BSWP Writer's Cabin

"How Do we Feed the Teachers?" - By Melissa Kennedy

Opinion article

7/7/08

‘How do we feed the teachers?’

‘If you don’t feed the teachers they eat the students.’ Perhaps. But more to the point they will eat each other, the administrators or just leave the dinner table altogether for a higher paid, less stressful job.

So what do we do about it? It makes sense to ask the teachers themselves. Too often though teachers are not asked for solutions rather they are blamed for problems in education. It is too simplistic to force one group to shoulder such a burden. Many people have a stake in education; teachers, politicians, parents, students, business people, administrators, corporations; and all should share in the responsibility for improving it.

As a community we need to think carefully about what motivates someone to be a teacher, stay in teaching and create quality teaching and learning experiences. A vibrant empowered teaching profession will attract more lie minded people to it. Continued high quality professional learning opportunities are important in retaining effective teachers. Without such support teachers lose heart and start to feel stagnant. A stagnant teacher does not innovate; she merely survives to the detriment of herself and her students.

Recently I had the good fortune to participate in the Boise State Writing Project Invitational Summer Institute. It is here that I learned of some practical ways we can create more professional learning opportunities for teachers, helping them to be innovative and engaged in teaching and learning. According to the NWP website, ‘The summer institute is at the core of NWP's model of "teachers teaching teachers.’

The Boise State Writing Project is run under the auspices of the National Writing Project, which believes that ‘Writing is essential to success in school and the workplace.’ The aim of the N.W.P. is to assist

‘Through NWP's professional learning programs, teachers in all subject areas and all grade levels learn new strategies to help their students become accomplished writers and learners.’

The National Writing Project relies on a close connection between university education faculties and teachers. The name Boise State Writing Project is affiliated with Boise State University. Writing Projects are located at different sites across the U.S. and two international sites in Malta and Hong Kong. This local approach enables the Summer Institute and other courses to be adapted to the needs of the local teaching climate. This is an excellent idea as it is personal, relevant and immediate for teachers and therefore their students.

Professor Jeffrey Wilhelm is the motivating force behind the Boise State Writing Project. His last National Writing Project home was in Maine. There, as in Boise, he showed strong leadership skills to empower a teaching community that fosters its own and promotes change.

I’ve seen first hand the power of this program to motivate teachers who feel disempowered by the ‘No Child Left Behind’ legislation. The National Writing Project motivates them to see the possibilities for growth in their classroom and communities. It encourages them to think of themselves less as victims of the latest government whim and more as agents of change working within the system to provide the best educational opportunities for their students.

According to the U.S. Department of Education’s website

‘No Child Left Behind is based on stronger accountability for results, more freedom for states and communities, proven education methods, and more choices for parents.’

On the surface this looks like good legislation, which supports the students and teachers in the best possible way. In practice extracts such as the following show cracks in the façade.

‘No Child Left Behind puts emphasis on determining which educational programs and practices have been proven effective through rigorous scientific research. Federal funding is targeted to support these programs and teaching methods that work to improve student learning and achievement.’

These cracks show up in how this legislation is implemented. There are two main crevices- prescriptive teaching programs and standardised testing. Many teachers are forced to use prescriptive programs to teach such skills as reading. They are so prescriptive that the teacher must show ‘fidelity’ to the program, which means doing such things as reading scripted explanations to students word-for-word. ‘Fidelity’ is a concept that appears to have been appropriated by textbook companies, administrators and legislators to guilt teachers into toeing the line.

These teachers work in school districts in which administrators bought such programs because the government said they were not meeting standards and in order to receive continued financial support they need to buy the programs the government says will fix their problems. This, of course, backfires because it ignores the relationship aspect of teaching, the unique qualities of the local school community and shows a lack of trust in teachers and students. Instead the government tries to wallpaper over the issues with a one size fits all panacea.

Standardised testing is another issue that disturbs teachers in the US. The type of testing that operates here is very limiting and frequently involves multiple-choice tests and narrow writing tasks. With the ‘No Child Left Behind’ legislation the government needed to make comparisons across a highly decentralised education system. To a certain extent I can understand the government’s logic on this point. In Australia the federal government recently instituted a form of national testing called the National Assessment Program- Literacy and Numeracy (NAPLAN). Ironically Australia has no national curriculum but it now has national testing!

Unlike the U.S. though our funding for schools is not linked to performance in the standardised tests. This part of the equation is the one that disturbs me. It seems that the vast majority of cognitive scientists and the average soul on the street agree that academic achievement and indeed intelligence cannot be measured by a series of standardised tests. Yet this is what the U.S. government chooses as the main measure of academic achievement. As a teacher working in such a system it is easy to think that there is no hope and you may as well teach to the test and ignore all you know about effective teaching practice.

Thankfully organisations such as the National Writing Project empower teachers to work within this difficult political framework to show them it is possible to teach well, to teach with an inquiry based approach, to value the relationship aspects of learning and still ensure your students pass their standardised tests.

At the Boise State Writing Project they achieve this through a year long program of events. The main component is a five-week program in which participants present an action research project, deliver a learning autobiography in a creative way, discuss professional texts, develop their own writing skills and find a voice for social change in their community. It is an intensive and rewarding program. Coaches, previous NWP Summer Institute participants, support the teachers throughout the program offering assistance on all aspects of the course. Teachers also receive support from other participants in reading groups, where you discuss professional literature and writing groups, where you workshop each other’s writing efforts.

For their efforts over the year teachers receive 6 credit points at Boise State University which they may use towards gaining a Masters Degree. This acts as an incentive to undertake further courses. Teachers are also welcomed into a supportive network of like-minded educators who encourage each other to experiment with new ideas in the classroom and become invigorated practitioners.

The political and educational context in Idaho is very different from that in New South Wales. Despite our differences we are all in the same game and we all benefit from enhancing our professional learning opportunities. This is the power of the National Writing Program. Its core principles are relevant to any teacher in any country. It provides a rich and nurturing professional learning experience that heightens teacher engagement and, in turn, attracts new people who want to be part of such a dynamic profession. Thus creating a climate of renewal. In 2003 it was estimated that there would be a shortage of 30 000 teachers by 2010 because of retirements, teachers choosing to work overseas and/ or outside the profession (Nelson, 9/10/03). Grassroots movements like the National Writing Project provide ways to attract and retain more people in teaching.

New South Wales

teachers and students would benefit from a structured professional learning program like the National Writing Project. Professor Wilhelm is coming to Australia next July/August and is keen to lend a hand in any way he can. The US National Writing Project is funded by the federal government to the tune of 24 million dollars in 2008. Without the cooperation of universities and such funding we cannot hope to replicate such programs. There are some steps we can take in this direction though. Professor Wilhelm is working in Tasmania in the next few years to establish an Inquiry Institute, an initiative of the National Writing Project. In New South Wales we can start with the very active English Teacher’s Association and incorporate some of the ideas from the US National Writing Project into the ETA’s activities.

We could run short professional learning courses of two to three days, for example an inquiry workshop, a writing workshop and an action research workshop, which could lead to participants presenting workshops at the annual New South Wales ETA conference. In recent years there has been discussion about how difficult it is to find teachers interested in presenting high quality, engaging workshops. This is a perfect way to grow such teacher researchers and in turn they can be models for others.

Successful trials of courses such as these and more connections between universities and practicing teachers will strengthen any efforts to secure funding from the federal government to establish a National Writing Program in Australia. Professor Wilhelm and the staff of the National Writing Program are keen to spread the word about how powerful learning can be if we all work together to engage and inspire. I believe we need to listen and be ready to act.

References:

The Boise State Writing Project http://english.boisestate.edu/bswp/ (accessed 7/7/08)

Cloud, John ‘Inside the New SAT test’ (19/10/2003) on http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1101031027-524393,00.html (accessed 7/7/08)

‘Detailed Information on the National Writing Project’ (Fall, 2004) on http://www.whitehouse.gov/omb/expectmore/detail/10002110.2004.html (accessed 7/7/08)

The Educational Testing Service http://www.ets.org/portal/site/ets/menuitem.3a88fea28f42ada7c6ce5a10c3921509/?vgnextoid=85b65784623f4010VgnVCM10000022f95190RCRD (accessed 7/7/08)

Murray, Charles ‘Abolish the SAT’ (July/Aug 2007) on http://www.american.com/archive/2007/july-august-magazine-contents/abolish-the-sat (accessed 7/7/08)

NAPLAN www.naplan.edu.au (accessed 7/7/08)

The National Writing Project www.nwp.org (accessed 7/7/08)

Nelson, Brendan (9 October 2003) Media Release ‘Australia’s Teachers- Australia’s Future’ on http://www.dest.gov.au/Ministers/Media/Nelson/2003/10/n475091003.asp (accessed 7/7/08)

Shea, Christopher (July 4 2004) ‘What Does the SAT test?’ on http://www.boston.com/news/education/k_12/articles/2004/07/04/the_sat_tests/ (accessed 7/7/08)

U.S. Department of Education Website http://www.ed.gov/nclb/overview/intro/4pillars.html (accessed 7/7/08)

Poetry by Paula Leppert

My best friend tells me I am an orange.

An orange--layered with hidden levels of complexity.

It starts with a tough outer peel

Repelling unwanted, unwelcome advances.

The taste is bitter on the unsuspecting tongue

Causing many to cast me away

Scarred but unexplored.

Some choose to peel away the outer layer

delving under the surface.

This layer beneath holds

The vitamins

The nutrients

The knowledge

The wisdom of my experiences.

It is here that I hold the words

Speaking to whom the world sees

And it is here most stop.

 

My outer shell stripped away

Exposes the soft inner circle holding the segments of my soul.

Each piece is filled with the juices of who I truly am.

Each piece is flavored by the trials and victories

Of living in this world of challenge every day.

 

Some segments are small, bitter with only drops of juice left

Sucked out by loss

Words spoken in anger

Meant to hurt

To damage.

 

Some segments are mellow

Holding a soft flavor

Unmarked by the ravages of time

Hopeful of a future yet to be attained.

 

Finally those final few

Filled to bursting with the poignant tastes

Of joy

Of power

Of desire.

These pieces though small in number

Show the true heart of a loving soul

Often denied voice

Hidden to protect the value of these precious segments.

 

Only the chosen few reach the soul of this orange.

A delicacy to be savored.

A texture never forgotten.

Layers of a complex nature

Stolen from the world.

My best friend tells me I am an orange.

I may believe him.

 

Paula Leppert

The Invisible Boy - John Pattis

The Invisible Boy

By J. Pattis

One day when I was about seven I learned how to become invisible, at least in school. My power of invisibility grew slowly as time progressed I became a master not of disguise, but of not even being noticed at all. A perfect school year means you are never called upon to read, share an answer or otherwise engage in a lesson.

 

Becoming invisible took a little work; first you had to dress invisible. This was a little challenging because while the Invisible Man could take clothes off in order to become undetectable, the cold winter weather meant you had to keep clothes on. You just had to learn how to make sure no one noticed you.

 

Old, but not too old clothes were the best bet, too new and the other kids made fun of you, too old and the adults felt sorry for you. Clothes too large, baggy, and with a hood were best. A great tool at staying invisible were cool wrap- around sun glasses like the ones Napoleon Solo wore in The Man From Uncle, although these were seldom allowed. So, keeping your eyes looking down, averting looking anyone in the eye was next best.

 

Next you learned to sit in the invisible part of the room, away from the smarty-pants kids who always did their homework. In the back, near the pencil sharpener was the best place. You had to be careful to sit away from the troublemakers who were always very visible.

 

In time you learned to keep your desk invisible. To remain invisible required the stealth of a spy. The ballpoint pen that was made into a blow gun like those Indians from the Amazon use was not hard to hide, and might be needed if an enemy tried to sneak upon you. The world’s shortest pencil, sharpened to a nub, so that only the erasure band was visible was another great invisible weapon. Scissors, colored pencils, and paste completed the arsenal of ordinary looking, yet invisible weapons.

 

Keeping Comic books in your desk, required special skills. These were best kept hidden, even from your neighbor’s prying eyes. To help hide your true reading interest, it was best to look busy. Keeping a binder open to a blank piece of paper was a sure strategy that you would not be spotted by the prowling eyes of your neighbors, or the teacher.

 

Having a few equally invisible friends helped make being invisible possible. Eventually I learned to become friends with other invisible boys like Stanley the only black kid at our school, or Charlie who spent a lot of time out of the classroom, or in the hallway, or David who hated school but loved Nazis. I lived in an invisible world.

 

I learned the art of walking slooowwwllly to the rest room, or drinking fountain. This helped me stay invisible to what was going on in the classroom, while being fully visible to the exciting world of the school hallway, where lots of invisible kids spent a good part of their invisible day. The kids lined up outside the principals office, or lined up at the slowest drinking fountain in the school, or off on an errand to the nurse.

Other forms of escape meant trips to the orthodontist to get my retaining headgear straightened, or the eye doctor to fix my broken glasses for the umpteenth time, I lived in an invisible world of doodles and comic books.

 

Bus rides to school meant a gradual change from visible to invisible.  Saying goodbye to brothers and sisters as the bus pulled into the school parking lot was the last glimmer of the other world, which I exchanged every day for the invisible world. The slow ride home meant untangling myself from the unseen to the world in which I wanted to be seen. By the time I arrived home, lunch box clanging, book bag dragging, I had returned to a place where I wanted to be noticed, to be seen, to be part of.

 

At one point in time I toyed with the idea of making a robot, which looked just like me. He could go to school, do my math, and face those bullies while I operated from a top secret laboratory, watching every move of my robot by remote camera, and dealing death and destruction to that smarty-pants I didn’t like

 

I was always invisible, well almost always. The speech lady saw me once in a while. She helped me sound out words. The reading lady also saw me. She kept me entertained for hours as we sounded out words from her card deck, and used her laser beam to move across stories about Dick, Spot and Jane like a mouse across a table.

 

While these teachers saw me, my classroom teacher hardly ever did. She was so busy teaching, she never checked to see if I was learning. I would spend part of writing time drawing pictures of flying tanks that could kill aliens and monsters with machine guns, flamethrowers, and large battering rams. Once I spent and entire school year without actually reading a book.

 

During math time I read Sergeant Rock, keeping an eye out for any Nazis that might have escaped, and were prowling around the school. This is how I spent a major part of my school time.

 

I remained invisible all the way to high school. That’s when Mr. Peter’s the first teacher with x-ray vision put on his special glasses and saw me. He was the only teacher who finally talked to me, instead of yelling.

 

In time I learned to become visible, if for only a short period of time. I discovered that I was actually good at a few things. I liked reading books, books about heroes, and so I was visible in social studies. I also discovered that I liked to run, so became visible during cross country and track season. I remember being freed to think on my own. I read, wrote, and related to Mr. Peters in a way that I had never done before, nor had done since.

 

Thirty-seven years later my life has come almost a full circle. Leaving classrooms for college in the 1970s I eventually found a body to go with my invisible self. The body had been shadowing my every move since birth, and was just waiting me to accept it. Like a car dealership pressing a used, slightly beat up clunker into the hands of someone whose credit rating may not be very high.

 

I explored, enjoyed, married, fathered, and even settled down. Watching my favorite TV shows being replaced by my children’s favorite shows, and eventually my grandchildren’s favorites. I laugh off my invisible stage of development as a butterfly must certainly laugh off the pupil stage.

 

Today I can put on my glasses and can see the invisible boys and girls in my classroom. They are the ones who are hesitant to raise their hand, the ones who flee in terror at the prospect of reading aloud, sharing an opinion, or expressing themselves. They are the kids on the playground who scatter uneasily at the approach of a teacher, who sit quietly on the bus saying nothing, or who strategically plan their own daring escape to the nurse, restroom, or just out in the hallway.

 

I just hope I can help some of them see themselves for who they are, and learn that in the eyes of all, they are a special gift, with something to share.

 

The Top Three Things that make me go HMMM… by Heather Yarbrough

*As you read through this expository piece, Heather is asking that you give her feedback.

The Top Three Things that make me go HMMM…

                                                                    by Heather Yarbrough

As I continue my education in the area of literacy, I am excited about the knowledge and confidence I am gaining. Every class I complete is more meaningful and relevant. The Boise State Writing Project is no exception. It has been an amazing experience that encouraged me to examine myself as both a learner and as an educator. Through the many topics that were covered in class, I gained a wealth of information. However, I still have those few topics that keep me up at night. They are those issues that I battle with on a daily basis, and at the end of the day, make me a better teacher. I have narrowed them down to the top three things that make me go HMMM.

 

Number Three-So, What’s the Big Deal with Fluency Anyway?

Kuhn and Stahl’s article Fluency: A Review of Developmental and Remedial Practices (2004) defines fluency as a rapid, accurate, and expressive rendering of text. Other researches like Maryanne Wolf (2006) and Timothy Rasinski (n.d.) also subscribe to the idea that accuracy, prosody and pace are necessary elements in fluent reading. I would add a few more key elements to these definitions. A fast pace alone is not enough. Students need to be taught appropriate pace for understanding. As readers, we read for a variety of reasons, thus, depending on the situation, a different pace may be required in order to comprehend what is being read. It is also important to add rudiments such as phrasing and self correcting. Without all of these fundamentals working together, fluency becomes a rat race for a finish line, and understanding is compromised!

So, why is fluency so important? Fluency can be seen as the bridge between the two major components of reading-word decoding and comprehension. “…at one end of this bridge, fluency connects to accuracy and automaticity in decoding. At the other end, fluency connects to comprehension through prosody, or expressive interpretation” (Rasinski, n.d.). When a reader struggles with word-by-word reading, or having difficulty reading the sentences in phrases, they can’t be expected to engage in thoughtful literacy practice. So much cognitive effort is deployed at the word and sentence level that little remains for thinking about ideas, emotions, and images found in the text (Allington, 2001). In order for students to comprehend as they read, they have to have the mental freedom to do so.

One of the most effective strategies to help increase fluency is repeated readings (Ambruster et al., 2001, Allington, 2001). Teachers can inspire students, in an authentic manner, to read a text repeatedly. Oral performances of real, meaningful texts are the most authentic reason for wanting to engage in repeated readings, or rehearsal. Students will want to practice a passage if they know they will be performing for classmates and others (Rasinski & Padak, n.d).

Genres with a strong voice such as stories, Readers Theater, poetry, song lyrics, speeches, and monologues lend themselves to repeated readings and fluency development. These genres help students develop a love for literacy (Rasinski & Padak, n.d). Other effective strategies that increase fluency include read alouds, talk show participants, becoming the character, puppet shows, choral readings, echo readings, partner readings, and taped readings (Ambruster et al., 2001, Allington, 2001).

 

 

 

Number Two-Comprehension is More Than Just Knowing the Facts

The coined term “thoughtful literacy” is an excellent buzz word for comprehension (Allington 2001, Wilhelm, 1997). In many classrooms across the nation, students are taught to remember, not understand. Thoughtful literacy goes beyond the ability to read, remember and recite (Allington, 2001). It is our job as teachers to facilitate a connection between reading and understanding that is meaningful and relevant and that provides our students with the thinking apparatus to become truly literate members of society. Smith (2004) defines comprehension as “relating aspects of the world around us-including what we read-to the knowledge, intentions, and expectations we already have in our head. It is clearly the purpose of reading and of learning to read” (p. 13).

Reading

is much more than regurgitation of facts. Thoughtful literacy requires students to make connections (text-to-text, text-to-self, text-to-world), summarize, analyze, synthesize and evaluate (Allington, 2001)

A story that I share with my students every year is A Shark’s Jaw and a Tuna’s Tail written by Nancy Miller. It is about a little girl who writes a story about her father and eventually shares it with him when he comes to visit the school she attends. It is a very thought provoking piece that engages students in immediate discussion. I could ruin this motivation by asking comprehension questions such as: what was the little’s girls name?, where did her father work?, and what time did Sarah’s father show up at school? However, these are deemed to be who gives a shit questions! Much more relevant and thought provoking questions could be: was Sarah’s father literate?, how important was it for Sarah’s father to hear her read a story about the two of them fishing together?, or better yet, have the students ask the questions and lead the discussion! This facilitation of inquiry helps to build meaning and understanding on a deeper level that allows the reader to connect to other applicable areas in their learning.

Juxtaposition is also a very powerful strategy to help support meaning making. In my classroom, I attempt to juxtapose every article or story read in class with another. This allows for a deeper level of understanding to take place. It helps to aid in making connections across texts and leads to the powerful tasks of making connections to the world around us and to ourselves.

 

Number One-Change is Desired

I realized that I am a prime example of a well “schooled” child. I learned early on that the “easy” way was the teacher’s way and thinking for yourself got you into trouble or a “bad” grade. I carried this view with me to college, where I cringed and dreaded those few classes that demanded I think for myself. Now, as an educator, I find myself in a similar trap. Although I realize that my pedagogy is what should drive instruction in my classroom, I have fallen victim to No Child Left Behind and other mandates that have placed restrictions on teachers and students. I am guilty of putting my beliefs aside and teaching children in a way that has been unsuccessful and harmful. The coined term “pedagogy of the absurd” (Goodman, 2006, p.32) eerily describes my teaching in the past.

The many activities, articles read and discussions that took place in class encouraged me to take a deep look at who I am and what I stand for and to take action NOW. To begin this process, I reread a very powerful article from a previous class. Visioning and the Development of Outstanding Teachers, by Gerald Duffy (2002) depicts visioning as a key to outstanding teaching. Visioning, as Duffy (2002) defines, is a “teacher’s conscious sense of self, of one’s work and of one’s mission” (pp. 322) He takes this a step further and defines “vision” as “a personal stance on teaching that rises from deep within the inner teacher and fuels independent thinking” (pp. 322). To truly make a change in my pedagogy, I have to have a vision.

Duffy (2002) lists six questions teachers must answer to help them create a vision statement. My answers to each question will follow.

Why did you choose to become a teacher? As a little girl, I always wanted to be a teacher. I remember playing school everyday with my younger sister, and of course, I was always the teacher. There has never been a desire to be anything else.

What is your particular gift to your students? I have many gifts to offer my students. Among the top are love, patience and understanding. I am also very excepting and empathetic of differences. I remember what it was like to be made fun of as a child and to have teachers not want to hug me because I smelled of cigarette smoke. I realize that my students come from all walks in life and I do not try to change them, instead I love and accept them for who they are.

Do you see your teaching as a mission? Absolutely! Despite what government mandates come through, or what curricular fads show up, teaching children will always come first. I am determined not to give up and throw the towel in. I will fight for what I know is right for kids.

What is the most important thing you want your students to learn from you? Empathy and respect for others and the world around us.

When you say you want your students to be “literate”, what does that mean? Being able to read, understand and connect the word and the world; having the ability to function within the many different realms of society successfully.

If you were to meet your students fifteen years from now, what do you hope they will tell you were the most important thing they learned form you? How to be empathetic and respectful of others and the world around them. Not only do I want them to gain this within themselves, but I also want them to remember how I demonstrated these qualities as well.

After answering each of these questions, I realize that my vision as an educator has little to do with academics, and everything to do with the human condition. I am more interested in my students becoming compassionate and considerate members of society that I am about them being productive members of society. Teaching my students literacy has little to do with how many words per minute they can read, how many questions they can answer correctly, or if they have all of the phonics rules memorized. Instead, it consists of giving them meaningful experiences that will demand that they think for themselves and will encourage them to respect and empathize with those around them.

Knowing and understanding the research and theories that drive literacy instruction is powerful, yet maddening It is a constant battle to do what is right by students and to attempt to maintain employment. The following quote by Frank Smith (1983) sums things up nicely. “Ignorance is not a matter of not knowing, but of not knowing that you don’t know or mistakenly believing that you do know or at least some expert somewhere does know. Ignorance is not so much not knowing an answer as not knowing that there is a question. …Ignorance is a blind dependence that someone else will be able to tell you what to do” (Bahruth, July15, 2006). I have been ignorant in the past, and I choose to be no longer.

Although there are many other issues that I could have discussed, these are the top three HMMM’s have been haunting my thoughts. Each one guides me to examine my own pedagogy, and realize that I must fight to change myself, the system and my students for the better. I can no longer forget who I am and what I believe when I enter my classroom. To do so is a disservice to not only my students who deserve so much more, but me as well.

References

Allington, R.L. (2001). What really matters for struggling readers: designing research-based programs?

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Armbruster, B.B., Lehr, F., & Osborn, J. (2001). Put reading first; the research building blocks for teaching children to read.

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D.C: National Institute for Literacy.

Bahruth, R. (2006, July 15). Quote from Frank Smith (1983). Handout presented at class ED-LTCY 548 Psycholinguistics in

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Duffy, G.G. (2002). Visioning and the development of outstanding teachers. Reading Research and Instruction, 41(4), 331-344.

Goodman, K. (2006). Pedagogy of the Absurd. Rethinking Schools, (pp. 30-32).

Rasinski, T. V. (n.d.). Assessing reading fluency. Pacific Resources for Education and Learning:

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Rasinski, T. & Padak, N. (n.d.).  Authentic and effective fluency instruction. Retrieved

June 10, 2007

, from http://www.wrightgroup.com/download/lit/ fluency_first_authentic_fluency_instruction1.pdf

Smith, F. (2004). Understanding reading: a psycholinguistic analysis of reading and learning to read (6^th ed.).

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Wilhelm, J.D. (1997). “You gotta be the book”: teaching engaged and reflective reading with adolesents.

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Creative Piece by Jeff Fox

I sometimes wonder if I am destined to always miss the big picture. Understanding usually surprises me, comes suddenly, and leaves me reeling.

The story of my mom’s dying is common in some ways, for it is the human condition, part of who we all are. In other ways, though, this is a different story. It’s the tale of gifts. This story is as much my mom’s as it is my son’s. I should have known she saw this as a chance to share a great gift with all of us, especially her youngest grandchild, my son. She was a planner.

My son was seventeen the summer before my mom died in December. In June, he asked my wife and me if he could move in and take care of my mom, his grandmother. My immediate response was to say no. He was seventeen, and, of course, I framed everything about him in my remembrance of ME at seventeen. I explained that she would need increasingly complex care, that it would mean hiring professional caregivers soon, that it might be difficult physically and emotionally for him to do. I could have been speaking for myself at age fifty-two, for I was uncertain of this journey. Though I could hardly bear to say what I knew would be the truth, the details of palliative care—meds, bathing, no sleep and all the rest, he was sanguine. It seems he and Mom had already talked, and she was ok with it, he said. They had talked about it? And it was ok? My mom confirmed this when I called her, and she was fine with it. And there I was, gasping for reason. In the end, we agreed to try it out, and he went to live with her and to become his grandmother’s caregiver that summer. He stayed until her death. In her final weeks, he often slept on the floor at the foot of her bed, keeping the long night watch.

My son’s request came to me as another of a series of unknowns, another piece of news added to all we had learned in the odyssey of tests and trips to hospitals and doctors’ offices that finally revealed her incurable condition. Mom came from a generation who trusted medicine and doctors. She often said she would do what her doctors told her. She did. She was never in a hospital until she had me and my brother, and then not again until some forty-five years later when she had a double mastectomy and post-operative chemo and radiation treatments. She was a cancer survivor, overcoming late-stage tumors and a compromised lymph system. Her friends and family drove her to treatments for over a year, and she made it, cancer-free for over ten years. Then she had the lung disease.

Clinically, it’s an easy story to tell. Mom died of heart failure brought on by chronic pulmonary fibrosis, specifically rheumatoid lung disease, a hardening of her interstitial lining. Over time, the lining hardens, reducing the lungs’ ability to process oxygen into the bloodstream; the heart and kidneys work harder, systems are stressed. It’s incurable.

I first noticed the change in the fall two years before her death. She was short of breath, unusual for her. She had trouble catching her breath enough to walk from the car to her doorway. The trip to her doctor the next day was the start of a long journey of amazing events. Over the next few months, she never complained as her friends or my wife or I drove her to specialists for tests, procedures, treatments. My wife and I sat in doctor’s offices, writing down long medical terms, consulting web sites, calling clinics, conversing with our doctor and nurse friends. Mom was never too concerned. She did what the doctors suggested, and she was I think occasionally annoyed with the fervor my wife and I had in tracking down information. In the end, I suppose she was the smart one. All she really needed to know was that she was dying and there was no cure.

She wasn’t ready to go; I know that. She reflected once in a while that she was not afraid, not bitter, just sad that she was leaving when she still had things she wanted to do. She enjoyed life, my mom. She had friends, her children, her grandchildren. She was an active philanthropist, a cradle Episcopalian. She greeted each day as one more chance to make a difference.

Her only request was that she die at home. No hospital, no care center. She had the resources to do this; she had me and my family and her friends for support. And that’s the way it was.

Robby was strong during these months. He drove her to the store, pushing up and down the aisles and plucking the items she pointed to. He took her to lunches out with her friends, wheeling her into fine restaurants with a practiced suavity, a gentleman with Mom’s friends, all elderly, all eager to talk to Robby, to laugh at his humor, to enjoy his smile.

And later when it got rough, he stayed. He got up with her in the night, helped her to the bathroom, to the shower. He helped her dress, made her breakfast. It was odd and comical at times to come over and see them at the table, she in her robe and slippers, he in his pjs, both eating toast and drinking coffee, sharing the morning paper. I was warmed then, speechless at times. At times, I went into another room to cry, so tender was all this, so tender.

He wrote a reflection after her death, a journal of sorts. Here is some of what he had to say.

She lived with an oxygen tank as her constant and only companion for some time. Not too long before I moved into her house, she had begun to fall at night when she woke up to use the restroom. Her arthritis was getting worse, and it was getting harder for her to manage by herself. That was when I offered to move in with her.

As time passed by, I grew accustomed to the patterns. Helping her two or three times a night to the bathroom, making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, helping her keep track of the army of pills she had to take, helping her wash her face at night and get ready for bed, then repeat. Much to everyone’s surprise, I had fun. To this day, several people don’t believe me that living there was no chore, no difficult task.

Somewhere along the line, my grandma decided that she wanted to have an animal in the house. I had suggested a bowl of fish (everyone loves watching fish), but she immediately countered with getting a kitten. That day I went to Pet Smart and bought a kitten. They had named him

Chad

, which was completely wrong for a solid black cat with vivid green eyes. She and I both decided to name him Zeus, which turned out to be a mistake. Never name a cat after a god, ever. Zeus ended up being her constant companion during her napping episodes. He would sit and cuddle with her, and fall asleep while she napped in her chair.

Gradually, she weakened. We went from dinners out with her in a wheelchair to dinners ordered in, to dinners in her chair, then to her couch, then dinners in bed. She only complained if I didn’t make her soup hot enough. She went from her using a walker in the house to a wheelchair. She eventually had to be lifted up from one place to the wheelchair, from the wheelchair to another place. Then she needed total care. At that point, we had professional help and then hospice to give us some rest. She was not one to be denied, though. Her body was shutting down, but her mind was strong until near the end. The week before she died, the church carolers came out to sing. They stood, young and old, in the cold December night outside her window and sang the carols of the season. She loved that always, as much as ever that night. When it was done, she asked that everyone be invited to come in, and receiving them in her bedroom, she said thank you to each, one by one. So many people came to me later and said that they felt a special presence then, a warmth she gave as she said thank you and goodbye.

Robby writes,

As school progressed, so did her illness. Her arthritis was bad enough that I had to help her with even the smallest of chores, and the barrage of pills was having an effect on her mind. Her memory was not as good as it used to be (perfect, I swear), and she would get confused at night. I began to lose more and more sleep as the semester went past. The two or three wakeups in the middle of the night turned into five or six, then around ten a night. I would sleep for a total of about three restless hours, tossing and turning before the sun rose the next day and I had to go back to school. She hired a night nurse.

…the pills had taken a heavy toll and she was no longer herself. She would sit and stare at the T.V. for hours on end, not changing the channel, and sometimes dozing off. I will never forget that: walking tip-toe around so as not too wake her as she had slumped in sleep in her chair, with her glasses drooping down to the tip of her nose. 

She died peacefully at home with all of us there. In her last days, she was on heavy medication and she drifted in and out of consciousness, lucid at time, at times in another place. She loved and lived a good life. She knew she was loved. In death’s repose, her body was tired, and as I sat by the bedside, I kissed her forehead, said I loved her, and sat back and gazed at the face of my mother. It was peaceful, different than the wrenching loss I felt when my father died fifteen years earlier. At some point I realized I was no one’s son anymore, and I felt alone.

After that, Robby moved back home, and he was busy with the holidays and his friends. We sat with him and debriefed, and he was as calm and happy as ever. He and his grandmother had worked it out, said their goodbyes, and now it was all right. Once again it seems, they had got it all figured out between them.

When my grandma died, and I went to the funeral, I realized that the time I had spent there had made more of a man out of me than anything else in my life had. It had made me more of a person, more than I thought I could be. My grandma faced death with the attitude that I face going to the bathroom with: “Ah well, you gotta do it.”

After the funeral, when all the relatives and friends had gone, I was left alone in that big, empty house. No one to take care of anymore, no one to make food for, and no one to talk with. But the solitude got me thinking about many things; most of all it got me thinking about greatness. My grandma taught me many things in my life, but I think her death taught me more. It taught me that greatness isn’t always in superheroes, or billionaires, or the popular kids. Greatness isn’t an ability that someone is born with and carefully cultivates. Greatness is ordinary people doing extraordinary things.

I don’t know if he became a man then or if he had already made that leap when he independently asked his Nana if he could care for her in her last months. It doesn’t matter, I guess, for he is a man now, and a damn fine one at that. What he saw in her as greatness is now part of who he is. This is my mom’s final gift, and it is extraordinary.

Reading a Poem to a Freshmen English Class: Jazz II a Second Time - by Veronica Zaleha

Reading a Poem to a Freshmen English Class: Jazz II a Second Time

 

 

Carl Wendell Hines,

Jr. rolls his

eyes to heaven

as I start “Jazz

Poem Two”

a second time.

no., wait. listen. see?

it has to be heard

over spiral pages

flipping three ring binders

clicking velcro

tearing pencils

tapping paper

ripping I’m still rapping

you don’t hear me

peals to swine I’ll

make you listen (yeah!)

stop. close your eyes.

see?

the Birdman flying as

notes soar

 swell

 wail

transcending race &

poverty

through music, gospel,

poetry! so

freshmen writers come

with me

see?

you, too, can find

yourselves to be

whatever you want

one day.

 

 Veronica Daley Zaleha

 

 

This poem was inspired by and is an imitation of Carl Wendell Hines, Jr.’s poem “Jazz Poem Two” as it appears in an old ninth grade literature textbook Insights, published by McGraw Hill in 1979

 

 

Nickel Be - By Veronica Zaleha

More Poetry from Veronica!  Can YOU match this?

Nickel Be

 

The pres says

he wants to see

No Child Left Behind.

Can you hear the whir of that

administrative spin?

Cuz they haven't put a dime

into inner city schools

Where we re-segregate,

not educate.

And I say it's a crime 

when the oppressed

police themselves.

But you know that

I'm a mother.

A bad mother,

a mad mother -- 

I'm your mother.

"Unbought and unbossed"

my voice is strong

telling you to raise yours

to right this wrong

and let all children know

they belong.

 

Veronica Daley Zaleha

 

The Librarian - By Veronica Zaleha

Here are some poems posted from Veronica Zaleha.  Enjoy!

Librarian

 

I spy you

back turned to me

standing at the shelves in the 800s.

 

And I,

looking up from my desk

piled with

catalogs,

budgets,

order forms,

am reminded of the value

of books.

 

The written words

on the page.

The reader.

 

 

 Veronica Daley Zaleha

 March 2006

What Do I Make as a Teacher? - By Bryan Ayers

By Bryan Ayers

   What do I make as a teacher?

I make moments

Loving moments

Teaching moments

Laughing and crying moments

I make uncomfortable moments

Disappear before they become unbearable

I take moments

Where there was nothing and fill them with expectation

I uncover moments

Of lost identity and replace them with self-understanding

I provide moments

To reveal the importance of friendship

I embrace moments

That reach beyond the darkness to shed light on the possibility of a brighter future

And at the end of the day

I have made moments

That last

           A lifetime.

Let's Write!

Option #1:

What is summer like for you?  Is it energizing?   Do you find yourself surrounded by family and activities more?  Does summer evoke certain smells and   Do you have favorite memories, poems, stories or photos to share that will inspire us to write?

Option#2

What are you "on fire" about this summer as far as teaching goes?  Will YOU write more?  Will your students write more?  Will you try a new kind of writing or a new kind of lesson you never tried before?

These are just the beginning, of what I hope will be a beautiful writing relationship with you.  We want inspiring people to assist us in getting us to write and collaborate more.  This is YOUR forum!

Please send all contributions, writing and photos to:  wallacek2004@yahoo.com , and I will post them before Sunday for all to see.  If you have specific photos of fellows unrelated to these topics to share, then please send those to me as well so I can put them on for you.

WRITE ON!