My students have recently found out that I don't have a TV. (At least, not one that shows television programs). They cannot understand this; it does not fit into their world view.
"But what do you do for entertainment?" they ask. "How do you get your news?"
I talk about books, the radio, the newspaper, the internet. They are still mystified.
Later, I am sitting in the hallway with a few kids, sorting minerals. Julio looks thoughtful. Finally, he says, "You know, Ms. Swamp, we have two TVs at my house. You could have one if you want."
I know he is offering me something very big, even though it is something I really don't want.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jarad and I haven't been getting along too well. He looks bored, spaced-out, and annoyed almost all the time. He rolls his eyes at me on a regular basis, and mutters rude things under his breath. Then he is rude to Ms. Annie at recess. I call him over to talk.
"What is going on, Jarad?" I ask. "It seems like you don't like school much anymore."
"I don't!" he answers emphatically. "It's so boring!"
I ask if he liked it last year. Yes, he did. We make a list of what feels different this year. I realize that our latest math units, on data and geometry, are not challenging enough. I am good at making the units on numbers and operation more challenging, but the geometry and data units for second grade are new to me, and I've been teaching them mostly as they are written. It is kind of boring for him.
We make some plans for the new year, so that school feels better to him. We agree that I will ask him to do things in a more friendly way, if he will respond more politely. I promise that both math and writing are going to be harder and more exciting in January.
The next day, he gets to go see the Celtics practice as part of a local reading program. "Bring me something back!" I joke as he leaves.
When he returns later in the afternoon, he rushes into the room where I am meeting with other teachers.
"Ms. Swamp," he says, "I brought you something!"
He hands me a paperback book. "It's about bikes!" he announces proudly. He has chosen a children's chapter book about Lance Armstrong for me. He knows I love to ride my bike.
If I doubted it before, I am sure now that we've made up.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
December Survival Guide
How to survive the last week before vacation.
By Ms. Swamp
1. Copious quantities of red wine (No, not at school)
2. Crazy dancing, as often as possible
to be continued
By Ms. Swamp
1. Copious quantities of red wine (No, not at school)
2. Crazy dancing, as often as possible
to be continued
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
The Boys Group
I recently started a group for 4 boys from my class. On Thursdays, we play games together for half of recess (Jenga or Twister, so far), then eat lunch together. Ostensibly, the group is for having fun. Really, I started the group to help my on-the-spectrum student gain better social skills and friends. But actually, the group is serving the purpose of teaching all of them social skills, including how to win and lose and take turns and encourage each other, and how to not all talk at the same time while eating lunch. (Really, it is amazing the way they seem to think there is nothing wrong with speaking at the same time that everyone else is talking.)
Last week we had the group on Wednesday because I was out of town Thursday and Friday. This week, every day one of them asks me when we're having the group: Wednesday or Thursday?
Today Ms. Annie poked her head in my classroom at lunchtime to ask if I was free for a meeting tomorrow at lunch. My kids were eating quietly and listening to hippie folkie acoustic music I was playing for them.
"Sure," I said. "I can meet at lunch, I don't have anything going on."
She nodded and left. Tyshaun looked up.
"When are we having our lunch group?" he asked off-handedly. He looked so casual, but I could see immediately what he was thinking.
I told him we'd have it on Thursday, not tomorrow. He was right, I had almost forgotten about it. Sometimes it amazes me the things kids can keep in the forefront of their minds (while so many other things seem to disappear...). And I like it that he likes the boys group so much. They are so different in that small group. Careful of each other, thoughtful, calmer. If only I could always have them in little groups!
PS. If you haven't listened yet, you need to check out the podcast of This American Life from Sept. 26th. You can stream it here, or buy it through the website also. It's about Geoffrey Canada and his work in Harlem, and what he is doing is spot on. Highly recommended.
Last week we had the group on Wednesday because I was out of town Thursday and Friday. This week, every day one of them asks me when we're having the group: Wednesday or Thursday?
Today Ms. Annie poked her head in my classroom at lunchtime to ask if I was free for a meeting tomorrow at lunch. My kids were eating quietly and listening to hippie folkie acoustic music I was playing for them.
"Sure," I said. "I can meet at lunch, I don't have anything going on."
She nodded and left. Tyshaun looked up.
"When are we having our lunch group?" he asked off-handedly. He looked so casual, but I could see immediately what he was thinking.
I told him we'd have it on Thursday, not tomorrow. He was right, I had almost forgotten about it. Sometimes it amazes me the things kids can keep in the forefront of their minds (while so many other things seem to disappear...). And I like it that he likes the boys group so much. They are so different in that small group. Careful of each other, thoughtful, calmer. If only I could always have them in little groups!
PS. If you haven't listened yet, you need to check out the podcast of This American Life from Sept. 26th. You can stream it here, or buy it through the website also. It's about Geoffrey Canada and his work in Harlem, and what he is doing is spot on. Highly recommended.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Exhibit A
One last Tyshaun story (for today). This one is a Thanksgiving story.
Yesterday, we celebrated Israel’s birthday. As we always do, we danced with abandon to “Birthday,” by the Beatles. The song lasts five or six minutes, and we jump and bounce and boogie all over the place to it. It is very good for all of us.
I noticed, partway through the song, that my class was dancing in small groups, and they were mostly dancing with the people they are closest to. There was a small group of four girls over here; three boys danced together over there. Some students stood outside the groups, including Alex.
Alex is new to our school this year, he’s the only Asian student in the class (and nearly the only one in the school), and he is somewhere on the autistic spectrum. We have been struggling since the beginning of the year with kids being mean to Alex. He has strange mannerisms, and pretty poor social skills, and is different in so many ways from everyone else.
As we danced, I suggested over the music that everyone try to dance with “the people you don’t talk to all the time.” This is the same language I use during our greeting at Morning Circle every day: I remind them to choose someone who is not their “very favorite friend” to greet, and it really helps mix up the order of the greeting. It ensures Alex doesn’t get greeted last, and that boys don’t only greet boys and girls don’t only greet girls. Sometimes someone goes to greet someone else, and their greeting is rebuffed with, “You talk to me a lot. You should choose someone else.”
I wasn’t sure if they really heard my suggestion, but then I looked across the rug at Tyshaun. He has been one of the worst offenders in terms of picking on Alex. I watched as he unselfconsciously extended his hands toward Alex. “Want to dance, Alex?” he asked. “Come on, dance with me.”
As I mentioned, Alex isn’t so strong with his social skills, so he didn’t answer or even acknowledge Tyshaun. Tyshaun tried two more times before giving up and just dancing next to Alex, smiling.
I didn’t say anything to Tyshaun about it at that moment. I wanted him to hold on to that feeling of doing something caring for someone else just because he wanted to, not because he thought I was watching. It was such a tender moment: the tough, cool boy holding his hands out to the autistic kid, offering not only to dance with him but to hold his hands. And not feeling rejected by Alex’s failure to respond, but dancing near him anyway.
That’s Exhibit A of why I like Tyshaun so much.
Yesterday, we celebrated Israel’s birthday. As we always do, we danced with abandon to “Birthday,” by the Beatles. The song lasts five or six minutes, and we jump and bounce and boogie all over the place to it. It is very good for all of us.
I noticed, partway through the song, that my class was dancing in small groups, and they were mostly dancing with the people they are closest to. There was a small group of four girls over here; three boys danced together over there. Some students stood outside the groups, including Alex.
Alex is new to our school this year, he’s the only Asian student in the class (and nearly the only one in the school), and he is somewhere on the autistic spectrum. We have been struggling since the beginning of the year with kids being mean to Alex. He has strange mannerisms, and pretty poor social skills, and is different in so many ways from everyone else.
As we danced, I suggested over the music that everyone try to dance with “the people you don’t talk to all the time.” This is the same language I use during our greeting at Morning Circle every day: I remind them to choose someone who is not their “very favorite friend” to greet, and it really helps mix up the order of the greeting. It ensures Alex doesn’t get greeted last, and that boys don’t only greet boys and girls don’t only greet girls. Sometimes someone goes to greet someone else, and their greeting is rebuffed with, “You talk to me a lot. You should choose someone else.”
I wasn’t sure if they really heard my suggestion, but then I looked across the rug at Tyshaun. He has been one of the worst offenders in terms of picking on Alex. I watched as he unselfconsciously extended his hands toward Alex. “Want to dance, Alex?” he asked. “Come on, dance with me.”
As I mentioned, Alex isn’t so strong with his social skills, so he didn’t answer or even acknowledge Tyshaun. Tyshaun tried two more times before giving up and just dancing next to Alex, smiling.
I didn’t say anything to Tyshaun about it at that moment. I wanted him to hold on to that feeling of doing something caring for someone else just because he wanted to, not because he thought I was watching. It was such a tender moment: the tough, cool boy holding his hands out to the autistic kid, offering not only to dance with him but to hold his hands. And not feeling rejected by Alex’s failure to respond, but dancing near him anyway.
That’s Exhibit A of why I like Tyshaun so much.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Trying again
This may sound strange, but I sometimes feel like Tyshaun and I relate to each other in very traditional male-female ways. I tell him how he makes me feel when he is unapproachable and try to get him to express how he is feeling; on a good day, he begrudges me a monosyllabic response through which, for a second, I catch a glimpse of his interior emotional landscape, and I feel rewarded and pleased with this minimal success.
After he took something from my desk, and treated me with hostility because of how embarrassed he felt, I wrote him a note. I thought a lot about why he might be acting so terribly after stealing from me, and made some good guesses about how he was feeling. I told him that I still cared about him even when I was disappointed in him – that we were still “tight,” and nothing was going to change that. I told him that just because he made a mistake didn’t mean that he was a bad kid, so he didn’t have to act like a bad kid. It was half a page long, and it was a really nice note.
Tyshaun read it, grabbed a pencil, and scrawled “OK” in the margin. Yep – I poured my heart out in an effort to help him feel better, and he gave me a one-word answer.
I felt good about it anyway.
The way Tyshaun enters the classroom in the morning affects my day a lot. I notice that I wait for him to arrive with anticipation, because I can tell a lot about how his day is likely to go just by his body language when he comes through the door. When it’s a bad entry, I can feel my heart rate quicken, because I know it could be a rough day.
The other day he came in.
“Good morning, Tyshaun,” I said. He ignored me.
“What kind of milk do you want with your lunch today?” I asked. He ignored me and kept laughing and joking with some boys by the door. I could feel my irritation building.
“You all need to come in now!” I said sharply. “Tyshaun, this is the second time I am asking you what kind of milk you want with your lunch!” My voice became shriller as I spoke.
“God!” he snarled between his teeth. “I’m just coming in. God! Leave me alone. Chocolate milk.”
I hate starting the day like this. And I had decided a few days earlier that I had to set stricter limits about him talking to me disrespectfully.
“You cannot speak to me like that,” I said. “I told you that if you talk to me like that, you can’t stay in our classroom. Come on. I’m taking you upstairs to Ms. Cruz’s room.” Our agreement was that if he was rude to an adult, he took his work upstairs to a fourth-grade classroom for about half an hour. He hates not being in our room, with us.
“No!” he answered. “I don’t want to go.” He didn’t move toward the door. “I’m staying here.”
“Tyshaun, I told you you can’t talk to me like that. It is not okay to start the day out like this. Let’s go. You can come back in half an hour and try again.”
His tone softened as he saw that I was serious, and he tried to figure out what might work with me. (He probably works just as hard to figure me out as I work to figure him out.)
“But you made me mad because you talked to me like that when I came in,” he tried to explain. “Can we try again?” I couldn’t help but smile. I am always amazed when I hear my students use my words, when what they say sounds just like me.
“I’m sorry I talked to you like that,” I said gently, taking a deep breath. “But you hurt my feelings when came in the room and ignored me. I don’t want the day to start like that.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. And we agreed to try again. I asked him what kind of milk he wanted, he responded in a somewhat pleasant tone of voice, and the rest of the day went smoothly.
It is generally not considered good teaching practice to announce a consequence and then let a student talk you out of it. I gave in for several reasons. One, I had spoken to him sharply, partly because I was stressed about other things, and him coming in like that pissed me off. Two, he used a good strategy to deal with me – he told me how I made him feel, and he suggested we try again. I have to admit it, I’m a sucker for kids who use the strategies I teach them. And three, I knew that if we could manage to re-start the day, there was a good chance the whole day would go well. Whereas, if he started his day by spending 30 minutes in the fourth grade, his day might be a wash. And every good day at school is money in the bank for Tyshaun.
After he took something from my desk, and treated me with hostility because of how embarrassed he felt, I wrote him a note. I thought a lot about why he might be acting so terribly after stealing from me, and made some good guesses about how he was feeling. I told him that I still cared about him even when I was disappointed in him – that we were still “tight,” and nothing was going to change that. I told him that just because he made a mistake didn’t mean that he was a bad kid, so he didn’t have to act like a bad kid. It was half a page long, and it was a really nice note.
Tyshaun read it, grabbed a pencil, and scrawled “OK” in the margin. Yep – I poured my heart out in an effort to help him feel better, and he gave me a one-word answer.
I felt good about it anyway.
The way Tyshaun enters the classroom in the morning affects my day a lot. I notice that I wait for him to arrive with anticipation, because I can tell a lot about how his day is likely to go just by his body language when he comes through the door. When it’s a bad entry, I can feel my heart rate quicken, because I know it could be a rough day.
The other day he came in.
“Good morning, Tyshaun,” I said. He ignored me.
“What kind of milk do you want with your lunch today?” I asked. He ignored me and kept laughing and joking with some boys by the door. I could feel my irritation building.
“You all need to come in now!” I said sharply. “Tyshaun, this is the second time I am asking you what kind of milk you want with your lunch!” My voice became shriller as I spoke.
“God!” he snarled between his teeth. “I’m just coming in. God! Leave me alone. Chocolate milk.”
I hate starting the day like this. And I had decided a few days earlier that I had to set stricter limits about him talking to me disrespectfully.
“You cannot speak to me like that,” I said. “I told you that if you talk to me like that, you can’t stay in our classroom. Come on. I’m taking you upstairs to Ms. Cruz’s room.” Our agreement was that if he was rude to an adult, he took his work upstairs to a fourth-grade classroom for about half an hour. He hates not being in our room, with us.
“No!” he answered. “I don’t want to go.” He didn’t move toward the door. “I’m staying here.”
“Tyshaun, I told you you can’t talk to me like that. It is not okay to start the day out like this. Let’s go. You can come back in half an hour and try again.”
His tone softened as he saw that I was serious, and he tried to figure out what might work with me. (He probably works just as hard to figure me out as I work to figure him out.)
“But you made me mad because you talked to me like that when I came in,” he tried to explain. “Can we try again?” I couldn’t help but smile. I am always amazed when I hear my students use my words, when what they say sounds just like me.
“I’m sorry I talked to you like that,” I said gently, taking a deep breath. “But you hurt my feelings when came in the room and ignored me. I don’t want the day to start like that.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. And we agreed to try again. I asked him what kind of milk he wanted, he responded in a somewhat pleasant tone of voice, and the rest of the day went smoothly.
It is generally not considered good teaching practice to announce a consequence and then let a student talk you out of it. I gave in for several reasons. One, I had spoken to him sharply, partly because I was stressed about other things, and him coming in like that pissed me off. Two, he used a good strategy to deal with me – he told me how I made him feel, and he suggested we try again. I have to admit it, I’m a sucker for kids who use the strategies I teach them. And three, I knew that if we could manage to re-start the day, there was a good chance the whole day would go well. Whereas, if he started his day by spending 30 minutes in the fourth grade, his day might be a wash. And every good day at school is money in the bank for Tyshaun.
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