March

It's been six weeks since I returned to school. Okay, one week of that was February vacation, but the transition was a little bumpier than I expected. 5 am sure comes early when it isn't exactly on your own terms. Pembroke Academy welcomed me heartily. The student senate planned and directed an excellent winter carnival celebration. And I really like my students this semester.

I think the love I'm feeling for these hormonal youngsters isn't just because I'm so fried even a week off doesn't help. I think it's because I've changed what I'm doing in the classroom. I returned to room 1026 armed with advice from Penny Kittle, Kelly Gallagher, and the former librarian whose workshop on the latest YA (young adult) books I attended in November. This is what I'm doing instead of just assigning books to read, I've given my students the opportunity to choose what they read. My hair's been on fire but it's a blast.

This experiment has taken me back to my roots. I was hired for my first teaching job as a substitute/team teacher with the school's reading specialist. While she wanted to drill the kids in phonics and word root stems, I shared books with them. It was the stuff I was learning at UNH while working on my Master's degree. The kids were reading. That's what they needed to do to become better at it. It's still what they need to do.

Yes, the classics and cultural literacy and following the curriculum are important. And I'll get to them later in the semester. Right now I need to meet them on their own terms.  Right now they have to learn to make choices. Right now I need them to read.

Sadly, I haven't read much YA (young adult) literature in a few years. I'm a little behind, but catching up. And I've had a lot of help. Let me give a shout out to my school librarian Cristy Smith. She's been a great help-doing book talks, making topic lists, and finding things through inter library loan (Inter library loan! Who'd have thought! It's a marvel.).

I've read Exit, Pursued by A Bear,  two of Jason Reynolds novels, and reread a couple of books by Patricia McCormick.

Today, International Women's Day, a day when many marched together in solidarity and love, I need to share with you a great trilogy that Cristy found for me.  It's March, by John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, and Nate Powell. It's Representative John Lewis' memoir. And it's an awesome graphic novel.

Before you pooh-pooh it with the "I don't read comic books" nonsense, check it out the next time you are in a library or bookstore. It has those classic comic book illustrations. They will take your breath away.

Lewis grew up in Alabama. He came to understand the path of nonviolence through a comic book written about Martin Luther King Jr. He joined the movement. He's now part of history. The text and art work show the historical moments in a personal, human way. Somehow, it seems more real than it would be if you read just prose. That means it isn't always easy reading but it is compelling and accessible. I hope my students, and you, enjoy it as much.

Here is John Lewis in on Bloody Sunday in 1965 and at Comic Con in 2016.

                                    

Here's a review.

Mind Blown

My sabbatical ended on Wednesday. Although I have yet to fully reflect on my time away from work, I can say with certainty it was worth it. My advice to those who may have a similar opportunity? Take advantage of it! When was the last time you had a chance to explore the things that you are passionate about? When was the last time you pushed yourself, really, to focus on your art, your craft, your body, or your mind? You remember what the ad said, Just Do It!

The start of every semester brings a mixture of angst, anxiety, excitement, and quite honestly, fear. I think I spend more time agonizing over my prospectus for each class than I do the first week's lessons. Yesterday morning was no different. I couldn't remember what time to leave the house, I had to borrow a key to get into the teacher's room. I kept losing my class rosters. Luckily, I work at a great school. It was wonderful to hear so many people welcome me back. Best of all, were the kids. Many stopped by my room to say hello. Some had wide smiles when they recognized me in the hall. There's almost nothing better than having a teenager recognize you for you.  

But then today the truly remarkable happened.

Before we get there, let me tell you how I'm approaching this semester.  I want my students to read and write more. We need our students to read and write more. The focus this semester must be about what is best for them as learners. My plan for the first four weeks, for all my classes, is to have them read independent books each night for homework (this idea I stole from Penny Kittle and is one that we must spread further). We'll read common texts and write when we are in class. The reading we do in class needs to be short because of our time constraints. The short text default for me is poetry. You're groaning; I know. Stick with me just a moment longer.

I receive daily emails from poets.org. Poetry Out Loud, Poetry 180, and the Poetry Foundation are organizations I rely on as both a teacher and a writer. When I went looking for poems to start the semester, I found many lists. Lists of poems about America. Lists of poems in preparation for black history month. And lists of poems about protest and resistance. I took comfort in the open arms the community had for my return.Yet I wanted to read and discuss a poem on day one? No wonder I have a reputation for being a hard ass. No wonder I felt fear.

Somewhere, on one of the lists, I found my way to William Stafford. His writing is lovely. His poems are simple and complex. Beautiful and haunting. Here's the first I shared with my kids:

At the Bomb Testing Site

Related Poem Content Details

BY WILLIAM E. STAFFORD

At noon in the desert a panting lizard   

waited for history, its elbows tense,   

watching the curve of a particular road   

as if something might happen. 

It was looking at something farther off   

than people could see, an important scene   

acted in stone for little selves 

at the flute end of consequences. 

There was just a continent without much on it   

under a sky that never cared less.   

Ready for a change, the elbows waited.   

The hands gripped hard on the desert.

William Stafford, “At the Bomb Testing Site” from Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems. Copyright © 1960 by William Stafford. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minnesota, www.graywolfpress.org.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42777#poem

While discussing this gem, my students said things like:

I think this has to do with the Manhattan Project.

Lizards have been around a long time.

Is the continent Antarctica?

What is the flute end?

Instead of acted in stone, things are usually etched in stone. Is this the first of something?

I think the continent is the world of atomic science.

It's the beginning of the end.

As I told my mom tonight, if I have to go to work each day this is the job I'll take. Lovely. Simple and complex. Beautiful and haunting.