Even beyond teaching, the safety of our students is a teacher's most important responsibility.
I have helped considerably one particular student in one of my classes considerably. When an error occurred on his grade printout that made him ineligible to play football for the school, I went to the coach and showed him the error so the student could be reinstated. I have worked long hours trying to get his multiplication up to par (yes, he is making progress). He knows I am on his side.
Normally he wears his hair in corn rows. His eyes seem to be focusing on two diufferent places when he looks at you. He wears a gold "grill" over his front teeth, and is especially proud iof the new one he just had made.
Several days ago two students I didn't know appeared at the class door and tried to push their way in and start a fight with him. I was sitting in what amounts to a wheelchair, unable to do anything, but the teaching assistant and one of the security people who saw from a hallway that there was trouble prevented them from entering.
He is in the last class of the day.
On Friday about a half hour before the end of the class and the end of the school day, he got up from his desk, went to the back of the room, and wrote a message on the back of a sheet of paper. Very casually, he brought it up to me at the front of the class while the other students were copying material into their notebooks.
"There are some people who want to shoot me after school. Can I leave fifteen minutes early ?"
I nodded "Yes."
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Having Lunch with a Cannibal
A few weeks ago, out of the blue, one of my students asked, "Why do people eat other people ?"
The class opinion seemed to be that they were lacking other food, a notion I quickly dispelled.
Because of my crazy and varied background, I was able to tell them the story of how I once had lunch with a cannibal. When I announced to them that I had once had lunch with a cannibal, the stunned silence and attention in the room were almost palpable.
So here is the story, and the explanation of why most cannibals are -- or used to be -- cannibals.
This happened in a village in the interior of Viti Levu, the largest of the Fiji islands, where I had business. To reach this island had taken a full day of travel from Suva, the capital. First, I had had to take a bus for an hour or two out of Suva to a landing on the Rewa River. Then I had had to take a motor launch for about three hours up the Rewa. The shores of the river, which ran through the center of a wide valley, were flat a green, like pastureland, except that here and there huge, giant, green stands of feathery bamboo 100 feet tall cut into the
horizon of the hot, cloudless, blue sky.
Once near the village, it was necessary to climb a steep, slippery bank of mud, and continue up a hillside to a cluster of Fijian bure nestled amidst breadfruit trees and coconut palms. The bure were of the old traditional kind, with thatching enclosing the house on all sides, and with the black trunk of a giant fern extending outwards at each end. To visit this village was like returning to a time centuries ago when traditional Fijian culture was the only culture present, and where men had long lived listening to drums other than the drums of money.
I had business in that village. I needed some favors from the chief, and to obtain these favors I had brought with me a whale's tooth to present. I knew the chief quite well. I had visited and stayed in the village at least a half dozen times. I had often shared yaquona with him and others in his entourage.
A whale's tooth is a sacred treasure, a ceremonial gift to be given when the giver wishes an important favor. In Fijian custom, the recipient who accepts it is obligated to do a favor for the presenter, whether that favor is requested when the tooth is presented or even many years later. One does not accept a whale's tooth from someone one does not know and trust. In old Fiji, the request made through a whale's tooth might have been that the recipient kill someone for the presenter, or perhaps give the preenter one of his daughters.
In my case, I was presenting a whale's tooth for something much less important -- simply the participation of his village in a tourism project.
After the presentation, the acceptance, and my request, the chief and I had lunch. We sat on mats of woven pandanus leaves while the women in his family brought our food. The chief seemed to me to know a great deal about the outside world, and I commented about this. As his wife set bowls of chicken stewed in coconut cream, cooked fern shoots, breadfruit, and oven-baked taro root before us, he explained how he had come to know something of the world outside Fiji.
He explained that at a time when Britain ruled Malaya and communist rebels were trying to take over that country, he had volunteered to join the British army and go to Malaya to fight.
"Do you see that lime tree over there?" he asked, pointing to a magnificent, old lime tree just at the edge of the village.
"Yes," I replied.
"When I left this village, I made a vow. I went over to that lime tree -- which was much smaller in those days -- and picked two limes. I put the limes in my shirt pocket, and I made a vow."
I listened attentively.
"When we got to Malaya, we were sent up-country into the jungle. We were attacked by the rebels, but we outnumbered them by many men. When I shot and killed my first enemy soldier, I fulfilled my vow. I went up to his body, and with my thumbs I dug out his eyes. I squeezed the juice from my limes onto them, and then I ate those eyeballs, because I knew that when I had done this I would be a stronger warrior. And I was. I had his mana. I killed many, many rebels in that war before I came back several years later to this village."
And so years later this story was my answer to my student's question about why people eat other people. It is not for food, I explain. This is usually done -- in those few places on earth that still practice cannibalism -- for "mana" or whatever name the locals give to the essence of the warrior. The belief is that if you eat a part of a great warrior, you will gain a bit of warrior greatness yourself.
The class opinion seemed to be that they were lacking other food, a notion I quickly dispelled.
Because of my crazy and varied background, I was able to tell them the story of how I once had lunch with a cannibal. When I announced to them that I had once had lunch with a cannibal, the stunned silence and attention in the room were almost palpable.
So here is the story, and the explanation of why most cannibals are -- or used to be -- cannibals.
This happened in a village in the interior of Viti Levu, the largest of the Fiji islands, where I had business. To reach this island had taken a full day of travel from Suva, the capital. First, I had had to take a bus for an hour or two out of Suva to a landing on the Rewa River. Then I had had to take a motor launch for about three hours up the Rewa. The shores of the river, which ran through the center of a wide valley, were flat a green, like pastureland, except that here and there huge, giant, green stands of feathery bamboo 100 feet tall cut into the
horizon of the hot, cloudless, blue sky.
Once near the village, it was necessary to climb a steep, slippery bank of mud, and continue up a hillside to a cluster of Fijian bure nestled amidst breadfruit trees and coconut palms. The bure were of the old traditional kind, with thatching enclosing the house on all sides, and with the black trunk of a giant fern extending outwards at each end. To visit this village was like returning to a time centuries ago when traditional Fijian culture was the only culture present, and where men had long lived listening to drums other than the drums of money.
I had business in that village. I needed some favors from the chief, and to obtain these favors I had brought with me a whale's tooth to present. I knew the chief quite well. I had visited and stayed in the village at least a half dozen times. I had often shared yaquona with him and others in his entourage.
A whale's tooth is a sacred treasure, a ceremonial gift to be given when the giver wishes an important favor. In Fijian custom, the recipient who accepts it is obligated to do a favor for the presenter, whether that favor is requested when the tooth is presented or even many years later. One does not accept a whale's tooth from someone one does not know and trust. In old Fiji, the request made through a whale's tooth might have been that the recipient kill someone for the presenter, or perhaps give the preenter one of his daughters.
In my case, I was presenting a whale's tooth for something much less important -- simply the participation of his village in a tourism project.
After the presentation, the acceptance, and my request, the chief and I had lunch. We sat on mats of woven pandanus leaves while the women in his family brought our food. The chief seemed to me to know a great deal about the outside world, and I commented about this. As his wife set bowls of chicken stewed in coconut cream, cooked fern shoots, breadfruit, and oven-baked taro root before us, he explained how he had come to know something of the world outside Fiji.
He explained that at a time when Britain ruled Malaya and communist rebels were trying to take over that country, he had volunteered to join the British army and go to Malaya to fight.
"Do you see that lime tree over there?" he asked, pointing to a magnificent, old lime tree just at the edge of the village.
"Yes," I replied.
"When I left this village, I made a vow. I went over to that lime tree -- which was much smaller in those days -- and picked two limes. I put the limes in my shirt pocket, and I made a vow."
I listened attentively.
"When we got to Malaya, we were sent up-country into the jungle. We were attacked by the rebels, but we outnumbered them by many men. When I shot and killed my first enemy soldier, I fulfilled my vow. I went up to his body, and with my thumbs I dug out his eyes. I squeezed the juice from my limes onto them, and then I ate those eyeballs, because I knew that when I had done this I would be a stronger warrior. And I was. I had his mana. I killed many, many rebels in that war before I came back several years later to this village."
And so years later this story was my answer to my student's question about why people eat other people. It is not for food, I explain. This is usually done -- in those few places on earth that still practice cannibalism -- for "mana" or whatever name the locals give to the essence of the warrior. The belief is that if you eat a part of a great warrior, you will gain a bit of warrior greatness yourself.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
I Was Hot, Hot, Hot Today !
Last night as I lay in bed thinking about the class and their need to study science, a lot of ideas came trickling through my mind. I have been so many places and done so many thi8ngs in my 71 years that I have a lot of true stories top tell my students about what I have seen and experienced.
Today, since they had seen a DVD with spectacular footage of volcanoes, earthquakes, and since I was given the instructions to "teach them science," I decided to start with a short bit about the inter-relatedness of all knowledge, but giving an example from ecology. We talked about an imaginary island populated by deer, wolves, moss, grass, birds and insects. What would happen, I asked them, if Sarah Palin came flying over in a plane (or on a broomstick) and shot most of the wolves ?
They quickly realized that once the wolves were killed, the deer would have no enemies, and would multiply. They then realized that with more deer, the deer population might run out of moss and grass to eat. And then they realized that without moss and grass, many of the insects would die, which would provide a much smaller food supply for the birds, many of which would fly away to some other island.
I then moved into the word for the day, which was "viscous."
These students are"special education," which usually means that they are not very bright. They seem to be learning, however, despite this label. I don't lower standards. I just try to drum the information into their brains.
Today, since they had seen a DVD with spectacular footage of volcanoes, earthquakes, and since I was given the instructions to "teach them science," I decided to start with a short bit about the inter-relatedness of all knowledge, but giving an example from ecology. We talked about an imaginary island populated by deer, wolves, moss, grass, birds and insects. What would happen, I asked them, if Sarah Palin came flying over in a plane (or on a broomstick) and shot most of the wolves ?
They quickly realized that once the wolves were killed, the deer would have no enemies, and would multiply. They then realized that with more deer, the deer population might run out of moss and grass to eat. And then they realized that without moss and grass, many of the insects would die, which would provide a much smaller food supply for the birds, many of which would fly away to some other island.
I then moved into the word for the day, which was "viscous."
These students are"special education," which usually means that they are not very bright. They seem to be learning, however, despite this label. I don't lower standards. I just try to drum the information into their brains.
Illness at the School
I am happy to report that the young man who threw up and passed out at school two days ago (see blog entry previous to this one) seems to be okay at home or the hospital. I am not at all pleased, however, to report that another similar case occurred yesterday to a young woman. Adolescents seem to be most vulnerable to swine flu, if that is what this is. Us old farts seem to have accumulated a lot of immunity over the years because we have been exposed repeatedly to many varieties of flu. So far, none of my students seems to have contracted the disease !
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
You Never Know What Will Happen
Yesterday I left my classroom at the end oif the day, locked the door behind me, and started towards the Principal's office to sign out. The door to the classroom right next to mione wqas open and the teacher was stranding there. Insiude I could see a row of desks abutting the wall, and in one of them was a slumped body, motionless, head on writing area. "He suddenly threw up and then he passed out," the teacher said. "Now he's unresponsive."
She had already called the emergency medics or the front office, I don't know which, and was awaiting them.
Drugs ?
I'll find out more later today. Thank goodness this has never happened to me. But you always have to be ready for anything, whether it is a fight, kids trying to start of game of craps in the back of the room, total chaos, or whatever.
She had already called the emergency medics or the front office, I don't know which, and was awaiting them.
Drugs ?
I'll find out more later today. Thank goodness this has never happened to me. But you always have to be ready for anything, whether it is a fight, kids trying to start of game of craps in the back of the room, total chaos, or whatever.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Student Disrespect and Cruelty
I am 71 years old. In the last two years I have gone from being able to walk and run to the point of scarcely being able to walk. I have to take a vicodine in the morning before I go to school. Then I can sit on my butt most of the day until it is time to leave. My condition is progressively becoming worse, and I hope that I will be able to last another 5 weeks with the students I now have before taking a rest at home for a few weeks and having my hip replacement operation.
I have been substitute teaching in the same school now for about 2 1/2 years, with about six months off last year when I came back from West Africa and became seriously ill (not from the traveling).
I have a good relationship with lots of my students, who see me as someone who has wanted to help them in their education. A few troublemakers, however, dislike me -- and I have to admit I dislike them, too.
Here and there any teacher meets nasty students. I haven't had encounters with many, but on about four occasions I have been the object of their nastiness.
The first occasion that comes to mind was about a year ago, when I was walking down a crowded hallway -- I did not use a cane at that time the way I now do -- and someone deliberately tried to trip me. I couldn't tell who had tried, but I absolutely knew it was on purpose. The attempt, fortunately, was not successful.
Another time when I was going to a deli across the street from the school, I said "Hello" in passing to a student and he began talking to me. I did not understand what he was saying, so I told him I had not understood. He repeated something. Again I did not understand and told him so. When he spoke a third time I realized he was talking nonsense syllables in oder to irritate me.
A third -- and perhaps the most peculiar example of student disrespect came to me just a few days ago when I was leaving my classroom. These days I walk with a cane. I don't use a wheelchair. The hall wasn't crowded and a student came by me. I nodded and said, "Hello." He turned and came back to me and got in my face and said "Hello." I said "How are you doing today ?" He said, "How are you doing today?" I said, "Never mind." He said, "Never mind." Then he added. "You need someone to push your wheelchair." And he quickly walked away.
All this, I suppose, comes with the territory. In a school of 2,000 students, many from the ghetto, there are bad to be a few angry, prejudiced nut cases and bad eggs. The key to success and survival seems to me to be not allowing anyone to push your buttons.
I have been substitute teaching in the same school now for about 2 1/2 years, with about six months off last year when I came back from West Africa and became seriously ill (not from the traveling).
I have a good relationship with lots of my students, who see me as someone who has wanted to help them in their education. A few troublemakers, however, dislike me -- and I have to admit I dislike them, too.
Here and there any teacher meets nasty students. I haven't had encounters with many, but on about four occasions I have been the object of their nastiness.
The first occasion that comes to mind was about a year ago, when I was walking down a crowded hallway -- I did not use a cane at that time the way I now do -- and someone deliberately tried to trip me. I couldn't tell who had tried, but I absolutely knew it was on purpose. The attempt, fortunately, was not successful.
Another time when I was going to a deli across the street from the school, I said "Hello" in passing to a student and he began talking to me. I did not understand what he was saying, so I told him I had not understood. He repeated something. Again I did not understand and told him so. When he spoke a third time I realized he was talking nonsense syllables in oder to irritate me.
A third -- and perhaps the most peculiar example of student disrespect came to me just a few days ago when I was leaving my classroom. These days I walk with a cane. I don't use a wheelchair. The hall wasn't crowded and a student came by me. I nodded and said, "Hello." He turned and came back to me and got in my face and said "Hello." I said "How are you doing today ?" He said, "How are you doing today?" I said, "Never mind." He said, "Never mind." Then he added. "You need someone to push your wheelchair." And he quickly walked away.
All this, I suppose, comes with the territory. In a school of 2,000 students, many from the ghetto, there are bad to be a few angry, prejudiced nut cases and bad eggs. The key to success and survival seems to me to be not allowing anyone to push your buttons.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Progress with Special Education Students
I am enjoying teaching the special education students who are in the classes I will be with for the next 5 1/2 weeks. The classes, which have as many as eight or nine students in the room at the same time, are broken up on paper as learning several different subjects. These may be biology, physical science, and math all in the same room at the same time. I think the different students have been listed as learning whatever subject they have on paper because they need credits in that particular subject to graduate.
One of the deans of the school, when I asked her what she wanted me to teach, simply said, "Teach 'em science." I have modified that somewhat. I start with "the word of the day," to increase their vocabulary. Then I go to a Xeroxed handout in which the basics of science -- elements, atoms, compounds, etc -- are defined and explained. Also, if there is a scientific story in the news, I spend about ten or fifteen minutes on that, too. I write on the board as I talk, and I have them copy what I write into their notebooks. As I talk, I continually ask students questions about the subject matter and their experiences with it. When we discussed Alzheimers, I heard about some interesting experiences.
We are working with Xerox copies drawn from different textbooks. And as I have more and more experience with these students I have become aware that their intellectual level varies enormously. It is rather like teaching in a one-room schoolhouse in which I am trying to educate 4 different grades.
One of the young ladies shows up in two of my four classes each day. She has a rather sad affect. I don't see her smiling, and I don't see her interacting much with the other students. What I do see, however, is that she takes excellent notes every day, usually both sides of a page of lined paper. She is diligent about her schoolwork. And on several occasions when other students have interrupted the class with talking she has told them to be quiet.
I'm using the only teaching technique I know, the one used in my classes 55 or 60 years ago at Exeter, when we sat around a big, table and the instructor went over the material with us.
"What is an element ?" he would ask. "John, tell us what an element is." and we would struggle through whatever notions we had in our heads, while the instructor would verbally nudge and push us in the direction of the correct definition until finally we reached it.
How intelligent really are these kids ? Someone claims their math and English skills are on a 3rd or 4th grade level. One of the school psychologists told me today that a few of them are really high-level "retarded." I haven't spotted this in any of them.
I like these kids, and I think they like me. One of them who wishes to become an NFL football player asked me yesterday if I would go to their next home football game. He sounded as though he really wanted me to be there, so I am guessing that he must find me an okay instructor.
Whenever I am teaching these kids I am haunted by the idea that they have been classified and categorized in a way that makes them subject to lower expectations than they are capable of.
High school kids are like beagles. They're motivated by food. That's why I have promised them a pizza party this Friday. I'll have four or five large pizzas and some soda delivered to the classroom just before lunchtime. When I ask a question in class, nothing grabs their attention more than when I say, "Answer this for one pizza point. You have to have pizza points to come to the party."
One of the deans of the school, when I asked her what she wanted me to teach, simply said, "Teach 'em science." I have modified that somewhat. I start with "the word of the day," to increase their vocabulary. Then I go to a Xeroxed handout in which the basics of science -- elements, atoms, compounds, etc -- are defined and explained. Also, if there is a scientific story in the news, I spend about ten or fifteen minutes on that, too. I write on the board as I talk, and I have them copy what I write into their notebooks. As I talk, I continually ask students questions about the subject matter and their experiences with it. When we discussed Alzheimers, I heard about some interesting experiences.
We are working with Xerox copies drawn from different textbooks. And as I have more and more experience with these students I have become aware that their intellectual level varies enormously. It is rather like teaching in a one-room schoolhouse in which I am trying to educate 4 different grades.
One of the young ladies shows up in two of my four classes each day. She has a rather sad affect. I don't see her smiling, and I don't see her interacting much with the other students. What I do see, however, is that she takes excellent notes every day, usually both sides of a page of lined paper. She is diligent about her schoolwork. And on several occasions when other students have interrupted the class with talking she has told them to be quiet.
I'm using the only teaching technique I know, the one used in my classes 55 or 60 years ago at Exeter, when we sat around a big, table and the instructor went over the material with us.
"What is an element ?" he would ask. "John, tell us what an element is." and we would struggle through whatever notions we had in our heads, while the instructor would verbally nudge and push us in the direction of the correct definition until finally we reached it.
How intelligent really are these kids ? Someone claims their math and English skills are on a 3rd or 4th grade level. One of the school psychologists told me today that a few of them are really high-level "retarded." I haven't spotted this in any of them.
I like these kids, and I think they like me. One of them who wishes to become an NFL football player asked me yesterday if I would go to their next home football game. He sounded as though he really wanted me to be there, so I am guessing that he must find me an okay instructor.
Whenever I am teaching these kids I am haunted by the idea that they have been classified and categorized in a way that makes them subject to lower expectations than they are capable of.
High school kids are like beagles. They're motivated by food. That's why I have promised them a pizza party this Friday. I'll have four or five large pizzas and some soda delivered to the classroom just before lunchtime. When I ask a question in class, nothing grabs their attention more than when I say, "Answer this for one pizza point. You have to have pizza points to come to the party."
Monday, September 28, 2009
Threats from Students
One does not often get threats from students, but I have had one or two.
One time a year or so ago I had a student sitting in the middle of my class say to me, "You're afraid of us." The way I dealt with it could have been a disaster, but it worked. I approached the student and when I was about three feet away I lowered my face opposite the student's and said, "Not in your wildest dreams. I wasn't afraid of the kids when I worked in Juvenile Hall, and I'm not afraid of you, either."
This past Friday I subbed for a new teacher and had classes of about 34 students. The teacher gave me excellent instructions in writing about the classes -- who which ones would probably be difficult, which students (about two or three per class) I could trust because they were honest, and what needed to be done.
I saw a few familiar students in these classes and I lot I had never met before. I don't remember if I described the very little ninth-grader who still sucked his thumb and who called me a "mother-fucker" a year or so ago. He appeased in one of these classes this past Friday. He still sucks his thumb and he still acts up in class, jumping out of his seat, talking, running around and causing a disturbance. It was interesting to me to see that he still follows the old behavior patterns even though he must now be in tenth grade, and that he seems not to have matured appreciably either emotionally or physically. Also in one of Friday's classes was a very large, very intelligent student I had had in classes when I spent two weeks teaching a physiology class a year or so ago. This student did his work, didn't say much, but was noticeable because of his dress. I am not sure iuf he is trying to give the impression of being a cross between a Nazi naval officer or a policeman, but his garb, very dark blue and covered with pseudo-military accountrments, is striking.
The worst class of the day was the sixth period, where a group of about eight students sitting in the center and back of the class tried to act up, create disturbances, and cheat on their tests. I wrote up one of them and sent him off with security. A few minutes later while my back was briefly turned a voice from that general section of the room said, "You better watch out for your Camry now."
I have started parking my Camry in a disabled space next to an entrance to the school. A great many people come by this spot, so I have no doubt the student had seen me there with my car before. I have reached the point in the deterioration of my hip that while I wait another two months for my hip replacement operation I must take pain killers for walking. Before this, I had parked my cart several blocks away in an area the students don't go -- on the advice of my wife, who used to work for the Berkeley School District. Pain or not, I think I shall go back to parking in that same area. Obviously, even if the car were damaged I would not know which student had done the damage. But pain or no pain, it doesn't seem worth taking chances.
I am thankful that for the next six weeks I will have special education classes that don't include last Friday's students. More about that tomorrow.
One time a year or so ago I had a student sitting in the middle of my class say to me, "You're afraid of us." The way I dealt with it could have been a disaster, but it worked. I approached the student and when I was about three feet away I lowered my face opposite the student's and said, "Not in your wildest dreams. I wasn't afraid of the kids when I worked in Juvenile Hall, and I'm not afraid of you, either."
This past Friday I subbed for a new teacher and had classes of about 34 students. The teacher gave me excellent instructions in writing about the classes -- who which ones would probably be difficult, which students (about two or three per class) I could trust because they were honest, and what needed to be done.
I saw a few familiar students in these classes and I lot I had never met before. I don't remember if I described the very little ninth-grader who still sucked his thumb and who called me a "mother-fucker" a year or so ago. He appeased in one of these classes this past Friday. He still sucks his thumb and he still acts up in class, jumping out of his seat, talking, running around and causing a disturbance. It was interesting to me to see that he still follows the old behavior patterns even though he must now be in tenth grade, and that he seems not to have matured appreciably either emotionally or physically. Also in one of Friday's classes was a very large, very intelligent student I had had in classes when I spent two weeks teaching a physiology class a year or so ago. This student did his work, didn't say much, but was noticeable because of his dress. I am not sure iuf he is trying to give the impression of being a cross between a Nazi naval officer or a policeman, but his garb, very dark blue and covered with pseudo-military accountrments, is striking.
The worst class of the day was the sixth period, where a group of about eight students sitting in the center and back of the class tried to act up, create disturbances, and cheat on their tests. I wrote up one of them and sent him off with security. A few minutes later while my back was briefly turned a voice from that general section of the room said, "You better watch out for your Camry now."
I have started parking my Camry in a disabled space next to an entrance to the school. A great many people come by this spot, so I have no doubt the student had seen me there with my car before. I have reached the point in the deterioration of my hip that while I wait another two months for my hip replacement operation I must take pain killers for walking. Before this, I had parked my cart several blocks away in an area the students don't go -- on the advice of my wife, who used to work for the Berkeley School District. Pain or not, I think I shall go back to parking in that same area. Obviously, even if the car were damaged I would not know which student had done the damage. But pain or no pain, it doesn't seem worth taking chances.
I am thankful that for the next six weeks I will have special education classes that don't include last Friday's students. More about that tomorrow.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A Troubled Student
The other day in a class I was substitute teacher for a young lady came up to my desk, paused, then turned halfway away and took a few steps, then came back to my desk. I said hello to her and commented that I thought she might want to talk to me, so she should feel free to if that is what she wanted.
She started: "I was a loner last year in eight grade. I'm something of a loner now." She began to cry. Two of the other young ladies in the classroom came up and put their arms around her in a protective way.
I asked her to come around in a slightly more private area, and I said to her that I could tell she was very upset, and that her business was her business, not something other students should hear about. I told her there are several people on the school staff who are advisers, and that she could talk in total confidence to them, and her business would never go beyond the two of them. I asked her if she would like to go down and spoeak to one of them now.
She said she would. I asked the two studfents whop had come up to her to take her to a particularly person in the3 counseling office, and then I called ahead to tell a friend of mine who works there that she was coming, had a really serious problem she needed to talk to someone about privately, and requested that she be allowed to see one of the staff psychologists right away.
I heard later that she did arrive and she was speaking to a psychologist. I have nbo clue what this was about, but I do know she needed help. Thank goodness we have the right kind of staff to be there when a student needs them.
She started: "I was a loner last year in eight grade. I'm something of a loner now." She began to cry. Two of the other young ladies in the classroom came up and put their arms around her in a protective way.
I asked her to come around in a slightly more private area, and I said to her that I could tell she was very upset, and that her business was her business, not something other students should hear about. I told her there are several people on the school staff who are advisers, and that she could talk in total confidence to them, and her business would never go beyond the two of them. I asked her if she would like to go down and spoeak to one of them now.
She said she would. I asked the two studfents whop had come up to her to take her to a particularly person in the3 counseling office, and then I called ahead to tell a friend of mine who works there that she was coming, had a really serious problem she needed to talk to someone about privately, and requested that she be allowed to see one of the staff psychologists right away.
I heard later that she did arrive and she was speaking to a psychologist. I have nbo clue what this was about, but I do know she needed help. Thank goodness we have the right kind of staff to be there when a student needs them.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Latest Developments
I did very little subbing during the school year 2008 - 2009, and most of that from the beginning of September until the end of October. I went off on my annual trip to Africa (Ivory Coast), came home, wortked a day, and then had an attack of kidney stones that infected my kidneys and almost killed me. I was in intensive care for about a week. I had six operations or "procedures" b etween that time and the end of the school year in early June.
I started subbing again this school year. Several important things have happened since then.
Two or three weeks ago, a young lady who was a senior was walking on a street with a girlfriend and a boyfriend when a car came circling the block three times, then stopped by them and fired 20 shots. The girl who was a student at our school was hit at least ten times, the boy once or twice. The girl was killed right there opn the street.
I did not know here, but it is obvious from her photos that she was a nice, pleasant, well-brought up young lady. The school has been in mourning ever since then, with photos of her and written tributes from her friends posted with them, right at the front door of the school.
We have 2,000 students at our school. To a certain percentage every year, something terrible happens.
We never know what is just around the corner ahead of us, or who it will affect.
I started subbing again this school year. Several important things have happened since then.
Two or three weeks ago, a young lady who was a senior was walking on a street with a girlfriend and a boyfriend when a car came circling the block three times, then stopped by them and fired 20 shots. The girl who was a student at our school was hit at least ten times, the boy once or twice. The girl was killed right there opn the street.
I did not know here, but it is obvious from her photos that she was a nice, pleasant, well-brought up young lady. The school has been in mourning ever since then, with photos of her and written tributes from her friends posted with them, right at the front door of the school.
We have 2,000 students at our school. To a certain percentage every year, something terrible happens.
We never know what is just around the corner ahead of us, or who it will affect.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Teachers
Last night I thought of Monsieur Garrapon. Perhaps I should not say "last night," but rather this morning. I saw the clock from where I lay in bed, and the time was 4:15 a.m. I was not dreaming, but rather lying there in one of those stretches of time in the night when old men like myself cannot sleep, but rather devote the minutes to thinking over their life, what they have seen and done, and what has been to them over the years.
Monsieur Garrapon was a French literature at the Universite de Caen, in Normandy, France, where I spent about four months studying. I cannot remember a thing about the other three or four instructors I encountered there, and I cannot remember much about Monsier Garrapon except for three or four details. My impression is that he was not tall -- perhaps 5' 10" in height, that he spoke very clear and measured French, and that his medium-length hair was what we would call "dirty blond." Since I was 19 and he was probably in his late forties at the time, and since I am just turning 71, he would now be around 96 years old. It is rather unlikely that he has lived this long. I remember him as the professor who taught a course about the plays of Moliere, the great French 17th Century dramatist.
At French universities, if my experience at Caen is any indication, matters are left very much up to the student. A student took a course, attened classes, and studied like hell in preparation for the final exam. There were no assignment such as "Read pages 200 - 350 for next Tuesday." Since this was a course in the plays of Moliere, I remember Professor Garrapon stating at the first class meeting that there are many editions of Moliere's play and that he recommended 10 or so for various reasons which he explained as he listed them on the board. It was up to the student to decide which edition or editions he was going to study, and to go out and find them. The course was about "the plays" of Moliere -- ALL the plays. And so we were to read ALL the plays.
What I remember most about Professor Garrapon were his lectures. He came to class, opened notes he only occasionally referred to, and delivered brilliant, finely polished lectures that left the class with insights they probably would never have had with his instruction.
It was also Professor Garrapon from whom I learned what the French call "explication de texte." This technique really shows whether or not a reader has worked hard to understand an author's writings. It consists of a very close reading of between half a page and a page of what an author has written, and then analysing what is on the page. How is this typical of the author's writing ? How is it different ? What does it mean ? How does it mean whatever it means ? Are there ambiguities in the writing ? Are these intended. How did the author's life affect what is in the text ?
Professor Garrapon demonstrated the meaning of "explication de texte" by performing a number of these in his classes. He was brilliant. He showed the proper play of intellectual enthusiasm and curiosity in his analyses. I shall never forget them.
In short, he was a great teacher and has undoubtedly been remembered by thousands of his students.
Let me speak of teachers I knew from primary school and junior high. I remember almost nothing about two of them except what they said to me on one occasion each.
The first was my third-grade teacher, Ms. Askew. I recall her as a very prim, upright and prissy lady, middle-aged, and very precise and fussy. The main thing I remember is that several times she said to our class, "The only thing a customer can be short-changed on and never complain is education." In teaching as a substitute teacher at a Bay Area high school, where most of the students behave as though they don't care about their studies at all, I have often thought of her statement.
A teacher who had a considerable detrimental influence on my life as a student was a Mr. Needham, who taught my sixth grade class back East. Mr. Needham made the classic move that no teacher should never make, and that affected my learning abilities for a number of years.
For some reason, our seventh grade class was given a test to determine our language learning abilities. A week after the test, our teacher announced the scores. He went down through the list of pupils present, passing out a little slip of paper with the score on it to each student. When he came to my name he said, "Come and see me at the end of the class." There was no piece of paper, no score.
At the end of class I approached him. When everyone else had left he told me, "You got a very, very low score on that test. It indicates that you would not be able to learn another language. Don't try to, because you will fail."
Since then I have been a Samoan interpreter in court and a French translator for the US government.
Monsieur Garrapon was a French literature at the Universite de Caen, in Normandy, France, where I spent about four months studying. I cannot remember a thing about the other three or four instructors I encountered there, and I cannot remember much about Monsier Garrapon except for three or four details. My impression is that he was not tall -- perhaps 5' 10" in height, that he spoke very clear and measured French, and that his medium-length hair was what we would call "dirty blond." Since I was 19 and he was probably in his late forties at the time, and since I am just turning 71, he would now be around 96 years old. It is rather unlikely that he has lived this long. I remember him as the professor who taught a course about the plays of Moliere, the great French 17th Century dramatist.
At French universities, if my experience at Caen is any indication, matters are left very much up to the student. A student took a course, attened classes, and studied like hell in preparation for the final exam. There were no assignment such as "Read pages 200 - 350 for next Tuesday." Since this was a course in the plays of Moliere, I remember Professor Garrapon stating at the first class meeting that there are many editions of Moliere's play and that he recommended 10 or so for various reasons which he explained as he listed them on the board. It was up to the student to decide which edition or editions he was going to study, and to go out and find them. The course was about "the plays" of Moliere -- ALL the plays. And so we were to read ALL the plays.
What I remember most about Professor Garrapon were his lectures. He came to class, opened notes he only occasionally referred to, and delivered brilliant, finely polished lectures that left the class with insights they probably would never have had with his instruction.
It was also Professor Garrapon from whom I learned what the French call "explication de texte." This technique really shows whether or not a reader has worked hard to understand an author's writings. It consists of a very close reading of between half a page and a page of what an author has written, and then analysing what is on the page. How is this typical of the author's writing ? How is it different ? What does it mean ? How does it mean whatever it means ? Are there ambiguities in the writing ? Are these intended. How did the author's life affect what is in the text ?
Professor Garrapon demonstrated the meaning of "explication de texte" by performing a number of these in his classes. He was brilliant. He showed the proper play of intellectual enthusiasm and curiosity in his analyses. I shall never forget them.
In short, he was a great teacher and has undoubtedly been remembered by thousands of his students.
Let me speak of teachers I knew from primary school and junior high. I remember almost nothing about two of them except what they said to me on one occasion each.
The first was my third-grade teacher, Ms. Askew. I recall her as a very prim, upright and prissy lady, middle-aged, and very precise and fussy. The main thing I remember is that several times she said to our class, "The only thing a customer can be short-changed on and never complain is education." In teaching as a substitute teacher at a Bay Area high school, where most of the students behave as though they don't care about their studies at all, I have often thought of her statement.
A teacher who had a considerable detrimental influence on my life as a student was a Mr. Needham, who taught my sixth grade class back East. Mr. Needham made the classic move that no teacher should never make, and that affected my learning abilities for a number of years.
For some reason, our seventh grade class was given a test to determine our language learning abilities. A week after the test, our teacher announced the scores. He went down through the list of pupils present, passing out a little slip of paper with the score on it to each student. When he came to my name he said, "Come and see me at the end of the class." There was no piece of paper, no score.
At the end of class I approached him. When everyone else had left he told me, "You got a very, very low score on that test. It indicates that you would not be able to learn another language. Don't try to, because you will fail."
Since then I have been a Samoan interpreter in court and a French translator for the US government.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Slight Pause in Making Entries
I apologize for the lack of entries during the past few months. I have been undergoing several serious but temporary health problems, and haven't been able to do many of the NET-related work I usually do. I'll be back making more frequent entries soon, though, so stay tuned.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Class and the BUILD Program
I had an assignment the other day that included one hour-long class based on the BUILD program. This program is about business, and requires students to put together a business plan for an enterprise they envision starting.
What a substitute normally experiences in going into an y class is that the students think of the period as a holiday. Most don't do any work. They listen to their iPods, chat together, occasionally chase one another around the room (which has to be immediately stopped), and ignore the lesson they have been told to do and the handout they are supposed to work on.
A few work on homework for other classes. These students usually segregate themselves in a corner away from the others. And always there seems to be a hardcore group of do-nothings who have no intention of achieving anything during the period.
Since this class was about business, and since I have had at least three businesses during my life, I asked who was actually interested in starting an enterprise of their own. Five students out of 28 raised their hands.
I gathered the five in the front of the room, and we discussed the sort of business they were thinking of starting. It was a clothing business, based on sweatshirts, hoodies, and T-shirts.
I took the opportunity to give them a real life situation that they might some day encounter. Suppose some company sold them defective merchandise and would not give them a refund. What would they do ?
They replied that they would take the people to court.
I asked if any of them knew about small claims court. They didn't. And so I discussed small claims court, its inexpensiveness, its advantages, and how they might be able to find redress without having to hire a lawyer and spend lots of filing fees and all of that.
Then we spent about ten minutes talking about the most difficult part of any small business -- hiring the right employees. We discussed looking at resumes, what danger signs about an employee that might be there, but that might not be noticed. I told them some experiences based on bad employees I had made the mistake of hiring.
I think that these five, at least, learned something related to the subject they were supposed to be studying.
What a substitute normally experiences in going into an y class is that the students think of the period as a holiday. Most don't do any work. They listen to their iPods, chat together, occasionally chase one another around the room (which has to be immediately stopped), and ignore the lesson they have been told to do and the handout they are supposed to work on.
A few work on homework for other classes. These students usually segregate themselves in a corner away from the others. And always there seems to be a hardcore group of do-nothings who have no intention of achieving anything during the period.
Since this class was about business, and since I have had at least three businesses during my life, I asked who was actually interested in starting an enterprise of their own. Five students out of 28 raised their hands.
I gathered the five in the front of the room, and we discussed the sort of business they were thinking of starting. It was a clothing business, based on sweatshirts, hoodies, and T-shirts.
I took the opportunity to give them a real life situation that they might some day encounter. Suppose some company sold them defective merchandise and would not give them a refund. What would they do ?
They replied that they would take the people to court.
I asked if any of them knew about small claims court. They didn't. And so I discussed small claims court, its inexpensiveness, its advantages, and how they might be able to find redress without having to hire a lawyer and spend lots of filing fees and all of that.
Then we spent about ten minutes talking about the most difficult part of any small business -- hiring the right employees. We discussed looking at resumes, what danger signs about an employee that might be there, but that might not be noticed. I told them some experiences based on bad employees I had made the mistake of hiring.
I think that these five, at least, learned something related to the subject they were supposed to be studying.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Do Private Schools Widen the Gap . . .
I have heard the argument often that private schools widen the gap between
the rich and the poor. It may apply to some of the private schools such as
Choate or Grotton (do I have the spelling right here ?), but it doesn't
apply to Exeter. Back when I attended Exeter, something like 60% of the
students received at least some financial aid. And I graduated in 1956.
Many students worked at various jobs for the school to help pay their way,
too.
Since then the situation has done nothing but improve. I can say right now
that if a student has the smarts, character and intellectual curiosity, he
can be admitted to and attend Exeter even if he and his family live in a
Safeway shopping cart.
Back then, one of my closest friends came from a farm in an area of northern
Vermont where the winters were bitterly cold. They had just about no money,
so little that he always had to stay in Exeter during everything but summer
vacation because he didn't have the cash to get back to his family and then
return to Exeter for the beginning of the Fall semester. To save fireplace
wood, they used to sleep sometimes in the barn, where the warmth of the cows
made the temperature more comfortable than that of their very small house.
And bow I will tell you some stories that seem to contradict what I have
just written. Please excuse whatever misspellings of names occur here.
In my math class, which had 12 students, there was one Rockefeller (Michael,
who later died off or in New Guinea), a kid with the last name of Tillich,
whose father was on the cover of Time Magazine that same year, and a kid
with the last name of Reisman, whose father was also on the cover of Time
Magazine that same year. One Monday when I arrived in physics class I
found our usual instructor, Mr. Hogg, sitting in the back of the room as we
filed in. Up front was this quiet, soft-spoken man. Mr. Hogg introduced
him and told us the stranger would be teaching us physics all that week.
His name was J. Robert Oppenheimer.
Exeter's student body wasn't restricted to kids from wealthy families.
Oppenheimer had a number of duties he had been hired to perform during his
two-week stay. One was to give two public lectures. Another was to sit in
the music library when he wasn't teaching and to talk to any student who
wanted to talk to him. What I remember most about those library sessions
was a discussion I overheard between the principal and Oppenheimer. The
biggest problem they had there, the principal explained, was to inculcate in
the students the idea that they were not some kind of special, elite group
better than anyone else, but to give them a sense of humility.
I had a little difficulty on this count for a while -- I look back and
realize that for a few years I really was a snob -- until I spent three
years in the U.S, Army as an enlisted man, and then spent many months
sitting in various traditional Samoan fale (houses) in villages, talking with wise
but uneducated old chiefs. As I look back over those years, I realize that
one of the wisest people I ever met was a Samoan man who could neither read
nor write, but who could read personalities with ease.
Anyway, these days there is little division at Exeter between students from
families with lots of money and students from families with almost none.
What counts is whether or not an applicant has the mental ability to survive
there. Exeter isn't deviating from the democratic ideal at all.
If there is a gap between rich and poor among Exonians, it comes years after
graduation, and is purely because a superb education helps many rise to the
top financially, no matter where they start. Maybe a really good education
is, in this sense, anti-democratic. But isn't a really good education what
teachers are trying to give their students ?
the rich and the poor. It may apply to some of the private schools such as
Choate or Grotton (do I have the spelling right here ?), but it doesn't
apply to Exeter. Back when I attended Exeter, something like 60% of the
students received at least some financial aid. And I graduated in 1956.
Many students worked at various jobs for the school to help pay their way,
too.
Since then the situation has done nothing but improve. I can say right now
that if a student has the smarts, character and intellectual curiosity, he
can be admitted to and attend Exeter even if he and his family live in a
Safeway shopping cart.
Back then, one of my closest friends came from a farm in an area of northern
Vermont where the winters were bitterly cold. They had just about no money,
so little that he always had to stay in Exeter during everything but summer
vacation because he didn't have the cash to get back to his family and then
return to Exeter for the beginning of the Fall semester. To save fireplace
wood, they used to sleep sometimes in the barn, where the warmth of the cows
made the temperature more comfortable than that of their very small house.
And bow I will tell you some stories that seem to contradict what I have
just written. Please excuse whatever misspellings of names occur here.
In my math class, which had 12 students, there was one Rockefeller (Michael,
who later died off or in New Guinea), a kid with the last name of Tillich,
whose father was on the cover of Time Magazine that same year, and a kid
with the last name of Reisman, whose father was also on the cover of Time
Magazine that same year. One Monday when I arrived in physics class I
found our usual instructor, Mr. Hogg, sitting in the back of the room as we
filed in. Up front was this quiet, soft-spoken man. Mr. Hogg introduced
him and told us the stranger would be teaching us physics all that week.
His name was J. Robert Oppenheimer.
Exeter's student body wasn't restricted to kids from wealthy families.
Oppenheimer had a number of duties he had been hired to perform during his
two-week stay. One was to give two public lectures. Another was to sit in
the music library when he wasn't teaching and to talk to any student who
wanted to talk to him. What I remember most about those library sessions
was a discussion I overheard between the principal and Oppenheimer. The
biggest problem they had there, the principal explained, was to inculcate in
the students the idea that they were not some kind of special, elite group
better than anyone else, but to give them a sense of humility.
I had a little difficulty on this count for a while -- I look back and
realize that for a few years I really was a snob -- until I spent three
years in the U.S, Army as an enlisted man, and then spent many months
sitting in various traditional Samoan fale (houses) in villages, talking with wise
but uneducated old chiefs. As I look back over those years, I realize that
one of the wisest people I ever met was a Samoan man who could neither read
nor write, but who could read personalities with ease.
Anyway, these days there is little division at Exeter between students from
families with lots of money and students from families with almost none.
What counts is whether or not an applicant has the mental ability to survive
there. Exeter isn't deviating from the democratic ideal at all.
If there is a gap between rich and poor among Exonians, it comes years after
graduation, and is purely because a superb education helps many rise to the
top financially, no matter where they start. Maybe a really good education
is, in this sense, anti-democratic. But isn't a really good education what
teachers are trying to give their students ?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Current Stylish Education Idea In Wash DC
For a number of years now we have heard politicians talk about the need to improve our educational system. As a teacher, I don't doubt the truth of this. But I think the people talking about this don't really understand the problem.
We hear endless comments that we must improve the training of teachers, as though teachers are the problem.
I don't think it is money or the lack of it. This may be true in some districts, but not in the district I teach in.
The main cause of many problems lies in the values and supervision of the students' parents. If the parents don't value education, and if they don't keep close track of what their children (our students) are doing, and if they abuse them, the students disrupt the classes so that a teacher has to spend an enormous percentage of the time on discipline instead of on course subject matter.
In my district, there would be a simple but impractical way to improve the education of a great percentage of students: remove the trouble-makers from the classroom. I admit that I don't know where we would put them. But if instead of just shuffling them from school to school within the district and placing them in different classes with students who really want to learn, they had no chance to disrupt classes, a lot more learning among the better behaved students would take place.
This, of course, is either a utopian or a dystopian idea, I'm not sure which. We cannot do this. We're stuck with the requirement that we must educate ALL students, regardless of how difficult this makes the process.
If we had something resembling the French system or (I think) the Japanese system, we would weed out the dead wood very quickly and only advance those who actually learned. The others would simply be cast out and left behind.
I wonder if in either France or Japan the high school teachers have discipline problems in their classes like the ones we have here.
We hear endless comments that we must improve the training of teachers, as though teachers are the problem.
I don't think it is money or the lack of it. This may be true in some districts, but not in the district I teach in.
The main cause of many problems lies in the values and supervision of the students' parents. If the parents don't value education, and if they don't keep close track of what their children (our students) are doing, and if they abuse them, the students disrupt the classes so that a teacher has to spend an enormous percentage of the time on discipline instead of on course subject matter.
In my district, there would be a simple but impractical way to improve the education of a great percentage of students: remove the trouble-makers from the classroom. I admit that I don't know where we would put them. But if instead of just shuffling them from school to school within the district and placing them in different classes with students who really want to learn, they had no chance to disrupt classes, a lot more learning among the better behaved students would take place.
This, of course, is either a utopian or a dystopian idea, I'm not sure which. We cannot do this. We're stuck with the requirement that we must educate ALL students, regardless of how difficult this makes the process.
If we had something resembling the French system or (I think) the Japanese system, we would weed out the dead wood very quickly and only advance those who actually learned. The others would simply be cast out and left behind.
I wonder if in either France or Japan the high school teachers have discipline problems in their classes like the ones we have here.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Back to Work -- January 21, 2009
Today was my first day back to work in about a month and a half. I had a series of medical problems and two operations which kept me away from school for a while.
The assignment today was supposedly to give a class a test. However, when I arrived at the classroom, I learned that they had already taken the test and done most of the work they would have due in a few days.
I had some interesting conversations with a few of the students. A few worked on homework for other classes, but most listened to their iPods or fooled around with video games on their telephones.
The teacher keeps a series of books, one for each student, in which their quizzes and tests are filed. Several of the students showed me their books -- straight A's. I asked one student to show me his book because I suspected that he is a very bright kid who isn't reaching his potential.
He refused to tell me his name, finally told it to me, but was really insolent and nasty. He claimed his book was at home, which I knew wasn't true because all the books were on the shelf in the classroom. However, there wasn't one with his name on it.
Because he was so rude and disrespectful, I wrote him up. He wanted to take the slip himself to the office. "No thanks," I said. "I take them there myself."
When I checked later at the office and looked at his grades and contact information, I discovered that there is only a woman in his household listed as contact -- no father -- that his grade point average is a 1.0, and that he has been written up a number of times. He is in the 11th grade, and his record shows that he isn't going to graduate.
A rude, disrespectful kid is normally someone no teacher can help unless they have some way of creating an extraordinary rapport with him or her. A few kids I can do this with. Most I cannot.
My prediction is that in a few years this kid will end up in prison. I hope someone somewhere can reach him, but I am fairly sure it cannot be me.
It is very fashionable to blame teachers for the lack of progress students make. In this class, about 80% get A's or B's. The problem here is with this kid's home life and upbringing. No amount of federal legislation will ever correct that.
The assignment today was supposedly to give a class a test. However, when I arrived at the classroom, I learned that they had already taken the test and done most of the work they would have due in a few days.
I had some interesting conversations with a few of the students. A few worked on homework for other classes, but most listened to their iPods or fooled around with video games on their telephones.
The teacher keeps a series of books, one for each student, in which their quizzes and tests are filed. Several of the students showed me their books -- straight A's. I asked one student to show me his book because I suspected that he is a very bright kid who isn't reaching his potential.
He refused to tell me his name, finally told it to me, but was really insolent and nasty. He claimed his book was at home, which I knew wasn't true because all the books were on the shelf in the classroom. However, there wasn't one with his name on it.
Because he was so rude and disrespectful, I wrote him up. He wanted to take the slip himself to the office. "No thanks," I said. "I take them there myself."
When I checked later at the office and looked at his grades and contact information, I discovered that there is only a woman in his household listed as contact -- no father -- that his grade point average is a 1.0, and that he has been written up a number of times. He is in the 11th grade, and his record shows that he isn't going to graduate.
A rude, disrespectful kid is normally someone no teacher can help unless they have some way of creating an extraordinary rapport with him or her. A few kids I can do this with. Most I cannot.
My prediction is that in a few years this kid will end up in prison. I hope someone somewhere can reach him, but I am fairly sure it cannot be me.
It is very fashionable to blame teachers for the lack of progress students make. In this class, about 80% get A's or B's. The problem here is with this kid's home life and upbringing. No amount of federal legislation will ever correct that.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Comments to An African Student
I was teaching math in the last period of the day in late October. This was the last class of the last day I was teaching before I departed for three weeks in Cote d'Ivoire, West Africa. Most of the students had finished their classwork and were wasting time and fooling around. The talk among them turned to girl friends and boy friends. The class was divided between a large contingent of Chinese students, about half a dozen Hispanic girls, and several other foreign students, including one from Mali, West Africa.
The students were joking around about who would be whose boy friend and girl friend when one of the Spanish students commented that she could not possibly ever be the girl friend of the student from Mali.
Just as the bell ending the class rang, the young man from Mali said to me, "They make fun of me because I am so dark."
I must tell you that a few weeks before I had had this same students in one of the ESL classes I occasionally teach. All the students there were given a picture of a room in a house and had to explain in English what they saw in the picture. The general comments went something like, "I see a window. I see a door. I see a sink. I see a chair."
The student from Mali started out describing things by commenting that he saw "a chair in the Style of Louis Quatorze." He went on in his broken English describing things in a much more sophisticated way than the other students. His English wasn't any better, but his perceptions were miles ahead of theirs.
On that final day as the students were rushing out to go home, I called this young man over and started giving him a pep talk. Luckily I speak French. In our conversation, which was in French, I learned that he had attended school in France before coming to the United States. I explained a number of things.
First, I told him that he was intellectually way beyond the other students in the class. I reminded him of his description of the Louis Quarorze chair, and he was surprised that I remembered.
I reminded him, too, that he was here with his family from Mali, and that they had a culture. "Keep true to your culture," I told him. "You are something that many of the African-American students here would really want to be -- a true African." I told him that if he doubted me, he could go to one of the local flea markets, where he would find a number of African-Americans drumming together, pretending (and wishing) they were African.
He had, I mentioned, values and a culture, things many of the other students in the school don't have. He must stay true to who he is. He must not be infected by the cheap culture of many of the kids who have no role models to imitate, and who take their cues for living primarily from their peers.
And as for the very dark color of his skin, I reminded him that "La beaute se trouve dans les yeux de celui qui regard." "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." If anything, he should know who and what he is, and feel very proud of his African identity, which is precious.
I am not one for subtlety or political correctness, as you can tell from my talk with him. And I haste people looking down on other people because of skin color.
I've been called down by readers of this blog before, and I am sure I'll be called down many times again, especially for what I have said about what I have come to regard as the dismal culture of many of my African-American students. For all of them, thought, what I want is simply something better.
And don't we have a President now who demonstrates that they can have this if they so choose ?
The students were joking around about who would be whose boy friend and girl friend when one of the Spanish students commented that she could not possibly ever be the girl friend of the student from Mali.
Just as the bell ending the class rang, the young man from Mali said to me, "They make fun of me because I am so dark."
I must tell you that a few weeks before I had had this same students in one of the ESL classes I occasionally teach. All the students there were given a picture of a room in a house and had to explain in English what they saw in the picture. The general comments went something like, "I see a window. I see a door. I see a sink. I see a chair."
The student from Mali started out describing things by commenting that he saw "a chair in the Style of Louis Quatorze." He went on in his broken English describing things in a much more sophisticated way than the other students. His English wasn't any better, but his perceptions were miles ahead of theirs.
On that final day as the students were rushing out to go home, I called this young man over and started giving him a pep talk. Luckily I speak French. In our conversation, which was in French, I learned that he had attended school in France before coming to the United States. I explained a number of things.
First, I told him that he was intellectually way beyond the other students in the class. I reminded him of his description of the Louis Quarorze chair, and he was surprised that I remembered.
I reminded him, too, that he was here with his family from Mali, and that they had a culture. "Keep true to your culture," I told him. "You are something that many of the African-American students here would really want to be -- a true African." I told him that if he doubted me, he could go to one of the local flea markets, where he would find a number of African-Americans drumming together, pretending (and wishing) they were African.
He had, I mentioned, values and a culture, things many of the other students in the school don't have. He must stay true to who he is. He must not be infected by the cheap culture of many of the kids who have no role models to imitate, and who take their cues for living primarily from their peers.
And as for the very dark color of his skin, I reminded him that "La beaute se trouve dans les yeux de celui qui regard." "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." If anything, he should know who and what he is, and feel very proud of his African identity, which is precious.
I am not one for subtlety or political correctness, as you can tell from my talk with him. And I haste people looking down on other people because of skin color.
I've been called down by readers of this blog before, and I am sure I'll be called down many times again, especially for what I have said about what I have come to regard as the dismal culture of many of my African-American students. For all of them, thought, what I want is simply something better.
And don't we have a President now who demonstrates that they can have this if they so choose ?
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