The Deep End

I'm in over my head and loving it.

We just finished our second week (first full week with students) of school, and until yesterday, I was afraid it would come to an end without something for me to reflect on. Providence, however, has determined otherwise.

My Multicultural Lit class is into its unit on African American literature. After much consideration on where to start with the reading material, I consulted my inner Julie Andrews and decided on "the beginning" which--in my eyes--is the slave narrative. As a reader and learner, I understand things best in linear form. Naturally, I figured my teaching and planning ought to fall into the same alignment...

...and it bombed.

We started with sections of Olaudah Equiano's slave narrative and then moved quickly to part of Frederick Douglass's "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?" I frontloaded the readings with historical context and biographical information on the authors, and I made hard copies of the texts, encouraging the class of seven to highlight, annotate, question, and be prepared to discuss "anything striking to you guys." I was ready to dive into the deep end, but I realize that the students were not. I was pulling them in with me without giving them water wings. Our class discussions of these pieces consisted almost entirely of me interjecting ideas into awkward silence, and I was soon forced to admit that even when the talented and typically strong students (which is basically this entire group) are quiet, then something is wrong on my end, not theirs.

I was wallowing in the failure of these class periods Wednesday night while I was preparing my notes on Charles W. Chestnutt's "The Wife of His Youth." I threw them in the deep end, I thought. I know how to swim here, but they don't. They need a life preserver. They need something they can attach themselves to so that they can navigate these waters. As I looked back through the short story, I thought about what modern and more recent issues I could use as water wings for the students. It was about halfway through my second skimming through that I started paying closer attention to how the story keeps coming back to the ideas of "blackness" and "whiteness," what the two terms seem to consist of, and how each is valued or devalued. I posed these questions:

• What goes into our conceptualization of "blackness" and "whiteness"?
• Can you ever completely take race out of the equation?
• Does race function like a big inside joke wherein you can only claim certain elements or authority if you're on the inside? And if so, how do you get on the inside? Or can the inside only be inherited?

During Thursday's discussion, their interest was resurfacing, and they were reaching for a life preserver. I ended the period saying, "Your homework tonight has two parts to it. 1) Google the name 'Rachel Dolezal.' 2) Develop an opinion on her." I'm not going to go into an explanation of who Rachel Dolezal is here in my blog. If the reader is unfamiliar with the name, I would encourage you to follow the same homework assignment my students did. Not only did it spur a lively discussion in class today, but it helped them make genuine connections to the text we discussed the day before. They brought up points about racial genuineness, claiming authority within a certain racial identity, and efforts to externalize blackness and whiteness. (Okay, those are my fancy words that I'm using now, but I promise the heart of the discussion was the same.) What pleased and surprised me most was that the more they talked, the more they began to draw parallels between what they crash-course learned about Dolezal and what they previously read about Chestnutt's main character, Mr. Ryder. The difference in the group's energy was like night and day or...if I may...black and white.

I learned and relearned three major things this week:

• The deep end is deep for many reasons: lack of experience, lack of interest, lack of knowledge, etc.
• Our plans mustn't always follow a clear straight line. The curvy roads are more fun anyway.
• I'm asking questions of the students without having fully-formed ideas on these topics myself. My thoughts and opinions are continuously developing and being refined along with theirs. However, just because I don't have all the answers doesn't mean their learning experience will be any less genuine.

It's been an exhausting second week of school--perhaps the most tiresome second week I've ever had. I've got my head above water, and this additional task of keeping seven learners afloat with me continues to energize and inform my teaching practice. With enough power, hopefully we'll all keep swimming. 

Room 105

I absolutely love my classroom. I imagine myself gripping the doorway with my fingers and toes if they ever tried to move me. I went to my room yesterday morning to set some things up and thought I'd share some pictures of Room 105 and some of the logic behind the setup...or what I think of as logic.

The white board at the front of the room. In the side boxes (labeled by each class), I write a quick summary of what we'll be doing in class that day as well as homework for tomorrow. This saves everyone from the tedious question, "What are we doing today?" After about a week, students get into the habit of looking at the front of the room each day when they come in.

Weekly agenda board at the front/side of the room. This is where I list homework for the week. I put assignments in the space of the day they are assigned so that if students are gone or planning on being gone, they'll have a heads up for what gets assigned. I usually update this board Monday morning before school or Friday afternoon if I'm really on top of things.
Note: This board is old and not really a dry erase board. I've had to use my spray to erase it each week. I'm planning on covering it with dry erase laminate I found at Staples for $3.99. 

I modeled the student desk layout after the classrooms in Lang Hall at UNI, where I had almost all of my English courses. The U shape has always been my favorite, especially because I do a lot of discussion-based lessons. I like that the students can all see me and each other, and I have direct one-on-one access to each student if they need help with something instead of traveling up and down rows.

The front of the room. Sometimes I teach from the podium (which I gave a fresh coat of paint and new wheels this week), but for most discussions, I sit at the extra student desk at the front. Putting myself on their level helps allow for more of a conversation feel rather than me waiting for them to give the "right answers." The big black thing on the floor in front of the white board is my stage. A shop student built it for me during my first year after noticing that I couldn't reach the top of my white board. Standing on it is also a quick way to get everyone's attention.

My desk. It's angled so that I can see both sides of the room. I covered it with contact paper from Target last spring with help from the boys in my Comp class (anything to distract them from the essay they should have been working on). 

The chalk board behind my desk. I don't use it for much except to set things on the ledge. At the top are posters from the spring play/movie and pictures of the junior high volleyball teams I've coached. The file cabinets hold assignments and handouts for each of the classes I teach. I spent a long time organizing them at the beginning of my first year, but I find that I don't have to access them as much since everything I assign and hand out is available and stored on Schoology. 

My counters and sink. My previous practice was to have students grab a textbook off the counter and put it back as needed, but after a couple book shortage days last year, I think I'll have to check them out to students individually on the first day and check them back in at the end of the year like normal. My Keurig is my life line. Our school charges a $20 appliance fee, and it's totally worth it. In the metal cabinet: coffee, sugar cubes, powder creamer, tea, tissues, and hand soap.

I started The Wall of Awesomeness my first year. It's inspired by my grandmother who had a bulletin board in her dining room on which she pinned school pictures, newspaper articles, and anything else celebrating her grandchildren. She never took down old stuff. She just kept adding to it. The students like to look at it when something new goes up, and they love to see how much they've changed from old newspaper pictures.

My classroom library. I did a thorough sifting-through last spring and threw/gave away anything that looked old and I knew wouldn't be checked out by anyone. My collection contains a combination of books I own personally and books that were left behind by my predecessor. I like that the shelves separate the traditional classroom side of the room from the "working" side of the room. 

More of the "working" side of the room. The round table is a blessing and a curse. It's great for students who need to spread out their research, but they sometimes fight over who gets to sit there. The eighth graders consider it an especial privilege to be able to move to this side of the room during free working time (and a deep, deep shame if I make them move back to their desks [evil laugh]).

This bulletin board is just inside my door. I use it to store any notes and mementos from students. No one walks by it close enough to really read it, but it serves as a nice pick-me-up for me.

This was an assignment I gave my Introduction to Literature students one day toward the end of the semester. The class was small, but I was pleased and impressed by their contributions. The Post-It note was put up by an alum who came back to visit over winter break.

A new idea I had last spring. These are pictures of the class of 2016, each holding their words of wisdom which they wrote on a white board. Some used quotes, some used their own words, and some used humor. My favorite words of wisdom: "Read the books!!!" from Dylyn.

Diving In

What fortuitous timing that I would be developing a brand new class at the same time I've started making conscious efforts to make my craft of teaching more transparent. This may not make a whole lot of sense, and I definitely don't claim to be an expert by any means, but I should share my progress (and setbacks) as things develop for my new Multicultural Literature course.

Step one in this journey has been to acquire just a sheer crap ton of material. This is the thrilling part. When I think about it more consciously, this seems to be the starting point whenever I've prepared for any large intellectual task. I remember writing research papers in college and especially in grad school, and before I began any "real work" I would spend hours at the library just collecting and piling anything I could find that was 1) related to my topic, 2) of interest to me, and 3) easily attainable. It's like an intellectual shopping spree (nerd alert). There were days when I would bring an extra backpack or sack with me to the library because I knew I'd be leaving with several extra pounds of potential research, literally bearing the weight of my future work all the way home. This time around seems to be no different...except that now the UPS guy is delivering the books.

Step two will be organizing the acquired sheer crap ton of material. This is the difficult part. It includes cutting out about 30-40% of what I had to begin with. This seems like a messy way to operate, but for me, it's necessary and makes sense. Just like when I write a paper and end up over the page limit, I'd rather have an excess of material to work with and pare down rather than not enough at the start. The difficulty in this is making informed decisions on what to keep, what to exclude, and how to negotiate space for everything I want to do. Here are some of the specific questions I've been asking myself as I prepare for this step:

1. What cultural/literary voices both need and deserve to be heard by my students? On a more panicky and philosophical level, who am I even to determine that? When I think about the tremendous opportunity I have in teaching this course, I also feel the weight of the tremendous responsibility I have in doing justice to the content and making sure these voices will be heard thoroughly and powerfully. With at least four cultures/units I want to cover and only one semester to do it in, the task is daunting to say the last. Deep breaths...in and out...in and out. Maya Angelou, give me strength.
2. How far back do I begin in a culture's literary history in order for my students to understand its contemporary issues? If we don't start at the beginning, am I doing that culture a disservice? Am I doing the students a disservice?
3. How much do I allow for this class to take on sociocultural conversations in order for students to appreciate the literature we read? I'm not a social studies teacher, but I am a human preparing younger humans to take on and live in the world. How much of that angle can I claim to be legitimate and necessary?
4. What perspectives can I (should I, am I obligated) to offer as a racial/ethnic minority teacher leading my primarily white population of students? 

A third step here would make this blog post round and tidy, but I just don't have it yet. As I wait for more books to arrive from Amazon, and determine where in my current pile I should begin, I think it's safe to say I'll be dancing around step two for the majority of the semester. At this point, I need to give a big thanks to Julie Husband, the Department Head of Languages and Literatures at UNI who equipped me with several books, syllabi, lunch, and rich conversation about the potential of this class earlier this week. For every question I approach Dr. Husband with (which included all of the above), I leave with an answer and three more questions, but it doesn't bog me down like I might be making it sound. Whether it's been thesis work, this class, or regular Englishy conversation, I leave her feeling like my brain has shotgunned a Red Bull, excited and energized for more work. She's been like an intellectual defibrillator for me, and for that, I am so grateful. 

So here I sit with more questions than answers, more work to do than has yet been accomplished, and more weight of responsibility being heaped on my shoulders. There's nothing left now but to just get started and remember to breathe.

Staying Connected

My first challenge of the 2016-17 academic year arrived three weeks before school begins...and what a challenge it is, too. I was returning to my classroom on Monday for the first time all summer, and my principal came in with some not-so-great news about my dual credit Introduction to Literature class--my favorite class I have taught for the three years I've been at THS. It's become my favorite for many reasons:

1. It allows our students to earn free college credit if they pass, and they always do.
2. I get to see initially tentative upperclassmen begin to explore a field I love at a much deeper and more intellectual level.
3. The format of the class allows for rich conversation every day.
4. Each year, at least one student unexpectedly falls in love with literature.

Here's the bad news that Karen brought: I won't be teaching it anymore. 

Due to a state department regulation, our high school cannot receive certain "English certified" funding unless we offer at least six English courses. With our publications class moving from the English department to Art last year as a result of change in personnel, our total was brought down from six classes to five-and-a-half. Unfortunately (and not in a way that I understand at all) our dual enrollment courses which I teach do not count toward the six necessary English classes. Long story short, if we want the money, Intro to Lit must be replaced by something else that I need to come up with...and fast.

A few days (and many hissyfits and tantrums) later, I've decided that I'm going to develop an elective course on Multicultural Literature both because I think it will be fun and--most importantly--I think it is crucial for our small-town students to be exposed to narratives beyond the scope of their daily lives. I've been thinking today about my own post-secondary experiences and especially considering what I wish I could have known about the world beyond my high school hometown before I left it. That thought combined with all the conversations happening in our world right now about race, gender, religion, identity, etc., confirmed that this is the class I must teach. 

Thus I came to this week's moral of the story. With a thousand thoughts and no direction, I defaulted to my usual teaching crisis procedure which is to ask my peers and mentors where to begin. I started by emailing a former professor/mentor/chair of my M.A. thesis committee, explaining my dilemma and requesting any input she had to offer. Next, I posted on Facebook an all-call to teacher friends, parents, and former students for input on content, reading lists, and other shareable ideas. Doing this taught me two things. First, I was right in sending that initial email because the first comment was a suggestion that I contact that former professor/mentor/thesis committee chair for help. Second, I realized how invaluable our professional connections can be. Within a couple hours, I had author suggestions from grad school friends and profs, reading list ideas, an offer from a Dean to set up a Skype session with my students and a lead professor from UHCL, and multiple syllabi shared with me on Google Drive. The most beautiful part? All I had to do was ask.

Therefore, my first great challenge of the school year has also brought my first great lesson. We must value our professional connections. They are indeed precious, and especially with the resources we have today, they are so easy to maintain. It's a good lesson for me to begin my year with as a model teacher at THS and a valuable life lesson to pass on to my students. If you work well with people and do a good job for them, they will reciprocate. Though they may seem temporal, good relationships can be called upon in times of need, especially professional crises like mine. I'm going to use this experience as an example for my students of the importance of networking and maintaining positive connections with those professional resources. You will need them one day, and when that day comes, you'll be glad you kept them.

And so it begins. We're seventeen days away from the beginning of the year, and I feel like I'm firing on all cylinders already. I'm heartbroken over losing my Intro to Lit class, I'm thrilled about developing a brand new class to replace it, and I'm overwhelmed by the amount of work that must be done to make it happen. If this week is at all a metaphor for the upcoming school year, I'll be looking forward to unexpected challenges met with surges of new energy, and I'll expect to get through it with a little help from my friends.