our little table here. This didn't make for any lack of things to do, however.
Today's class went quickly, most likely because Q and I were laboring so intensely over polynomial long division.
We were struggling.
I pull my chair beside Q and we launch into the numbers and 'x's. As we work, two other students come up and ask for my help. I haven't talked to them much beyond some banter before class, so I'm happy that they feel comfortable enough to come up and ask me questions. It is, however, a little odd. They came up and politely interrupted Q and I (neither of us minded) although the other two college tutors sat free in the back of the classroom. I didn't give it much thought... but I do wonder if perhaps I was more successfully presenting an open and friendly demeanor than I had given myself credit for. I can be hopeful.
The two girls don't ask just one question- one flits between my side and her seat across the classroom and the other sits down across from me. I'm happy to help, happy that the students want my help.
All the while, Q and I are working (wandering?) our way through the problems. He's comfortable with me and we're laughing at our difficulties. Frustration is kept at bay, but the potential is there.
"This [expletive] is hard." Q's tone is somewhere between disinterest and wonder.
Words come out of my mouth before they've finished forming in my head. "No, it's not." I pause and realize my mistake. "I take that back; I'm sorry. It is hard. We both know it is. I know that you can do it though. Yeah, it's hard, but you're intelligent. This is just going to take a little more work."
"Yeah," Q nods slowly. We keep working.
Class is coming to an end. As he begins to pack his bag, I ask Q if I was able to help today.
"Yeah, thanks. It's hard though."
"Yeah, it is. But do you feel like you can do it now?"
He grins. "I guess. Yeah, I do."
Saturday, March 25, 2017
Friday, March 17, 2017
“Learning is not the product of teaching. Learning is the product of the activity of learners.” – John Holt
(March 15, 2017. 12:10 - 1:45 PM)
I'm a little earlier than usual, only a few minutes, yet the usually bustling room is quietly almost empty. A student points at me and says amiably enough, "I claim you today. You'll be helping me." I'm slightly startled but happily consent. The student smiles and settles into her seat at the teacher's desk.
As Ms. S comes in, I ask her about the absences. She shrugs with a slight smile.
"They probably think I'm not here. I haven't been here the past two days."
She chuckles and begins to tell me how the substitute had struggled with the kids.
"I guess halfway through class all the students just up and left. They walked right out. The sub left a little bit later."
I'm a little shocked, but not wholly surprised. I love these kiddos, but if they don't respect you, you've lost them. The substitute must have learned this lesson in a very literal way.
The room has slowly been filling up, but today it won't have all the faces I usually see. The bell rings in the rather empty classroom and Ms. S asks the students how the last two days were. There are some vague comments about the substitute and about not much getting done. Ms. S goes into "Google classroom" (a very interesting, user-friendly, and useful resource! I plan to utilize it in the night class I teach once it's available for the public.) and looks for who has submitted the work from the last two days.
One student turned the assignment in on Google classroom. Only one other even opened the document. (As she opened Google classroom to check this, I quickly saw the assignment. It was clearly laid out in a number of steps and signed, "I miss you all. Love, Ms. S")
"Why didn't you do the assignment? You know we use Google classroom when I'm not here. I even did this from another country and you were in the classroom. Why didn't you do your work?" Ms. S asks the class. I think I hear tones of hurt and frustration hidden in her voice. She goes to her desk and picks up a sticky note pad. She rapidly passes out little yellow sticky notes to each student while explaining, "Write on this sticky note why you didn't do your work Monday and Tuesday. A tweet length explanation for each, 140 characters each, 280 total."
Students groan but comply.
Ms. S writes three warm-up problems on the board as students write. She collects the explanations as she tells the student to complete the problems on the board. (I don't know what she did with those little yellow sticky notes once the class turned them in.)
The students work on the problems. I wander around and help about half of the class, including the girl from before class. My kiddos came in late and they're not sitting organized like the other weeks, so it makes more sense to simply watch for those who may need help. Ms. S is going easy on them in light of the confusion, so there's not much need for me. The girl who claimed me (I never caught her name) is working on an online math class. She bookmarked some questions and so we work through those together, walking through how the problem is solved as a format or formula and then applying the format to that particular question. She understands quickly and appreciates it. She's sharp. The girl submits her assignment and a loading circle appears, replaced a moment later by her grade- 100. We high five and I resume roaming the classroom. Daylight savings in combination with it being the first week back from break leaves the class in the unforgiving grasp of lethargy.
I'm trying to be helpful but not overwhelming, so I watch for confused or stressed expressions and make sure the students know I'm here for them. They're in groups of their own making but they're working on the math (for the most part). It's important to let them do their own thing and flex their independence because that's how they'll stay engaged. I'm here, friendly and casual, and their questions and comfortable banter with me reflect that developing trust. It's exciting.
Ms. S notices what I'm doing, just watching "my half" of the classroom while two other tutors have the rest of the kiddos, and she asks me to go to where the other tutors are and help out a student (the same student who simply walked out during stretches in my last post).
"I know he needs help but I also know he won't ask. Will you go over and try to help him?"
"Of course!" I happily reply. I meander over to him and pull up a seat. "How's it going?"
He grunts.
"Do you have any questions or anything I can help you with?"
"No."
"You want me to look over any of your work?"
"No." He turns away from me.
"Let me know if you want or need anything!" I cheerfully offer with disappointment and concern hidden in my heart. I don't get a response.
Returning to Ms. S, I recount our disappointing exchange.
"I figured he would," she replies with a subtle sigh.
I wonder- if I had spent time with that side of the classroom, would I have had more success? My gut and heart suggest I would have, but that could be my naivety talking.
As I'm pondering these thoughts, Ms. S goes to the student. I don't want to interrupt or intrude, so I never find out how much success she has with him. One of my kiddos has a question, so I return to them. They have good questions about their math and good things about their day to share with me. It's exciting when my kiddos tell me how they're doing before I even ask. My heart is happy.
I'll help who I can and try not to be disheartened by those I can't yet reach. As the clock ticks close to the end of class and most students have abandoned their math, R starts to share pieces of her life story with me.
It's an honor to be invited into her life.
I'm a little earlier than usual, only a few minutes, yet the usually bustling room is quietly almost empty. A student points at me and says amiably enough, "I claim you today. You'll be helping me." I'm slightly startled but happily consent. The student smiles and settles into her seat at the teacher's desk.
As Ms. S comes in, I ask her about the absences. She shrugs with a slight smile.
"They probably think I'm not here. I haven't been here the past two days."
She chuckles and begins to tell me how the substitute had struggled with the kids.
"I guess halfway through class all the students just up and left. They walked right out. The sub left a little bit later."
I'm a little shocked, but not wholly surprised. I love these kiddos, but if they don't respect you, you've lost them. The substitute must have learned this lesson in a very literal way.
The room has slowly been filling up, but today it won't have all the faces I usually see. The bell rings in the rather empty classroom and Ms. S asks the students how the last two days were. There are some vague comments about the substitute and about not much getting done. Ms. S goes into "Google classroom" (a very interesting, user-friendly, and useful resource! I plan to utilize it in the night class I teach once it's available for the public.) and looks for who has submitted the work from the last two days.
One student turned the assignment in on Google classroom. Only one other even opened the document. (As she opened Google classroom to check this, I quickly saw the assignment. It was clearly laid out in a number of steps and signed, "I miss you all. Love, Ms. S")
"Why didn't you do the assignment? You know we use Google classroom when I'm not here. I even did this from another country and you were in the classroom. Why didn't you do your work?" Ms. S asks the class. I think I hear tones of hurt and frustration hidden in her voice. She goes to her desk and picks up a sticky note pad. She rapidly passes out little yellow sticky notes to each student while explaining, "Write on this sticky note why you didn't do your work Monday and Tuesday. A tweet length explanation for each, 140 characters each, 280 total."
Students groan but comply.
Ms. S writes three warm-up problems on the board as students write. She collects the explanations as she tells the student to complete the problems on the board. (I don't know what she did with those little yellow sticky notes once the class turned them in.)
The students work on the problems. I wander around and help about half of the class, including the girl from before class. My kiddos came in late and they're not sitting organized like the other weeks, so it makes more sense to simply watch for those who may need help. Ms. S is going easy on them in light of the confusion, so there's not much need for me. The girl who claimed me (I never caught her name) is working on an online math class. She bookmarked some questions and so we work through those together, walking through how the problem is solved as a format or formula and then applying the format to that particular question. She understands quickly and appreciates it. She's sharp. The girl submits her assignment and a loading circle appears, replaced a moment later by her grade- 100. We high five and I resume roaming the classroom. Daylight savings in combination with it being the first week back from break leaves the class in the unforgiving grasp of lethargy.
I'm trying to be helpful but not overwhelming, so I watch for confused or stressed expressions and make sure the students know I'm here for them. They're in groups of their own making but they're working on the math (for the most part). It's important to let them do their own thing and flex their independence because that's how they'll stay engaged. I'm here, friendly and casual, and their questions and comfortable banter with me reflect that developing trust. It's exciting.
Ms. S notices what I'm doing, just watching "my half" of the classroom while two other tutors have the rest of the kiddos, and she asks me to go to where the other tutors are and help out a student (the same student who simply walked out during stretches in my last post).
"I know he needs help but I also know he won't ask. Will you go over and try to help him?"
"Of course!" I happily reply. I meander over to him and pull up a seat. "How's it going?"
He grunts.
"Do you have any questions or anything I can help you with?"
"No."
"You want me to look over any of your work?"
"No." He turns away from me.
"Let me know if you want or need anything!" I cheerfully offer with disappointment and concern hidden in my heart. I don't get a response.
Returning to Ms. S, I recount our disappointing exchange.
"I figured he would," she replies with a subtle sigh.
I wonder- if I had spent time with that side of the classroom, would I have had more success? My gut and heart suggest I would have, but that could be my naivety talking.
As I'm pondering these thoughts, Ms. S goes to the student. I don't want to interrupt or intrude, so I never find out how much success she has with him. One of my kiddos has a question, so I return to them. They have good questions about their math and good things about their day to share with me. It's exciting when my kiddos tell me how they're doing before I even ask. My heart is happy.
I'll help who I can and try not to be disheartened by those I can't yet reach. As the clock ticks close to the end of class and most students have abandoned their math, R starts to share pieces of her life story with me.
It's an honor to be invited into her life.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
"I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now." - Edna Mode, The Incredibles
(March 1, 2017. 12:20 - 1:45 PM)
Spring break is next week and you can feel the almost-vacation jitters in the room. Attention is going to be hard won today.
This week, R starts out sitting at our happily chaotic little table. I take that as a good thing, a kind of progress and friendship. I also silently hope R's good attitude and work ethic may rub off a little (is that a thing? I know so many teachers try it, but does it work?). No such luck though. Q is utterly disinterested, to the point where I am him if there's anything he wants or needs to talk about. "No," is his quick and sullen answer.
"Okay, well you know I'm here, Q." He grunts in response. Perhaps it is just those spring break jitters- no one wants to be in this room when the weather is beautiful and vacation closely beckons. I'll be watching him a little more closely when we get back.
Ms. S tries to start the class, but it's more like herding cats than trying to capture the attention of high school students (or perhaps they're really quite similar). An interrupting phone call does nothing to help her cause. Trying to save the remaining hour, she reigns the class in with exercises and stretches.
"Everybody stand up! Stand up right now and stretch."
Many groans permeate the air, but everyone begrudgingly rises. Well, everyone but one. Ms. S addresses him.
"[Student], stand up and stretch or leave."
He leaves.
Nothing else is said. The stretching goes on another moment and everyone sits. Ms. S begins. Today is Paschal's triangle (a polynomial thing). The material proves simple enough but woefully tedious. If I was going to have any luck with Q, Paschal had ruined it.
Everyone starts working. I watch them work and wait for questions. R has the most- she's eager to learn but not as quick with math as T. T herself is a little off, as well. Spring break is hurting us here. As I'm answering R's question, T just gets up and leaves. She understands the material and considering where we are in the semester, I decide it's better to leave her be. R and I work through the problem together and I make notes as to what's tripping her up. J and Q have been quietly (by comparison to other weeks) working. I check on them. Q's got a pretty good grasp. I point out what's tripping him up and let him know he's doing well as I move to J. J's also going along pretty well, slowly but steadily pushing along. I make a note- he forgets the negative signs- and let him know he's golden. I make my way back around the table. Q's made some errors he's quickly able to understand. He's got it, and we both know it, but because he understands it, he's unwilling to suffer the tedium and finish the worksheet. R's asking for help again so I return to her. She's mixing up her multiplication and addition, but we sort that out. She's almost got it and because she's willing to work at it, she will have it soon. We continue to work together as I slowly make her trust herself more as she gets better. R's gotten the vast majority of my time today, but she was the only one who really wanted the help. It's about helping who you can. I'm not neglecting my other three kiddos, but I realize that much more and I would be pushing them too much. It's seeking the balance so I can do the most (but not too much).
Spring break is next week and you can feel the almost-vacation jitters in the room. Attention is going to be hard won today.
This week, R starts out sitting at our happily chaotic little table. I take that as a good thing, a kind of progress and friendship. I also silently hope R's good attitude and work ethic may rub off a little (is that a thing? I know so many teachers try it, but does it work?). No such luck though. Q is utterly disinterested, to the point where I am him if there's anything he wants or needs to talk about. "No," is his quick and sullen answer.
"Okay, well you know I'm here, Q." He grunts in response. Perhaps it is just those spring break jitters- no one wants to be in this room when the weather is beautiful and vacation closely beckons. I'll be watching him a little more closely when we get back.
Ms. S tries to start the class, but it's more like herding cats than trying to capture the attention of high school students (or perhaps they're really quite similar). An interrupting phone call does nothing to help her cause. Trying to save the remaining hour, she reigns the class in with exercises and stretches.
"Everybody stand up! Stand up right now and stretch."
Many groans permeate the air, but everyone begrudgingly rises. Well, everyone but one. Ms. S addresses him.
"[Student], stand up and stretch or leave."
He leaves.
Nothing else is said. The stretching goes on another moment and everyone sits. Ms. S begins. Today is Paschal's triangle (a polynomial thing). The material proves simple enough but woefully tedious. If I was going to have any luck with Q, Paschal had ruined it.
Everyone starts working. I watch them work and wait for questions. R has the most- she's eager to learn but not as quick with math as T. T herself is a little off, as well. Spring break is hurting us here. As I'm answering R's question, T just gets up and leaves. She understands the material and considering where we are in the semester, I decide it's better to leave her be. R and I work through the problem together and I make notes as to what's tripping her up. J and Q have been quietly (by comparison to other weeks) working. I check on them. Q's got a pretty good grasp. I point out what's tripping him up and let him know he's doing well as I move to J. J's also going along pretty well, slowly but steadily pushing along. I make a note- he forgets the negative signs- and let him know he's golden. I make my way back around the table. Q's made some errors he's quickly able to understand. He's got it, and we both know it, but because he understands it, he's unwilling to suffer the tedium and finish the worksheet. R's asking for help again so I return to her. She's mixing up her multiplication and addition, but we sort that out. She's almost got it and because she's willing to work at it, she will have it soon. We continue to work together as I slowly make her trust herself more as she gets better. R's gotten the vast majority of my time today, but she was the only one who really wanted the help. It's about helping who you can. I'm not neglecting my other three kiddos, but I realize that much more and I would be pushing them too much. It's seeking the balance so I can do the most (but not too much).
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