Writing a blog on the 9th anniversary of the September 11th, 2001 terrorist attacks seems trivial. What could I possibly have to say about the world of education that is relevant to a nation still mourning those lost on that day- the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, partners, best friends, sons and daughters. We continue to honor them- the heroes and heroines, the epic battles they fought, as the days wear into nights and the nights wear into dawn. Easily distracted by issues of today, ignorance thrust into the spotlight to distract from what we remember.
But then I remember that September 11th, 2001 was a turning point in my life. What changed was not only the kind of human being I would become, but how I would spend my life. On that day, every moment was drowning in confusion and anger, and for days to come, chaos reigned supreme. I didn't know much except that I was not in the right place, and I couldn't look down the smoking barrel of such an unthinkable tragedy and do nothing. I had been thinking about and planning a move for some time, but that day, the gut wrenching feeling, the images of destruction, watching grown men break down and cry, all of those things nudged me to make a move. Within a few weeks, I would leave my job as a graphic designer and begin my journey to becoming a professional educator. The journey was long, treacherous at times, marked by periods despair and doubt. But 10 months later, credentials in hand, I was hired for my first teaching appointment, and never looked back.
Cliche as it may seem, all I've ever wanted was to make a difference in the world. I can't say that I am all that great at what I do, or that I am a superstar, or that I am even deserving of the right to make any comparisons between my life and this day. But, every day, I am thankful for what I have, and I remember- all those who have loved and supported me over the years, the love of my family and friends, and how lucky I am to be so privileged to have the job I have and be surrounded by such wonderful and amazing people. I remember every time that I look at the NYC skyline that thousands of people perished that day, and that millions had their lives shaken by the events that would unfold. I am thankful that my friends who were in lower Manhattan that day all came home safely.
While I watched the coverage today of the memorials, and the newsfootage unearthed to remind us of who we are and how we got to this moment in time, I am reminded about why I am proud to be an American. I am also reminded of why it is of the utmost importance that I remain committed to the success of my students, and to my role in their lives, especially when they seem not-so-committed to their own success.
I'd like to share two things that I read today that left me chilled to the bone. I thank them both for sharing, from the bottom of my heart.
Poet laureate, Billy Collins, shares his poem "The Names" at a special joint session of Congress in New York on 9/10/10: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/poems/july-dec02/collins_9-6.html
Acclaimed author, Meg Cabot's blog post about what she saw on September 11th, 2001:
http://www.megcabot.com/2010/09/nine-years-ago/
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Week 2 of Operation Everybody graduates
(I am shamelessly stealing this from a colleague, but I don't think he was the original story teller ;-P)
So, on the first day of school, the teacher stands in front of the students and says, "Good morning, class. I'd like to get one thing out of the way right now. Please stand up if you're an idiot."
Blank stares fill the room, and the students wonder if this is a lesson. They wait and wonder. After some time and awkwardness passes, a little freshman slowly rises. he stands there proudly, but patiently. The teacher looks at him with a grimace, lowering his spectacles.
"So, you admit you're an idiot?" he says.
"No," says the freshman. "I just didn't want you standing all by yourself."
How many times do you wonder what your kids 'have on you' or if they see right through you, or at least think they do? I had one of those moments early this week. We spent a day learning about feudal era England in order to prepare for the first big text, Beowulf. After I pulled a total brain fart and couldn't remember where Wales was on a map of Great Britain, IN FRONT OF MY PRINCIPAL, I finally pulled myself together to talk about the invasion of the Roman Empire. I find this stuff fascinating, and I can usually pull the audience in with my story telling techniques. And one of the little grasshoppers chimed in with, "Why do we need to know this stuff, I thought this was English class, not history class." And the little one sat back in the chair very proud, maybe for having challenged me, maybe for having broken everyone's focus. At first, I had nothing. Blank stare. Touche. The little muppet had me speechless for a split second. Then, I had it. "This is part of English history, you need to know what was going on so you can understand what you are going to read. We're building background knowledge."
"I understand what I read, it's just a story. This is stupid."
Now really, I was totally OK with the question, and even able to excuse what seemed like purposeful timing, until I heard the word "stupid." Oh no you didn't, little grasshopper.
"Sure you do!" I said. "I know you're a great student, and so is everyone else. But what you understand is on the surface, and we are going to kick it up a notch here. We want to look at what is between the lines, what isn't written."
And so began a fruitful conversation about oral tradition and why we don't know who the 'author' of Beowulf is. We talked about how the story can change as it is passed on, and how different translators might add their insight without changing the text. We talked about how feudal society might have been without social organization and the influence of Christianity. Oh, my friend joined in, and was an active participant.
My point is, we can build background knowledge all we want. We can lecture about St. Augustine and how he brought Latin learning to an otherwise widely uneducated society and give them theories and formulas and new words. But sometimes we have to help them make the connections. Sometimes, if we don't explicitly show them how the information they have already learned is relevant to the current topic, their teenage brains won't get there. Sometimes a nudge is enough to get them on board, sometimes we need to hold their hands and show them the way, and sometimes, they make their connection without our help. Those are the moments to praise them, to cherish, to celebrate the victory with them.
So, on the first day of school, the teacher stands in front of the students and says, "Good morning, class. I'd like to get one thing out of the way right now. Please stand up if you're an idiot."
Blank stares fill the room, and the students wonder if this is a lesson. They wait and wonder. After some time and awkwardness passes, a little freshman slowly rises. he stands there proudly, but patiently. The teacher looks at him with a grimace, lowering his spectacles.
"So, you admit you're an idiot?" he says.
"No," says the freshman. "I just didn't want you standing all by yourself."
How many times do you wonder what your kids 'have on you' or if they see right through you, or at least think they do? I had one of those moments early this week. We spent a day learning about feudal era England in order to prepare for the first big text, Beowulf. After I pulled a total brain fart and couldn't remember where Wales was on a map of Great Britain, IN FRONT OF MY PRINCIPAL, I finally pulled myself together to talk about the invasion of the Roman Empire. I find this stuff fascinating, and I can usually pull the audience in with my story telling techniques. And one of the little grasshoppers chimed in with, "Why do we need to know this stuff, I thought this was English class, not history class." And the little one sat back in the chair very proud, maybe for having challenged me, maybe for having broken everyone's focus. At first, I had nothing. Blank stare. Touche. The little muppet had me speechless for a split second. Then, I had it. "This is part of English history, you need to know what was going on so you can understand what you are going to read. We're building background knowledge."
"I understand what I read, it's just a story. This is stupid."
Now really, I was totally OK with the question, and even able to excuse what seemed like purposeful timing, until I heard the word "stupid." Oh no you didn't, little grasshopper.
"Sure you do!" I said. "I know you're a great student, and so is everyone else. But what you understand is on the surface, and we are going to kick it up a notch here. We want to look at what is between the lines, what isn't written."
And so began a fruitful conversation about oral tradition and why we don't know who the 'author' of Beowulf is. We talked about how the story can change as it is passed on, and how different translators might add their insight without changing the text. We talked about how feudal society might have been without social organization and the influence of Christianity. Oh, my friend joined in, and was an active participant.
My point is, we can build background knowledge all we want. We can lecture about St. Augustine and how he brought Latin learning to an otherwise widely uneducated society and give them theories and formulas and new words. But sometimes we have to help them make the connections. Sometimes, if we don't explicitly show them how the information they have already learned is relevant to the current topic, their teenage brains won't get there. Sometimes a nudge is enough to get them on board, sometimes we need to hold their hands and show them the way, and sometimes, they make their connection without our help. Those are the moments to praise them, to cherish, to celebrate the victory with them.
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