Kindergartener N---: ...AND I love C because of Ms. GarSEEuh!
Ms. Garcia: Oh thank you! And what does my name START with?
Kindergartener: . . . um . . .
Ms. Garcia: Same letter as "gosh", and "golly gee"! (These are two of his favorite words.)
Kindergartener:. . . Jesus?
Wednesday, November 10
The first two months
Excerpt from a "journal entry / reflection" required by the Intern Program at the end of October; the "Mary" in the third paragraph is my mentor teacher. The strength of this essay and realization come from my dear friend Eileen, who was visiting the weekend that I wrote this.
Recently I’ve been thinking about the mindset I step into when I turn onto Marlborough Street every morning—about the thing you call “a teacher persona”, or even a “professional persona”.
I think the word “persona” is a problem for me. Perhaps it’s the result of being over-educated in the humanities, but “persona” has the flavor of “façade” or “construction”. I understand that this idea is useful in the classroom-world where one is constantly extroverting oneself in order to be a good teacher, and in the professional environment where certain types of irreverence and humor are inappropriate or unhelpful. But I’ve been struggling with this, and have been feeling very tense about my interactions with students.
A small part of this difficulty, too, comes from spending so much time with the magnificent Mary. Since we share some personality traits, and since I have such respect and admiration for her teaching, and since I consciously copy so many of her absurdly effective phrases and habits with the kids—because of all this, I’ve found that I was struggling a bit to be in close quarters with a strong, respected personality while still being confident in my own personality. I’m more of a nerd than Mary, and have a different sort of goofiness than she does, and we speak from very different life experiences. I’ve been wondering how I can be confident while still adopting that necessary “teacher persona”.
And I believe I’ve found something of an answer!
Imagine a table covered with pebbles, shells, glass, buttons, coins, and all sorts of things. This mixed assortment constitutes one’s personality—traits, skills, habits, speech patterns, intonation, interests, et cetera. I had been (mistakenly) thinking of my “teacher persona” as a sheet which covered all the objects, on top of which I then would paint some alternate collection of objects, an alternate “Ms. García”. This is why I was feeling confused or insecure. A better way to think of it is that when I step into [the school] and then into the classroom, I’m choosing to lift up just a few of these objects. For example, I can choose to leave my teasing sarcasm on the table, and instead I lift up my ability to be easily delighted. I leave my love of complete control and my impatience for order, and lift up a calm and patient expectation of attention.
I’ve been reflecting on all of this, of course, not simply because it’s interesting but because it is the base on which the rest of my actions are built. It’s easier to think about concrete aspects of daily life—improving class management, lesson planning, giving directions clearly—once the most fundamental level of acting and interacting is steady. (This seems true to me for teaching as for all parts of life.)
This is similar to something I wrote about last week : that requiring students to follow rules is easier if you yourself believe in the value and reasoning of the rules. Without this steady base to build from, requiring rule-obedience becomes an act of mental and emotional gymnastics. I imagine it would be wearying and make one’s teaching less effective.
Similarly, having a clear way to think about my own behavior will allow me to spend less time on the emotional untangling, and more time on the really interesting questions : What would be helpful to this student right now? Is there a better way to explain this to the class? How should I structure my lesson to make the tempo correct? and so forth.
I think it would also be very good to sit in on some other classrooms when possible. Kristina, Amber, Jan, and John have all mentioned that they wouldn’t mind my observing, so I’m hoping to set up some times with them and with Mary in the next couple of weeks. It seems to me that one of the strengths and interests of this school is its collection of strong personalities, each applied in different ways to their own classrooms. I’m looking forward to seeing more of how this works.
Recently I’ve been thinking about the mindset I step into when I turn onto Marlborough Street every morning—about the thing you call “a teacher persona”, or even a “professional persona”.
I think the word “persona” is a problem for me. Perhaps it’s the result of being over-educated in the humanities, but “persona” has the flavor of “façade” or “construction”. I understand that this idea is useful in the classroom-world where one is constantly extroverting oneself in order to be a good teacher, and in the professional environment where certain types of irreverence and humor are inappropriate or unhelpful. But I’ve been struggling with this, and have been feeling very tense about my interactions with students.
A small part of this difficulty, too, comes from spending so much time with the magnificent Mary. Since we share some personality traits, and since I have such respect and admiration for her teaching, and since I consciously copy so many of her absurdly effective phrases and habits with the kids—because of all this, I’ve found that I was struggling a bit to be in close quarters with a strong, respected personality while still being confident in my own personality. I’m more of a nerd than Mary, and have a different sort of goofiness than she does, and we speak from very different life experiences. I’ve been wondering how I can be confident while still adopting that necessary “teacher persona”.
And I believe I’ve found something of an answer!
Imagine a table covered with pebbles, shells, glass, buttons, coins, and all sorts of things. This mixed assortment constitutes one’s personality—traits, skills, habits, speech patterns, intonation, interests, et cetera. I had been (mistakenly) thinking of my “teacher persona” as a sheet which covered all the objects, on top of which I then would paint some alternate collection of objects, an alternate “Ms. García”. This is why I was feeling confused or insecure. A better way to think of it is that when I step into [the school] and then into the classroom, I’m choosing to lift up just a few of these objects. For example, I can choose to leave my teasing sarcasm on the table, and instead I lift up my ability to be easily delighted. I leave my love of complete control and my impatience for order, and lift up a calm and patient expectation of attention.
I’ve been reflecting on all of this, of course, not simply because it’s interesting but because it is the base on which the rest of my actions are built. It’s easier to think about concrete aspects of daily life—improving class management, lesson planning, giving directions clearly—once the most fundamental level of acting and interacting is steady. (This seems true to me for teaching as for all parts of life.)
This is similar to something I wrote about last week : that requiring students to follow rules is easier if you yourself believe in the value and reasoning of the rules. Without this steady base to build from, requiring rule-obedience becomes an act of mental and emotional gymnastics. I imagine it would be wearying and make one’s teaching less effective.
Similarly, having a clear way to think about my own behavior will allow me to spend less time on the emotional untangling, and more time on the really interesting questions : What would be helpful to this student right now? Is there a better way to explain this to the class? How should I structure my lesson to make the tempo correct? and so forth.
I think it would also be very good to sit in on some other classrooms when possible. Kristina, Amber, Jan, and John have all mentioned that they wouldn’t mind my observing, so I’m hoping to set up some times with them and with Mary in the next couple of weeks. It seems to me that one of the strengths and interests of this school is its collection of strong personalities, each applied in different ways to their own classrooms. I’m looking forward to seeing more of how this works.
Licking pinecones
Today during snacktime, third-grader S--- said, with his pointer finger raised in the air and with a professorial tone, "To avoid licking pinecones, try using a crystal instead."
Context : This was in response to J--, who said that he'd made a birdfeeder during After School which was a pinecone covered in sunflower butter and birdseed, and he hadn't hung it up yet and sometimes he licked off the butter. (He later clarified that he licked it off its containing jar, not off the pinecone itself.) S--- was concerned for his health, and suggested a crystal because it's more sanitary and because "birds are attracted to sparkly things".
Context : This was in response to J--, who said that he'd made a birdfeeder during After School which was a pinecone covered in sunflower butter and birdseed, and he hadn't hung it up yet and sometimes he licked off the butter. (He later clarified that he licked it off its containing jar, not off the pinecone itself.) S--- was concerned for his health, and suggested a crystal because it's more sanitary and because "birds are attracted to sparkly things".
Saturday, October 23
The first seven weeks
Opening excerpt from a "journal entry" required by the Intern Program; the "Mary" in the second paragraph is my mentor teacher.
Most of the past seven weeks (only seven?!) have felt like a landslide of surprises. All of them have been pleasant, intriguing, or a combination of the two. The most wide-reaching surprise is that teaching young kids involves a set of skills or habits which I love and perpetually practice with adults : watching people closely; trying to understand mannerisms, motivations, and modes of thinking; observing interactions and considering how or why they work or don’t work; imagining how the thinner parts of a person’s character (or modus operandi) might be encouraged to change; and perpetually re-organizing my theories and hypotheses whenever I have new data. I knew that I’ll need this mode of thinking when I start ministry--but I had no idea how important it is for teaching kids!
So many conversations between Mary and I are about interactions, events, and expressions we observe in the kids. We talk about how we read their motivations, and how the other kids seem to perceive them, and about what we might do to change or encourage things. I find this endlessly fascinating, and am so pleased that it’s a part of each day. (Of course, now that I’ve been in Mary’s classroom for seven weeks I feel foolish for never having thought of this before; what did I imagine elementary teachers talked about?)
Another surprise has been about myself. Since finding out that [this program] had hired me, I’d been a bit worried about having to be a figure of discipline. By which I mean, I was afraid of having to say “Be quiet”, “Stop fidgeting”, “Stay in line”, “Do your work”, et cetera. My own executive function is quite minimal, and in the daily life of university, I always felt myself to be on the side of chaos rather than perfect discipline. So what a surprise to learn that I can be quite mean! Or if not “mean”, then at least “strict”.
I attribute this hidden talent to two things: First is the absolute terror of standing in front of a bunch of kids and not knowing if they’ll listen to me or not. This seems to cause a huge overcompensation or overcorrection in the “control” part of my brain. (In the last week or two I think I’ve found a balance here, happily, and am strict but not excessive.) Second is my discovery that it’s easy to help others focus if I find value in the object of that focus. The rules at [this school] are not like the rules that I and other kids/adults struggle with--rules whose motivations are dubious and potential outcomes useless, rules which are enforced sporadically or carelessly. I’ve been so happy to find that the rules (or expectations for behavior) in Mary’s classroom are applied evenly and continually, so that no one can doubt where they stand; the rules have explicit purposes which we can express (“Stop talking now so that everyone can hear”, “Don’t put your bag there because people will trip”); and, most importantly, Mary uses rules which she agrees with and believes in and finds valuable. She never apologizes for them, or hints that some higher authority has decided it’s useful while giving a conspiratorial glance, or applies them only when irritated or tired. Because of her attitude and her skill, I’ve found it easier than I thought to follow her excellent example.
And finally, I’ve been surprised to find that there are many similarities between being in a classroom and being a part of a Christian liturgy. The most practical is the advice my priest, Steve, gave me right before I served as acolyte and chalice-bearer for the first time : “When in doubt, move slowly and look like you mean to do whatever you’re doing.”
Most of the past seven weeks (only seven?!) have felt like a landslide of surprises. All of them have been pleasant, intriguing, or a combination of the two. The most wide-reaching surprise is that teaching young kids involves a set of skills or habits which I love and perpetually practice with adults : watching people closely; trying to understand mannerisms, motivations, and modes of thinking; observing interactions and considering how or why they work or don’t work; imagining how the thinner parts of a person’s character (or modus operandi) might be encouraged to change; and perpetually re-organizing my theories and hypotheses whenever I have new data. I knew that I’ll need this mode of thinking when I start ministry--but I had no idea how important it is for teaching kids!
So many conversations between Mary and I are about interactions, events, and expressions we observe in the kids. We talk about how we read their motivations, and how the other kids seem to perceive them, and about what we might do to change or encourage things. I find this endlessly fascinating, and am so pleased that it’s a part of each day. (Of course, now that I’ve been in Mary’s classroom for seven weeks I feel foolish for never having thought of this before; what did I imagine elementary teachers talked about?)
Another surprise has been about myself. Since finding out that [this program] had hired me, I’d been a bit worried about having to be a figure of discipline. By which I mean, I was afraid of having to say “Be quiet”, “Stop fidgeting”, “Stay in line”, “Do your work”, et cetera. My own executive function is quite minimal, and in the daily life of university, I always felt myself to be on the side of chaos rather than perfect discipline. So what a surprise to learn that I can be quite mean! Or if not “mean”, then at least “strict”.
I attribute this hidden talent to two things: First is the absolute terror of standing in front of a bunch of kids and not knowing if they’ll listen to me or not. This seems to cause a huge overcompensation or overcorrection in the “control” part of my brain. (In the last week or two I think I’ve found a balance here, happily, and am strict but not excessive.) Second is my discovery that it’s easy to help others focus if I find value in the object of that focus. The rules at [this school] are not like the rules that I and other kids/adults struggle with--rules whose motivations are dubious and potential outcomes useless, rules which are enforced sporadically or carelessly. I’ve been so happy to find that the rules (or expectations for behavior) in Mary’s classroom are applied evenly and continually, so that no one can doubt where they stand; the rules have explicit purposes which we can express (“Stop talking now so that everyone can hear”, “Don’t put your bag there because people will trip”); and, most importantly, Mary uses rules which she agrees with and believes in and finds valuable. She never apologizes for them, or hints that some higher authority has decided it’s useful while giving a conspiratorial glance, or applies them only when irritated or tired. Because of her attitude and her skill, I’ve found it easier than I thought to follow her excellent example.
And finally, I’ve been surprised to find that there are many similarities between being in a classroom and being a part of a Christian liturgy. The most practical is the advice my priest, Steve, gave me right before I served as acolyte and chalice-bearer for the first time : “When in doubt, move slowly and look like you mean to do whatever you’re doing.”
Favorites
Favorite spellings : graguwashion, flecipl, spgte*
Favorite mispronunciations : The Googleheim Museum, pluhbeebeians, placific, foo**
Favorite place-name on Cape Cod : Squibnockett Road
When I was teaching the A.D./B.C. and Common Era/BCE systems, one girl started her sentence (in reference to the idea of 2000 BCE) with, "Back when people were being invented . . ."
While grading some timed math quizzes, I found that one student had done exceptionally well, even though he had been struggling the previous week. I was so happy that I started to write "Fanfuckingtastic!"--but caught myself before I had to break out the white-out.
I've made people cry three times; I'm now able to cause shame and quiet simply by glaring across the room.
On Friday, one student motioned me to his desk by saying, "Hey, Mom? . . . I mean, Miss Garcia?"
*Graduation, flexible, spaghetti.
**The Guggenheim Museum, plebeians, specific, four,
Favorite mispronunciations : The Googleheim Museum, pluhbeebeians, placific, foo**
Favorite place-name on Cape Cod : Squibnockett Road
When I was teaching the A.D./B.C. and Common Era/BCE systems, one girl started her sentence (in reference to the idea of 2000 BCE) with, "Back when people were being invented . . ."
While grading some timed math quizzes, I found that one student had done exceptionally well, even though he had been struggling the previous week. I was so happy that I started to write "Fanfuckingtastic!"--but caught myself before I had to break out the white-out.
I've made people cry three times; I'm now able to cause shame and quiet simply by glaring across the room.
On Friday, one student motioned me to his desk by saying, "Hey, Mom? . . . I mean, Miss Garcia?"
*Graduation, flexible, spaghetti.
**The Guggenheim Museum, plebeians, specific, four,
Saturday, August 21
Notes
The street which runs in back of the Berklee School of Music is named, appropriately, St. Cecilia.
Very narrow streets of red brick buildings with columns of bay windows, low-growing junipers and tall leafy trees--if the sun is right, they look like the canyons back home or in Utah.
I have seen more things saying or signaling "Boston Red Sox" in the last six hours than I have in my entire life.
I am in love with the Boston Public Library.
I am in love with Trinity Church (at Copley Square).
Tomorrow I plan on falling in love with either the Harvard Natural History Museum or the Boston Public Gardens, depending on the weather.
Very narrow streets of red brick buildings with columns of bay windows, low-growing junipers and tall leafy trees--if the sun is right, they look like the canyons back home or in Utah.
I have seen more things saying or signaling "Boston Red Sox" in the last six hours than I have in my entire life.
I am in love with the Boston Public Library.
I am in love with Trinity Church (at Copley Square).
Tomorrow I plan on falling in love with either the Harvard Natural History Museum or the Boston Public Gardens, depending on the weather.
Thursday, August 19
Massachuussettss!
About fourteen years ago this month I started third grade, my first year at a real school in the United States. We'd just moved to Fort Collins; on my first day I wore a flowered dress with a white peter-pan collar, and my teacher was Mrs. Johnston, who wore jean jumpers.
This month, this year, I'm moving to Boston, for my first year at a "real job". I start work on Monday; I don't know what I'm going to wear yet, but I do know that instead of sitting in the little chairs behind the little desks, I'll be standing at (or near) the front of another third grade classroom. This school is in an old six-floor apartment building with a big marble staircase in the center; they don't have a big playground like my own third-grade school, but their street has magnolias and they might raise baby chickens this spring.
I'll be in a hostel until my apartment opens up, so posts might be periodic until then. Next step of the plan : learn to spell the state's name.
This month, this year, I'm moving to Boston, for my first year at a "real job". I start work on Monday; I don't know what I'm going to wear yet, but I do know that instead of sitting in the little chairs behind the little desks, I'll be standing at (or near) the front of another third grade classroom. This school is in an old six-floor apartment building with a big marble staircase in the center; they don't have a big playground like my own third-grade school, but their street has magnolias and they might raise baby chickens this spring.
I'll be in a hostel until my apartment opens up, so posts might be periodic until then. Next step of the plan : learn to spell the state's name.
Wednesday, January 6
Geraniums rouges
Red geraniums.
Absolutely indubitably 100% near the top of my flower-list.
I have been criticized by some who call them "granny flowers", but if that is the case then, my friend, all of France is a granny-nation, since these sturdy bright beauties are found everywhere!
These particular ones were given to me subversively by Christian, le chef des serres (the greenhouse boss), after I had been beheading them for (re)planting. Kept them in a glass on my desk--pure happiness for when you're feeling blue.
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