Yesterday, the mother and grandmother of one of our second graders came to speak to us about Villa Victoria, a primarily Puerto Rican neighborhood we are visiting today as part of our neighborhoods curriculum. Like the other neighborhoods we are studying, the Villa has a history of gentrification and housing loss for the long-time residents, followed by community activism that led to the creation of a vibrant, affordable neighborhood.
Our student's grandmother spoke about living in the Villa in Spanish, and her daughter translated. We have been talking a lot about how to show someone you are listening and how to stay focused on what is being said, even when you feel distracted (more on this in a later post). And my students outdid themselves. They were silent and still while the women spoke. They gave each other nonverbal reminders to pay attention. They maintained eye contact and nodded their heads to show understanding. At times I heard "uh huh" or "hmmmm," verbal feedback to the speakers that they were listening. And they had many thoughtful questions delivered in a professional manner.
Tyshaun began the questions and comments: "My name is Tyshaun, and I have a connection. Just like in Villa Victoria [where landlords fire-bombed buildings to try to force poor renters out and claim insurance money], people burned houes on Dudley Street also," he said, remembering what we had learned in Roxbury a few weeks ago.
[I did not teach him to begin questions with his name, but it worked beautifully, and the other students followed his lead.]
"Who was the first person who immigrated to Villa Victoria?" Jaylin asked, sounding like a pro.
"I'm Julio, and I'm Domincan and Puerto Rican," Julio began. I noticed immediately his personal connection to the speakers because of their common heritage, and he clearly wanted to share that with them. "Why did people put bombs in houses there?"
The speakers explained again about insurance claims and trying to scare the tenants away. "Yeah," he said, "but why did they do that?"
"Are you trying to ask how someone could do that to someone else, Julio?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"Was Harriet Tubman important to Villa Victoria?" Jarad asked. [He knows we will see a statue of Tubman made by local artist Fern Cunningham today.]
"Are there black people or white people living in Villa Victoria?" Amalia asked. [The answer was both, as well as latinos and asians.]
"Were there only spanish people fighting for the neighborhood?" Ramon asked. Again, the answer was no, many different kinds of people worked together.
It was a good morning for teaching.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Milkweed bugs do it too
I arrived at school this morning to find 4 pair of milkweed bugs mating. All at the same time. 3 of them in the same habitat. (Good thing they don't need privacy for sex.) They must feel spring in the air.
Photos coming soon.
Photos coming soon.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Phones
My student Raheem brought a cell phone to school yesterday. It was real, and it worked, and it was his. His dad bought it for him. Sigh.
He didn't mean to take it out at school. His dad told him to keep it in his pocket just in case. But it fell out on the bus, and someone saw it, and they told me.
It's against the rules for students to have cell phones at school. Raheem is a terribly conscientious student -- serious, thoughtful, and very, very empathic. (He's the one who raised his hand one day at Morning Circle and said, sadly, "Ms. Swamp, I saw on the news that there are women and children starving to death in Africa.") I had to ask him for the phone. He hesitated a minute, with a sad look on his face, and then reached in his pocket and gave it to me.
"Raheem," I said. "The rule is that you can't have cell phones at school. I have to take it to the office."
"But can I have it back at the end of the day?" he asked.
"You can have it back when a grown-up from your family comes to get it," I said.
He looked dismayed.
"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to bring it to school," he said.
"I know," I answered. "You won't get in trouble. We'll just make sure your family knows you can't bring it to school."
He walked away dejectedly. Later he asked again if he could just have it back, if he promised not to bring it to school again. I told him I just couldn't give it to him, and I explained that one of the big reasons for the rule was that other kids might take it, or it could lost, and then he and his family would all be upset.
He was straightening up his desk before heading to art.
"Ms. Swamp," he asked curiously. "Did you ever have a phone taken away from you when you were little?" I couldn't tell if he was trying to appeal to my sympathies, or just thinking about what a hard day it was and wondering if I had ever felt like him. "Oh no," he answered his own question. "I guess not, because you didn't have cell phones back then, did you?"
This was not meant as a joke. It was a thoughtful awareness of how my experience was different from his, and how things have changed over time (not all second graders are so aware of this). He was putting himself in my shoes (and perhaps wishing I would put myself in his).
His dad came, I explained the cell phone situation, and everyone ended up feeling fine about it. I got a cute little story out of it. And Raheem got to feel disappointed and worried, and then have everything come out okay, and realize it wasn't the end of the world. Which isn't a bad thing.
He didn't mean to take it out at school. His dad told him to keep it in his pocket just in case. But it fell out on the bus, and someone saw it, and they told me.
It's against the rules for students to have cell phones at school. Raheem is a terribly conscientious student -- serious, thoughtful, and very, very empathic. (He's the one who raised his hand one day at Morning Circle and said, sadly, "Ms. Swamp, I saw on the news that there are women and children starving to death in Africa.") I had to ask him for the phone. He hesitated a minute, with a sad look on his face, and then reached in his pocket and gave it to me.
"Raheem," I said. "The rule is that you can't have cell phones at school. I have to take it to the office."
"But can I have it back at the end of the day?" he asked.
"You can have it back when a grown-up from your family comes to get it," I said.
He looked dismayed.
"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to bring it to school," he said.
"I know," I answered. "You won't get in trouble. We'll just make sure your family knows you can't bring it to school."
He walked away dejectedly. Later he asked again if he could just have it back, if he promised not to bring it to school again. I told him I just couldn't give it to him, and I explained that one of the big reasons for the rule was that other kids might take it, or it could lost, and then he and his family would all be upset.
He was straightening up his desk before heading to art.
"Ms. Swamp," he asked curiously. "Did you ever have a phone taken away from you when you were little?" I couldn't tell if he was trying to appeal to my sympathies, or just thinking about what a hard day it was and wondering if I had ever felt like him. "Oh no," he answered his own question. "I guess not, because you didn't have cell phones back then, did you?"
This was not meant as a joke. It was a thoughtful awareness of how my experience was different from his, and how things have changed over time (not all second graders are so aware of this). He was putting himself in my shoes (and perhaps wishing I would put myself in his).
His dad came, I explained the cell phone situation, and everyone ended up feeling fine about it. I got a cute little story out of it. And Raheem got to feel disappointed and worried, and then have everything come out okay, and realize it wasn't the end of the world. Which isn't a bad thing.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Forgetfulness
"Which idea are you drawing about?" I asked Ola.
"Number 1," he answered impatiently. "You just asked me that!"
"Sorry," I said. "I forgot."
"Is today your forgetful day?" he asked.
"I guess so," I answered ruefully.
"Number 1," he answered impatiently. "You just asked me that!"
"Sorry," I said. "I forgot."
"Is today your forgetful day?" he asked.
"I guess so," I answered ruefully.
Skiing
After February vacation, I showed my students a slideshow of my backpacking / cross-country ski trip across Baxter State Park, with my dad and two friends. It was full of pictures like this, of us skiing across frozen ponds. (I carefully removed the picture with the bottle of whiskey in it before sharing the photos.)
This is the letter I got today from my student Ivan. Ivan is the epitome of wide-eyed wonder and enthusiasm for nearly everything, including all kinds of learning and everything related to the outdoors.
Dear Ms. Swamp,
Was it really fun skiing? Did you go with your friends? How did you ski over the pond? Don't you meen ice skate over the pond?
Love,
Ivan
Such diplomacy in pointing out what he thinks is a mistake on my part!
This is the letter I got today from my student Ivan. Ivan is the epitome of wide-eyed wonder and enthusiasm for nearly everything, including all kinds of learning and everything related to the outdoors.
Dear Ms. Swamp,
Was it really fun skiing? Did you go with your friends? How did you ski over the pond? Don't you meen ice skate over the pond?
Love,
Ivan
Such diplomacy in pointing out what he thinks is a mistake on my part!
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