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[darklymoon]

A day in the life of a middle school Montessori student

Parker is a gifted and talented 8th grader at a Montessori middle school in New Orleans. We start the day a little after 8:00 am in a somewhat dilapidated portable. It looks like it was once two classrooms and Parker tells me that the school spent money to take the walls down only to buy dividers to separate them again. If Parker is caustic in his reflections he also happens to be the student council president so his criticism is grounded in a desire to improve his school. Parker spends the first 40 minutes of his day quietly reading his WWI historical fiction novel. His classmates are engaged in various activities, some are clearly on task, others are using this time to catch up on the social goings-on of middle school life.

The two sides of the portable then gather for a community meeting. Parker tells me it’s a waste of time but if you don’t participate your grade suffers. A student half heartedly leads the meeting, calling on students to share and asking fun “challenge” questions. Parker takes the opportunity to thank Saudi Arabia for giving women the right to drive. Other students acknowledge one another for things like being organized or just being a good friend. One of the teachers informs the students of a new food policy which will revoke their eating-in-class privilege if garbage is left behind. The delivery is firm and kind. The meeting wraps up and the students have a whole group review on the different geological ages, and Wegener’s continental drift theory. They are excited to share and seem engaged. Twenty minutes into the lesson Parker tells me it’s time to go to French, even though the lesson is still going on and half the students stay behind. It’s an odd time to transition and everyone from Parker to the teachers tell me that Wednesdays are “crazy” days.

We walk across the breezeway to another set of portables for French. The classroom is a mirror image of the first with about 20 students already seated. The divider is drawn in this class but students seem to randomly walk between the two spaces. There is an administrator in the room, she sets the tone by warning students of consequences if they are off task and disruptive. The lesson starts without anyone really realizing. The teacher blends in with the students and stands at the front of the room, her back to the whiteboard as if she’s scared of the students. The administrator leaves after 10 minutes. The students sighs with relief. Then begins the slow erosion of student behavior. Students get up whenever they want, talk to one another and start throwing paper balls. It’s hard to sit and watch. I really want to intervene but remind myself that today I’m a student. Ironically, I don’t blame them in the least. The lesson is so lackluster and disorganized that trying to follow what’s going on is more work than it’s worth. There are three girls at the front of the class yelling out all the answers on behalf of everyone else. I start looking at my watch and wish that Einstein hadn’t been so right about the relativity of time. Parker is more charitable. He’s not engaged by any means but he tells me that the lesson could be fun and maybe the teacher just needs a bit more time to get the hang of middle school. Although he does admit that the goal is clearly to cram as much information as possible. The experience makes me reflect on my role in the classroom and the need for structure, even if that structure is about giving the students free choice or independent work. No matter how progressive the school, the teacher is there, in part, to help define and communicate what happens during the lesson. Simple things like what they are learning and why, how they’ll spend their time together and what to expect next are important to students. I go back to the notion of gradual release and wonder how we insure that we are giving our students the developmentally appropriate skills to function in an environment with diminishing structure. The lesson finally ends. Parker packs up his things and we cart ourselves back to the initial portable.

We catch the end of social studies. Students are working independently. By contrast this class seems well functioning. On the board are clear instructions of what the students should be working on, the tolerated noise level and seating assignment.  The teacher occasionally calls students to his desk and either works on a math problem or does a quick audit of their grade. It’s time for English Language Arts. Two teachers walk into the portable. The first sets clear expectation of what the students need to work on. The other hangs back a bit and inserts the occasional supporting comment. It is a well oiled machine. Parker and his classmates will work independently again. It’s hard to get a sense of how much time is given to teaching content and how much is given to independent work. Today seems light on content. Parker is already ahead on his work so he spends time chatting with his friend. At 12pm Parker tells me it’s time for lunch. I feel odd encroaching on his social time so I tell him I’m going off campus to grab something to eat and will meet him afterwards for his first class after lunch.

I meet Parker in time for his gifted and talented class. It’s a small group of five ultra nerdy boys. Parker has been looking forward to this class all day. The teacher, Ms. Renee, is an older woman who understands these boys very well. They are excited and talk over one another about philosophical topics like would you kill baby Hitler. Apparently it’s complicated. Today a group project is being introduced. The boys are excited because, from what I gather, they petitioned their teacher to focus on WWI. They can choose from among a wide variety of interesting topics. Parker is a different kid. He’s bubbling with enthusiasm and can’t stop talking. It would be somewhat chaotic on a larger scale but for this group of five boys it works. Towards the end of the day, as Parker begins his research I thank him and duck out for a quick visit to a French classroom.

I walked away from this experience with lots of thoughts. It made me wonder about the right balance between independent work and teacher-led time. Perhaps today was unusual but it was clearly tilted towards autonomous work time. I know it’s part of the Montessori model to allow for this type of work, I just wonder over time if the benefits pay off or perhaps more aptly if there’s a better suited student for this model. I was also thinking about that disastrous French class. Although the students were undeniably badly behaved it was clear that they didn’t really want to act like that (I know it sounds like I’m letting them off the hook). I truly think it was really a matter of testing limits - seeing how little the teacher cared.  Finally it was interesting to see the shift in Parker in his gifted and talented class. Is that model of personalized and engaging teaching possible on a larger scale?

The next day I could see that my experience has left an impression. I take care to have kind but firm conversations with my students. I’m more consistent in my expectations and make them redo any set of directions improperly followed. I was also more aware of what the day might look and feel like from their perspective. Careful to think about the right balance of different types of work - teacher-led vs. student driven, group work vs. independent. I made sure to tell them when transitions were coming, what we were doing next and why. It was a great day. One of my best this year. Coincidence? Probably not.

[darklymoon]

I’ve been done that Ms. Darko

Just when it seems this unlikely journey couldn’t get anymore unlikely I find myself exploring how clouds are made with first graders. How and when this happened, I can’t really pinpoint. It was more like a gradual erosion. Last August, D finally landed a great job in Jackson. The deal was that I would keep teaching French in Greenville and commute to D on the weekends. D kept pushing me to leave and I kept pushing back. I was planning on taking some students to Quebec, I wanted an easy year, I knew how things worked (albeit dysfunctionally) at GHS. There were lots of reasons. Needless to say D won and I don’t regret it in the least. Greenville put up a stink (longer messier story) and I was unable to work in Jackson.  I ended up spending time in D’s classroom and loved it. Well not a first. First I had to learn how to herd cats. Eventually I got hired at D’s school through his awesome non-profit and now we co-teach STEM. Go figure. So yeah, teaching something I’ve never taught before to an age group I’ve never taught to, well as my kids would say I’ve been done that. 

[darklymoon]

Even a blind hog find an acorn now and then: Blues and History

When I tell folks that I'm teaching in Mississippi, the reaction is uniform. They pity me and wonder if it was an intentional choice. This is usually followed by a "bless your heart", which in the South is as insulting as you can get without cussing. No, technically it wasn't but since being here I've slowly fallen in love. It's one of those slow burning fires mind you because MS is hard to love. But as I learn more about the Delta's rich history and its musical roots, I'm proud to say that I'm from this place. Yeah, we are the title holders of the nation's worst stats - teen pregnancy, high school drop out rates, obesity, poverty, unemployment - but Mississippi has so much more to offer.

I can't wait to explore these and many more with D, C and the other brave souls that venture to the Deep South. 

(Honorary) Mississippi Greats:

Medgar Evers (1925-1963)  civil rights activist from Mississippi involved in efforts to overturn segregation at the University of Mississippi

Emmett Till (1941-1955)  a boy who was murdered in Mississippi at the age of 14 after reportedly flirting with a white woman

Mamie Till Bradley Mobley (1921-2003) Emmett Till's brave mother who insisted that her son's casket be open so that everyone could bear witness to what he suffered

Fannie Lou Hamer (1917-1977) instrumental in organizing Mississippi Freedom Summer for the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC)

James Meredith (1933) in 1962, he was the first African-American student admitted to the segregated University of Mississippi, an event that was a flashpoint in the American civil rights movement.

Ida B. Wells (1862-1931) journalist, newspaper editor, suffragist, sociologist, and an early leader in the civil rights movement

Bob Moses (1935) known for his work as a leader of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee on voter education and registration in Mississippi during the 1960s Civil Rights Movement.

Richard Wright (1908 -1960) his literature concerns racial themes, especially those involving the plight of African Americans during the late 19th to mid-20th centuries.

William Faulkner (1897-1962) American writer and Nobel Prize laureate

Tennessee Williams (1911-1983) American playwright 

Charlie Patton (~1887/1891-1934) considered by many to be the "Father of the Delta Blues"

Muddy Waters (1913-1983), considered the "father of modern Chicago blues"

Chester Arthur Burnett aka Howlin Wolf (1910-1976), influential American blues singer, guitarist and harmonica player

Musical landmarks: 

Blues Trail

Ground Zero, Clarksdale MS: Morgan Freeman's Blues Bar

Reds Juke Joint, Clarksdale MS

Po Monkey, Merigold MS: one of the last original Mississippi Delta juke joints

The Meeting Place, Greenville MS: Juke Joint

Flowing Fountain, Greenville MS: Juke Joint

Delta Blues Festival, Greenville MS: Blues festival in September

Places: 

Mound Bayou: It is notable for having been founded as an independent black community in 1887 by former slaves

More sources: http://www.deltablues.net, http://mudcat.org/juke.cfm, http://www.webbnorriswebb.co

[darklymoon]

TFA teachers are either bugs or cockroaches. If they're bugs, they get squished in no time. If they're cockroaches, they can survive the apocalypse.

Faculty Advisor to her TFA mentee

[darklymoon]

I survived y'all

It's funny how your vision can change in such a short time.

When I arrived in Mississippi five weeks ago, I was overwhelmed by the pervading poverty: ramshackled houses, boarded up windows, ripped porch screens, junk yard cars, swampy bayous, and trucks that drove around campus spewing mosquito pesticide. I got to my summer school, and it seemed even more forsaken. Exposed wires hung limply across hallways, the front entrance was flooded from the recent torrential rains and the windows were tiny and jail like. That first day, I clung to any small semblance of beauty -- the gorgeous woman with the amber necklace, the 2nd grader who read Roald Dalh. Those were my life raft. As I went for a run that night, I had the more than fleeting thought to keep running. But I returned the next day, and the 31 days that followed.

Slowly the way I saw things changed. The poverty was still there. But other things started to creep into my field of vision. The smallest and quietest student who loved to joke, the spunky, insightful little girl, the tirelessly dedicated teachers, the boy whose test of my boundaries the first few days landed him in the principal's office only to write on his last day that I was his "fave techer ever".  It was a hard few weeks, complete with 5am wake up calls and midnight runs to the copy center. But I survived. At the least the first hurdle.

The next one will be my transition to my placement school. I'll go from teaching 7 third graders English Language arts to 20+ high school French students. I won't have the same support system that will look over my every lesson plan or give me daily feedback. I'll be more or less on my own.

In some ways, I feel that the hardest is yet to come.  

[darklymoon]

I’ll be there if the Lord’s willing and the creeks don’t rise

Exactly one week until I take off for summer training in MS. It's a bittersweet feeling, though more bitter than sweet. Not so much the leaving Cambridge but the splitting up of my little family. But as C wisely told me the other day as I was indulging in a moment of sentimentality knowing that it was our last morning bike ride to school together, "no time to be sad, mom."  So I focus on checking off boxes and leaving others blank, trusting in some external benevolent guidance and my own innate ability to roll with the punches to believe that it will all work out. I imagine myself sitting in a trust circle at some point this summer listening to my fellow corp members wax on about saving children from educational inequity. When it is my turn to share, I'll say that I'll be proud if I make it to school every single day next year. 

[darklymoon]

Holler like a stuck pig

Just re-read this entry from Feb. 1, 2013, a few months after my dad passed away, seemed foreshadowing.

"Maybe the answer is that this is it, there are no second chances, no redos, no do-overs. My one shot to do it all, so the answer is to embrace it all - the good, the ugly, the beautiful, the hurt, the love. All of it, because my life is finite and fragile and I can't afford to do anything with half commitment or enthusiasm."

I hope for the clarity of mind to always see the good and beautiful because the bad and ugly tends to smack me in the face. 

[darklymoon]

I believe a strong woman may be stronger than a man, particularly if she happens to have love in her heart. I guess a loving woman is indestructible.

John Steinbeck, East of Eden

[darklymoon]

That’s right as rain

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-23853578

From D's morning stroll on BBC. Check out minute 9 and 51 seconds... How can you refuse when the man himself is asking you?

[darklymoon]

That’s better than a sharp stick in the eye

I've spent the last two weeks studying for the Praxis test. It's the first in a series that will eventually lead to my teaching certification. Suggested study time is 60 hours but even with some fudgey math I'm a good 40 hours short. And surprise, though I'm strictly teaching English and French, there's a math component. Yeah! To most, it's ridiculously easy stuff - algebra, geometry, statistics - but to me it's proof once more that I was thoroughly passed over in my math education. Thankfully I'm married to a math genius and there's Khan Academy.  I look at D enviously as he swims freely in that big, scary math ocean while I cling desperately to the side of the life raft. He just thinks mathematically. As he patiently watches over me while I figure out a 4th grade math problem, there's a loud voice in my head screaming -- WHY ARE YOU SO BAD AT MATH! On better days, the voice quiets down just enough for me to figure out how to find x or his brother y. On bad days, it's total paralysis. I know I'm not stupid, I just look at math in my own way. As I struggle to fight my personal math demons, I think to myself, remember this feeling of helplessness next year as you help your students. They, too, will have their own way of looking at things. 

[darklymoon]

I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck

Still freaking out over how unprepared I am for all this. I oscillate between visions of myself as the next Morgan Freeman and being an utter failure. I read The Atlantic article about the frustrations of a TFA teacher who quit halfway through her tenure. It definitely gave me pause and wedged a grapefruit size seed of doubt in my head. I think more than anything though it reminded me of the immense challenge ahead. Somehow, I'm still nervously excited about this next adventure. I've spent a lot of time in the passenger seat recently. I'm ready to drive and own whatever comes with that - sink or swim drive or crash.

PS: photo below of Morgan Freeman at his Blues club Ground Zero in Clarksdale, MS.  

[darklymoon]

Right screwed

I told C last night that it's a good thing the wheels are already in motion because I have some serious fears and doubts about what I'm embarking on. It's like that moment when you hear the click of the roller coaster seat belt and you know there's nothing you can do but ride it out. That's me right now. At the bottom of the ride thinking what in God's name did I just do. Last time I felt like this I was 19 and pregnant. 

[darklymoon]

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.

- Zora Neale Hurston