Holding the Floor
The New York Times article, Building a Better Teacher by Elizabeth Green, is spreading through the teaching grapevine like a brush fire. In two days at least five people have forwarded it to me and I’ve done the same, sending it to all the teachers in my life. It tackles the question, is a good teacher born or made?---a conundrum that has bedeviled the teaching profession for years.
What makes a good teacher? There have been many quests for the one essential trait and they have all come up empty-handed. Among the factors that do not predict whether a teacher will succeed: a graduate-school degree, a high score on the SAT, an extroverted personality, politeness, confidence, warmth, enthusiasm and having passed the teacher-certification exam on the first try. When Bill Gates announced recently that his foundation was investing millions in a project to improve teaching quality in the United States, he added a rueful caveat. “Unfortunately, it seems the field doesn’t have a clear view of what characterizes good teaching,” Gates said. “I’m personally very curious.”
So am I. I’ve always thought that a good teacher was a combination of passion and skill, but the debate rages on. Thanks to Doug Lemov, a successful teacher, principal, charter-school founder and now consultant, the spotlight has now turned onto how teachers are trained. Most of us attended schools that had a similar teacher curriculum. Like Gaul it was divided into three parts: academic subjects that we would be teaching, the history and philosophy of education, and “methods” courses that supposedly taught us classroom management, or how to get a roomful of kids to listen to you. But as Green pointed out,
Education-school professors often have little contact with actual schools. A 2006 report found that 12 percent of education-school faculty members never taught in elementary or secondary schools themselves. Even some methods professors have never set foot in a classroom or have not done so recently.
I was lucky. I already had a degree in English and American literature so I could concentrate on studying methods for a year and student-teach for six months. Since I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to teach middle or high school I was allowed to do three months in each. However though my middle school teacher was a brilliant mentor my high school teacher was a lifer who couldn’t wait to retire. She gave me her three “problem” classes and basically checked out.
Despite a year and a half of preparation I began my first year as a high school English teacher in a state of shock. No one had prepared me for the sheer amount of energy I needed to get through a day, never mind the workload. I went through that first year in a constant panic, usually feeling like a failure. I could have used the practical teaching methods that Doug Lemov developed later on, especially the one known as, “getting and holding the floor” because if you can’t keep a class’ attention it doesn’t matter how great your passion or how brilliant your lesson plan, no one will hear it.
Lemov developed his methods taxonomy after years of observing classes.
Originally Lemov, had pushed for data-driven programs that would diagnose individual students’ strengths and weaknesses, but as he went from school to school he was getting the feeling that there was something deeper he wasn’t reaching. When it came to actual teaching schools and teachers floundered.
Lemov thought about fields like sports and realized that when coaches spoke to their players they used very specific instructions. It made him wonder if perhaps, no such vocabulary existed to discuss teaching. He wondered if, though many educators felt that to be a good teacher you had to be born with a special talent, perhaps it could be learned. He decided that he would visit the most successful teachers that he could find and compare the way that they managed their classrooms.
When Doug Lemov conducted his search for those magical ingredients he noticed something about most successful teachers that he hadn’t expected to find: what looked like natural-born genius was often deliberate technique in disguise. “Stand still when you’re giving directions,” a teacher at a Boston school told him. In other words, don’t do two things at once. Lemov tried it, and suddenly, he had to ask students to take out their homework only once. It was the tiniest decision, but what was teaching if not a series of bite-size moves just like that?
As a result of his research, Lemov has come out with his own vocabulary for teachers. His training includes practical methods such as: cold calling (students are not allowed to raise their hands but are unexpectedly called upon forcing them to pay attention), the use of specific instructions such as, “Put your pencils down and look up”, rather than the more fuzzy, “Pay attention!” and the use of hand gestures to communicate things like: “Eyes on me,” or “Settle down”, so as not to interrupt the lesson flow with unnecessary words.
My favorite is called “Mixing joy and structure” where you add fun and laughter to the class. That is the heart and soul of a classroom--where passion and skill meet. Because you can be brilliant and you can capture the floor and even hold it, but if you don’t bequeath your joy of learning to your students, you might as well stay home.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Bon Appetit
Bon Appetit!
Steve and I have seen the movie, Julie and Julia twice and loved it both time times. We both agree though, that the best parts are the ones where Meryl Streep portrays Julia Child. Watching Streep’s brilliant recreation of Child I found myself wishing that I had known her. She had such a love of food and life and must have been a joy to be with. I also think of how wonderful it must have been to find such passion almost by accident. I often wish that I could spend some time looking for new adventures. Funny thing is while I’ve been idly wishing, my husband has gone ahead and done it.
It began last September when I returned to work. I get home everyday after 4:00 and toss dinner together for the two of us. I’m usually tired so the meals are not the most creative and they tend to blend together week after week. Lately I consider dinner successful if it’s on the table by 5:30 and there aren’t too many dishes left in the sink. I used to be an adventurous cook but exhaustion has done me in.
One day Steve announced that he wanted to cook one meal a week so that I wouldn’t have to face dinner preparation every day. I was shocked. You see my husband has never liked to cook. He would always tell me that he had no sense of what to add to a dish to make it taste better, that he had no idea of what went into a successful recipe. He enjoyed cooking Chinese dishes because the ingredients are fairly simple and exact and can be stir fried quickly. He’s also a typical guy in that he considers the grill his territory. But standing at the kitchen stove, stirring and tasting and tossing in pinches of herbs and spices, has never appealed to him.
I chose Friday, my day off. It may be a day off from work but I still spend the entire day running errands and finishing off all the chores that I’ve left hanging during the week. The idea of being able to come home late in the afternoon to a meal and a glass of wine seemed like a little bit of heaven to me.
Of course my computer savvy husband started his cooking adventure on the internet. He and Lisa have discovered the world of on-line recipes while I still gravitate towards cookbooks. Old habits die hard. He asked me if I wanted to know what he was making. On impulse I told him I’d rather be surprised. So I sat down that Friday night to a chicken dinner, that to tell you the truth, I couldn’t quite believe. It was absolutely delicious. I pronounced the experiment a success and told Steve that I couldn’t wait until the next week.
When I told our family foodie, Lisa, what her dad was doing, she was amazed.
“Dad’s cooking?” she asked? “Really cooking?”
“Yep,” I answered. “And it’s really good!”
The next week I sat down to a salmon dish topped with such an incredible sauce that I licked the plate clean. And it went on like that week after week. It wasn’t only the meat or the fish that was so good. The side dishes were all incredibly imaginative—salads and rice pilafs, pastas and sautéed vegetables. Friday had always been my favorite day of the week but now it was even better.
When I told my friends what Steve was doing they said,
“Sounds good but I’m sure he has you shopping for the meal.”
I told them that once he found his recipes for the week he went off shopping for all his ingredients. In fact since this has begun I’ve deserted my friends at The Main Course because that’s where Steve now shops. Sorry about that guys!
One week-end Lisa asked if she could bring Matt over for dinner and I told her to ask her father. Steve got this gleam in his eye at the thought of expanding his culinary skills for a new audience and it was then that I realized that this had grown into much more than just a chore.
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?” I asked him. And he agreed that at some point in the process it had changed from hesitant experimenting to real enjoyment. He liked finding new recipes, new ingredients, new foods. And he was becoming increasingly sure of himself and his talents.
When Lisa and Matt came over they were amazed and I was ecstatic. It was the first time that we had ever had people for dinner when I hadn’t run crazily around all day preparing a meal. When I saw that Steve had made chocolate mousse for dessert I officially passed the cooking baton over to him.
There are times when he comes up with a different salad every week or a new way to make mushrooms and I begin to feel upstaged. But I get over it. I’ve been cooking for over 33 years and I’m tired. Steve’s discovered this new passion and it’s something that we can all enjoy. I feel like Julia’s husband, Paul when he would come home every afternoon and call out, “What’s for dinner darling?” knowing that it was always something incredible. And like Paul, all I have to do is drink my wine and kiss the cook.
Steve and I have seen the movie, Julie and Julia twice and loved it both time times. We both agree though, that the best parts are the ones where Meryl Streep portrays Julia Child. Watching Streep’s brilliant recreation of Child I found myself wishing that I had known her. She had such a love of food and life and must have been a joy to be with. I also think of how wonderful it must have been to find such passion almost by accident. I often wish that I could spend some time looking for new adventures. Funny thing is while I’ve been idly wishing, my husband has gone ahead and done it.
It began last September when I returned to work. I get home everyday after 4:00 and toss dinner together for the two of us. I’m usually tired so the meals are not the most creative and they tend to blend together week after week. Lately I consider dinner successful if it’s on the table by 5:30 and there aren’t too many dishes left in the sink. I used to be an adventurous cook but exhaustion has done me in.
One day Steve announced that he wanted to cook one meal a week so that I wouldn’t have to face dinner preparation every day. I was shocked. You see my husband has never liked to cook. He would always tell me that he had no sense of what to add to a dish to make it taste better, that he had no idea of what went into a successful recipe. He enjoyed cooking Chinese dishes because the ingredients are fairly simple and exact and can be stir fried quickly. He’s also a typical guy in that he considers the grill his territory. But standing at the kitchen stove, stirring and tasting and tossing in pinches of herbs and spices, has never appealed to him.
I chose Friday, my day off. It may be a day off from work but I still spend the entire day running errands and finishing off all the chores that I’ve left hanging during the week. The idea of being able to come home late in the afternoon to a meal and a glass of wine seemed like a little bit of heaven to me.
Of course my computer savvy husband started his cooking adventure on the internet. He and Lisa have discovered the world of on-line recipes while I still gravitate towards cookbooks. Old habits die hard. He asked me if I wanted to know what he was making. On impulse I told him I’d rather be surprised. So I sat down that Friday night to a chicken dinner, that to tell you the truth, I couldn’t quite believe. It was absolutely delicious. I pronounced the experiment a success and told Steve that I couldn’t wait until the next week.
When I told our family foodie, Lisa, what her dad was doing, she was amazed.
“Dad’s cooking?” she asked? “Really cooking?”
“Yep,” I answered. “And it’s really good!”
The next week I sat down to a salmon dish topped with such an incredible sauce that I licked the plate clean. And it went on like that week after week. It wasn’t only the meat or the fish that was so good. The side dishes were all incredibly imaginative—salads and rice pilafs, pastas and sautéed vegetables. Friday had always been my favorite day of the week but now it was even better.
When I told my friends what Steve was doing they said,
“Sounds good but I’m sure he has you shopping for the meal.”
I told them that once he found his recipes for the week he went off shopping for all his ingredients. In fact since this has begun I’ve deserted my friends at The Main Course because that’s where Steve now shops. Sorry about that guys!
One week-end Lisa asked if she could bring Matt over for dinner and I told her to ask her father. Steve got this gleam in his eye at the thought of expanding his culinary skills for a new audience and it was then that I realized that this had grown into much more than just a chore.
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?” I asked him. And he agreed that at some point in the process it had changed from hesitant experimenting to real enjoyment. He liked finding new recipes, new ingredients, new foods. And he was becoming increasingly sure of himself and his talents.
When Lisa and Matt came over they were amazed and I was ecstatic. It was the first time that we had ever had people for dinner when I hadn’t run crazily around all day preparing a meal. When I saw that Steve had made chocolate mousse for dessert I officially passed the cooking baton over to him.
There are times when he comes up with a different salad every week or a new way to make mushrooms and I begin to feel upstaged. But I get over it. I’ve been cooking for over 33 years and I’m tired. Steve’s discovered this new passion and it’s something that we can all enjoy. I feel like Julia’s husband, Paul when he would come home every afternoon and call out, “What’s for dinner darling?” knowing that it was always something incredible. And like Paul, all I have to do is drink my wine and kiss the cook.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Pearls of Wisdom
Pearls of Wisdom
I’m not a woman who is overly fond of gold or jewels. My favorite jewelry is usually made of silver with an unusual stone like an onyx or a carnelian. Not for me diamonds and emeralds—I’m a cheap date. But despite that fact the most cherished items in my jewelry box are my pearl earrings. I’ve had them for so long that I can’t even remember exactly when I got them. What I do remember though, is that my mom bought them for me when I got my ears pierced in junior high and I still love them after all these years.
I wear them every week and every week when I put them on or take them off while looking in the bathroom mirror, I always manage to drop one in the sink and nearly lose it down the drain. And each time I catch it in time and say to myself, “I really should stop doing this. One day I’m going to lose them.” Then the next time I do it all over again.
I’ve lost jewelry before thanks to my stupidity so you’d think I’d learn. In high school everyone was wearing scaled down gold, cocktail rings with tiny stones. I begged my parents to get one for me and after all my nagging they finally gave in. I absolutely loved that ring and I showed it off everyday. That was when we wore our jeans so tight that we had to lie down on the bed to zip them up. So tight that we could barely fit our hands inside our pockets.
One day when I was wearing both the ridiculous jeans and the coveted ring, mom noticed that I took my ring off to fish something out of my pocket. She warned me not to do that because I would certainly put the ring down somewhere and forget it. I solemnly promised that I would never do such a stupid thing—and then of course I did it.
I was out with some friends buying something at a store and reached into my pocket to get my money and—you guessed it—took the ring off and put it on the counter. I left without remembering to put the ring back on. Later that day when I realized what I had done I raced back to the store praying that some nice, honest saleslady had found it and put it away. If I had wished for the moon I would have gotten it sooner than my ring. I was afraid to tell my parents so I didn’t say anything hoping they wouldn’t notice. But of course they did and eventually the story came out. I had only had the ring for a few weeks but my finger felt so empty without it. All these years later I still remember it.
So it almost made sense that when the day came that I finally did lose my pearl earring down the drain, the first thing I thought was, “How am I going to tell my parents?” Then I remembered that though I wasn’t a teen-ager anymore I was still stupid. “When will you ever learn?” I yelled at myself.
I wondered if it was possible to get it out of the drain but I knew I couldn’t attempt it myself, so I had to wait till Steve had finished tutoring his last student. I spent the hour alternately thinking that I was being an idiot and that I should just go to the jewelry store and get myself another pair of earrings and knowing that I wanted my old pair, the one that mom had given me. Finally when Steve came into the bedroom I looked at him like a forlorn puppy and asked him if he could do anything.
“No problem,” he said. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry I’ll get it.”
I couldn’t believe that I was that lucky. I had already resigned myself to buying a new pair, but now my Sir Galahad was going to get me the earring I really wanted. It was getting late and I was exhausted but I sat on the bed and watched my husband do all kinds of exciting plumber-like stuff. It seemed to take a long time and I began telling him that it wasn’t worth it, but he kept insisting that it would be fine. And it probably would have been if the trap plug hadn’t come off the drain pipe.
I knew all was not well when I heard an expletive followed by, “Now we have to call a plumber.” And it was downhill from there. I assumed that I could use the sink in the main bathroom to brush my teeth but then found out that the sinks were connected when there was a flood in my bathroom. Steve cleaned up the mess while I sat there crying with tired frustration while telling myself that I should have just gone out and bought some new earrings.
The next day our friendly plumber, Bob, came out and fixed the trap. I suppose I should have been happy, after all I had my earrings and the sink was fixed. But looking at the bill I realized that those were the most expensive earrings that I would be getting in a long while. I should really start listening to myself.
I’m not a woman who is overly fond of gold or jewels. My favorite jewelry is usually made of silver with an unusual stone like an onyx or a carnelian. Not for me diamonds and emeralds—I’m a cheap date. But despite that fact the most cherished items in my jewelry box are my pearl earrings. I’ve had them for so long that I can’t even remember exactly when I got them. What I do remember though, is that my mom bought them for me when I got my ears pierced in junior high and I still love them after all these years.
I wear them every week and every week when I put them on or take them off while looking in the bathroom mirror, I always manage to drop one in the sink and nearly lose it down the drain. And each time I catch it in time and say to myself, “I really should stop doing this. One day I’m going to lose them.” Then the next time I do it all over again.
I’ve lost jewelry before thanks to my stupidity so you’d think I’d learn. In high school everyone was wearing scaled down gold, cocktail rings with tiny stones. I begged my parents to get one for me and after all my nagging they finally gave in. I absolutely loved that ring and I showed it off everyday. That was when we wore our jeans so tight that we had to lie down on the bed to zip them up. So tight that we could barely fit our hands inside our pockets.
One day when I was wearing both the ridiculous jeans and the coveted ring, mom noticed that I took my ring off to fish something out of my pocket. She warned me not to do that because I would certainly put the ring down somewhere and forget it. I solemnly promised that I would never do such a stupid thing—and then of course I did it.
I was out with some friends buying something at a store and reached into my pocket to get my money and—you guessed it—took the ring off and put it on the counter. I left without remembering to put the ring back on. Later that day when I realized what I had done I raced back to the store praying that some nice, honest saleslady had found it and put it away. If I had wished for the moon I would have gotten it sooner than my ring. I was afraid to tell my parents so I didn’t say anything hoping they wouldn’t notice. But of course they did and eventually the story came out. I had only had the ring for a few weeks but my finger felt so empty without it. All these years later I still remember it.
So it almost made sense that when the day came that I finally did lose my pearl earring down the drain, the first thing I thought was, “How am I going to tell my parents?” Then I remembered that though I wasn’t a teen-ager anymore I was still stupid. “When will you ever learn?” I yelled at myself.
I wondered if it was possible to get it out of the drain but I knew I couldn’t attempt it myself, so I had to wait till Steve had finished tutoring his last student. I spent the hour alternately thinking that I was being an idiot and that I should just go to the jewelry store and get myself another pair of earrings and knowing that I wanted my old pair, the one that mom had given me. Finally when Steve came into the bedroom I looked at him like a forlorn puppy and asked him if he could do anything.
“No problem,” he said. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry I’ll get it.”
I couldn’t believe that I was that lucky. I had already resigned myself to buying a new pair, but now my Sir Galahad was going to get me the earring I really wanted. It was getting late and I was exhausted but I sat on the bed and watched my husband do all kinds of exciting plumber-like stuff. It seemed to take a long time and I began telling him that it wasn’t worth it, but he kept insisting that it would be fine. And it probably would have been if the trap plug hadn’t come off the drain pipe.
I knew all was not well when I heard an expletive followed by, “Now we have to call a plumber.” And it was downhill from there. I assumed that I could use the sink in the main bathroom to brush my teeth but then found out that the sinks were connected when there was a flood in my bathroom. Steve cleaned up the mess while I sat there crying with tired frustration while telling myself that I should have just gone out and bought some new earrings.
The next day our friendly plumber, Bob, came out and fixed the trap. I suppose I should have been happy, after all I had my earrings and the sink was fixed. But looking at the bill I realized that those were the most expensive earrings that I would be getting in a long while. I should really start listening to myself.
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