Almost a Fantasy*

The polished keys on the piano- a contrast of black and white-glide effortlessly under the calloused fingers. The instrument itself is beautiful, perfect and the notes it produces seem to provide a perfect balance of melody and harmony—creating the classical music we have come to know and love. But there seems to be more going on between the notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

A story is being told.

A story of confidence and power and its struggle to find a balance with a lighter, pure melody.

Under the cover of darkness and the illumination of moonlight, the notes dance off the keys and begin their interchange.

A pattern develops between a steady beating of a heavenly tune but is momentarily paused by a louder, bolder note—one that seems to resonate throughout the entire piece. This note is flat and a bit unsettling with the rest of the melody.

It’s paradoxical in its nature.

While it jolts the soft melody it also propels it—allowing for the listener to experience the same effect.

It’s mysterious—captivating—necessary.

The sonata doesn’t give us what we want. It tells us what we want. We think we want order and patterns so we can predict the next move. But in reality, it’s the darker, flatter notes in our lives that provide a brilliant contrast to the beautiful, softer tones.

*Beethoven included the title “Quasi una Fantasia” (Latin for “Almost a Fantasy”) in his sonata partly because it didn’t follow the traditional movement pattern.

I Drink My Tea from a Broken Cup

I am really enjoying writing along with my students these days. Today, I gave them the quote "I drink tea from a broken cup" and they had to either explain the quote in a paragraph or use it in some type of creative piece. Here's mine:

You want perfection.
Smooth, soft, hard, glassy.
You expect it. You demand
From me a goblet--gold, jeweled, sparkling
in the light.
As if the wine will taste better that way.
As if my cup--simple, small, fragile, an
Heirloom from long ago,
Would tarnish the flavor.

Keep your wine.
Keep your goblet--with its pretentious
Weight and cold touch.
You fail to see the beauty in imperfection.
I drink my tea from a broken cup.

I am

I had my students write an "I Am" poem today, so I wrote one too:

I am ready to live and love.

I wonder what life would be like without you.

I hear your bird-like truth, fluttering outside my window.

I see your light and feel its warmth.

I want to walk in you—to never feel lost again.

I am ready to live and love.

I pretend that I can sometimes do it on my own.

I feel nine and eight and seven—maybe five too.

I touch the sky—hoping to not get burned by the sun.

I worry that one day the little bird won’t fly.

I cried when I was in the dark.

I am ready to live and love.

I understand it won’t be easy.

I say it, but sometimes can’t fully believe.

I dream my dreams will come true.

I try to stay grounded—

I hope that I don’t.

I am ready to live and love.

See Jane...See Jane Run...See Jane read???

I have come to the conclusion that I do not teach reading, never have, and probably never will in a secondary classroom. Yet, this is the language I use in my classroom. Read Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart. Read the first 100 lines of Beowulf. Read Chapter 12 of The Scarlet Letter. And, I have also come to the conclusion that my students are really doing exactly what I am asking of them. So, herein lies the problem. What I mean by “reading” and what my students mean by “reading” are two very different things.

When I looked up “reading” in the dictionary, 16 definitions were listed. Among them: “to utter or render aloud,” “to examine and grasp the meaning of,” “to foretell or predict,” “to learn or get knowledge from something written or printed.” And the list goes on. Whether noun or verb, what we are demanding from our students needs to be more clearly defined if we want the results.

I guess by reading, my students are probably more inclined to adopt the definition that involves uttering sound as opposed to thinking critically. But I don’t blame them. That was what “reading” was when they were younger—matching the spelling of words with the phonetic pronunciation.

Now, at the secondary level, when I assign a “reading assignment” I am really asking my students to critically interpret a text. I think I am teaching them strategies to do this; I mean, that has always been my objective. But, I also fully realize that there is in fact a gap between what I want my students to accomplish with a text and what they actually do with it.

Maybe our different definitions of reading and literacy contribute to the problem. Perhaps it’s time that we start truly defining what it means to read or to interpret a text if we ever hope to narrow the gap.

“A woman, without her man, is nothing. A woman: without her, man is nothing.”

A panda walks into a café. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots into the air.
“Why?” asks the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.
“I’m a panda,” he says at the door. “Look it up.”
The waiter turns to the relevant entry and, sure enough, finds as explanation.
“Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.”

Lynne Truss uses this anecdote about the “dangers” of misusing punctuation in her aptly titled book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves. A self-named “stickler for punctuation,” Truss wittingly addresses the world’s digression from using the “proper” rules of grammar and language. I enjoyed the book, being able to relate to her “grammar rants.” I mean, she’s right. Every language has rules, and in order to have full command of the language, one must use the rules properly. Take Truss’ example of the power of punctuation:
1. “A woman, without her man, is nothing.”
2. “A woman: without her, man is nothing.”
The wording remains the same, but the usage of punctuation bears significant weight in meaning.

So, as an English teacher, a supposed “master” of the English language, I feel obligated to correct my students’ grammar foibles in both speech and in writing. My motives are pure intended: I want them to sound academic and intelligent. However, the “linguist” in me has to recognize the other side of the coin. Do I assume that when my students do not use the correct rules of English grammar that they are lazy, or ignorant, or stupid? What could be other causes? What about socio-economic or racial or cultural factors? America is known for its diversity; thus, as teachers, should we not take that into consideration? It seems like now more than ever America is classified into the “Haves” and the “Have Nots” and Standard American English rules and correct usage definitely play a role in determining what group we fit into.

So, while Lynne Truss may have been in jest when referring to punctuation and grammar as a “life and death” situation, the reality is that how we speak and how we write is a reflection of our work ethic, intelligence, and overall competency. The problem, then, is how this is addressed in the classroom. Once again, back to the drawing board.

The Art of Questioning

I would never wish upon my worst enemy (if I had one in the first place) the trials and tribulations of a first year teacher. It is such an uncertain time, in every sense of the word. I remember doubting myself, my choice of profession, my knowledge of my content area, my ability to gain respect from my students, my ability, in turn, to respect them, and, in general, my capacity to reach my students and make a difference—just to name a few. Four years later, some of my doubts have been laid to rest. For example, I am positive that no other job, at this time of my life, could bring me as much happiness. I feel like I have been called to do what I do, and I am grateful to have answered it. That said, not all of the questions, concerns, and doubts of my first few years of teaching are answered. Teachers, decent ones anyways, seem to naturally adopt a certain “trial and error” mentality that is attached to our “call of duty.” We are constantly questioning our lesson plans, methods, our overall effectiveness and success of our students. What worked? What didn’t? Why?

My English 530 professor recently assigned articles that addressed the need for teachers to question and conduct their own research in the classroom, and I couldn’t agree more. Most teachers recognize that in order to best service our students, we cannot rely on standardized testing and “Gold Star” research methods that turns our students into numbers, and blankets individual needs and diversity. In an age of “No Child Left Behind” the American public is closer and closer to relying solely on these means to understand how our students learn instead of recognizing and validating the voice of the teacher, who, above anyone, knows in turn the voices of the students. Like our students, teachers have a story to tell. The issue is that a)will teachers continue to question and seek methods of finding answers and b)will the public choose to listen.

I feel a bit lost at this point of my research, and the scary part is that I know that in many ways, this stage will be the easiest. But, where do I start? There are so many topics that I would like to pursue. Are students still profiting from “canonized” classics? Do the “Westernized” classics contradict our push for a diverse, multicultural curriculum? I have a feeling that most students graduate from high school without ever having fully read a novel—if this is true, how come? Why is it that students are just not reading and/or comprehending? How has technology limited literacy? How can I use both literature and writing to truly impact my students? So many questions….so little time. But, this is just the beginning. ..

Defining Adolescence

What does it mean to be an adolescent? It seems like a simple question on the surface that renders an equally simple response. However, here lies the problem. Like the question itself, the definition of adolescence is complex and, in many ways, subjective. Most would agree that adolescence is a “life stage” that is an essential component in the Westernized concept of “coming-of-age.” But our opinions on the topic doesn’t end there. We have serious connotations when it comes to generalizing young people, connotations that are a product of our social, political, cultural, ideological, and economical experiences. Consequently, this forms the foundation and ideas behind our pedagogy and curriculum in the education system. It makes sense: we will treat and educate our students based on how we view them, and we typically view them at best as “hormonally imbalanced,” “misunderstood,” and “awkward,” and at worst, “rebellious,” “lost,” and “incapable.” This, in turn, then works to define what “good” teaching is, and unfortunately, the art of teaching, at times, has become synonymous with the art of “managing” and “reining in” these lost young adults.

When thinking of how our culture views adolescents, I thought of Gwendolyn Brook’s poem, “We Real Cool.” In it, the poet describes in quite negative imagery what she believes are the thoughts and feelings of a group of seven young men who were playing pool during the middle of the school day. In an interview, Gwendolyn Brooks candidly responds to questions regarding the collective, “adolescent” voice of her poem “We Real Cool”:

They have no pretensions to any glamor. They are supposedly dropouts, or at least they're in the poolroom when they should possibly be in school, since they're probably young enough, or at least those I saw were when I looked in a poolroom. They're a little uncertain of the strength of their identity.

Mrs. Brooks, in her observation, makes several assumptions of her subjects. They must be skipping school, and thus they must be in all sorts of trouble (“sing sin,” “thin gin”). I happen to love this poem, but thinking of how we define adolescents made me see it in a new way. Essentially, the poem gives a voice to the adolescents—a voice that is pretty rebellious, complacent, and quite honestly, depressing.

What is the voice that we are giving our adolescent students by what we teach them and how we teach it? Are they speaking themselves or are we (parents, teachers, administrators, authors, etc) speaking for them?

“We Real Cool”

Gwendolyn Brooks

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Skip school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.