Long ago, I promised myself that if I completed 25 years of teaching, I would try to write a book about my experiences. Next year will be year 25. So I started this last year to begin to figure out what I wanted to write about. I welcome your comments, resources, links to your own teaching blog, book recommendations, etc.

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If I had the $, I would give everyone I know this book

The only thing harder than the first year of a new school is. . .

the second year.

The first time I tried this, we were handicapped by hiring requirements. It was not hard to see that we were headed for bad things before the year even started. In retrospect, we may have even been doomed from the beginning because of a lack of commitment from our District. But I was relishing the prospect of trying. We had great leadership; their ideas were as wise as they were simple. I had great colleagues, at least on the Humanities side of life. Everything was messy; everything seemed possible. I was learning a lot.

So when that completely imploded, I saw an opportunity to try again. Once again, I was pleased by the leadership, the curricular possibilities, the ambition. The first-year staff thrilled me and, unlike my previous school (and likely due to that same status), our second-year additions have been pretty cool, too.

So why is this year so hard? Why are some, including at least one who just arrived, heading for the exit already?

Maybe there’s this kind of honeymoon period that first year. In both schools, we were in a temporary space at first. There was so much time spent trying to figure things out that there was no time to look at the bigger picture, to wonder what the new year would bring. Or maybe I spent so much time with my head in the sand that I just didn’t notice.

From the very beginning, I kept up a chorus I’d learned from my time at my previous school because we were sent to New York to visit other new schools. Let’s pick a few priorities, spend our time, money and PD on them and just do our best with the rest. And we did seem to start with that – there was a focus on differentiation.

I am laughing ruefully to myself because I can’t remember what our focus was supposed to be for this year – maybe group work? We had a lot to do to make ourselves ready for our IB authorization visit, so that naturally consumed things. (The visit just happened; now we wait.) Maybe the honeymoon is over. Things began to become tense, to fray, to implode. There was no shortage of ambition; there is no shortage of talent. We even have two terrific student teachers. Life things have happened – for me, for our administrators, for others. But why is the thought of going back to school on Monday just making my shoulders rise above my ears? Maybe our plan was inherently problematic. But as with the last school, I don’t think that was it. I think with our current staff, we could move forward. Maybe we’re giving up too early. Unable to differentiate successfully, we seem to be trying to homogenize the student population in a way that seems very much un-public school-like, very much undemocratic. Though a small school, we seem to be on the verge of creating two schools – that the split will follow race and class lines is almost without question.

I don’t know what to do. I try to speak truth to power but at least some of the power isn’t listening. It’s amazing how quickly that it seems like we have so many issues that it’s hard to know where to begin. Perhaps it was a first glimpse of next year that we all got at a meeting on Friday, but the prospect of next year does not seem exciting, just unsettling.

I’ve always thought that a hypothetical teacher oath should start the same way as the Hippocratic Oath: First do no harm.

I don’t want to be a part of a school that’s doing more harm than good.

What the hell? Maybe I just need Spring Break.

This Isn’t the Movies: How My Day Went

The first news is that two colleagues have deaths in the family.

Then there’s testing. Since that involves computers and, well, testing, that results in a great deal of stress for me. The perspective granted by the first sentence just disappeared in the midst of passwords, session codes, texts, accommodations, etc.. Little bits of trivia were flying at me from every direction.

Somewhere in there, I learned that a student had physically moved a teacher out of the way in order to leave a classroom. That same teacher, a female, had been touched on the feet twice, by a male student. She tried to pursue disciplinary consequences for the first and when nothing happened, she didn’t bother pursuing consequences for the feet-toucher.

I got to order a whole lot of books for our library, and the boxes started rolling by my classroom window. I had to get tech help from the AP with testing. She came in carrying her baby.

A student took her 40+ question standardized test in about two minutes and then put her head down. It doesn’t even bother me that her score matters to my evaluation. It matters to me that she’s done it before and there haven’t been any changes.

I had to help get 3 students banished from the library for a while because of PDA.

Then, I returned to the class where my student-teacher was leading things and they were talking about what makes a healthy relationship.

We handed out the new book today. It’s Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward. In order to try to interest students, I told them there was sex (both canine and human) and basketball in the first chapter. It seemed to appeal to some students.

One student was acting out of character. I pulled him out. His stepfather and mother are arguing and drinking a lot. His siblings are fighting, really physically fighting. And he’s made himself the peacemaker. Whiplash back to perspective again.

There’s no soundtrack for this. Very little of this was planned. This is school; this isn’t the movies.

It’s (not) the most wonderful time of the year. .


I am not proctoring today. Instead, I am in the cateogry of ‘Other.’ I have bits and pieces of several advisories, and I am essentially babysitting. A group is playing cards. A few students are doing homework. Almost all of the students are on their phones.

I am not sure what, in the end, I could do with this group. They all have plenty to work on, but they have no access to computers and generally little motivation to make these kinds of arbitrary times useful. They probably should. I always remember that the group with the best GPA at my college was the football team because they learned to use every moment efficiently because of how time consuming football was. But these aren’t those students.

One student just arrived with an elaborate drink from Starbucks and an urgent and intense look on her face as she manipulated her phone.

We count the time for required tests. But what about the meetings to make sure we’re ready for testing? What about the time it takes to make sure the computers are ready? The time it takes to make sure everyone knows where everyone is supposed to be? The time it takes to deal with make-ups? And try to remember the last time you took a standardized test. How much did you want to do after that? Our students have lunch after testing, and then they are supposed to go learn in 3 classes. How many of those classes will be worthwhile?

One student is watching a YouTube video of a young man going through his sister’s phone. Another is sorting through an endless pile of papers. Perhaps he’s looking for something? Getting organized? That could be useful.

I am not teaching; what are they learning?

Yep, you gotta read this one!

Pose Wobble Flow


Buy it now! You’ll thank me later.

YPAR: Part I

It was in Houston, appropriately enough, where we realized that we had a problem.

See if any of this sounds familiar. You have been tasked with the research paper. You are sent the file for this assignment, though it may still be a paper file because the assignment has been around that long. You are told that this research paper is the rite of passage that all students, teachers and, frankly, parents (some of whom had the same assignment when they were at the same high school) must endure. You are expected to scramble for resources, like library time and computers, neither of which tend to be readily found. You are expected to emphasize both process and product. The process is supposedly made easier because of technology as though a notecard that is on the computer is vastly different from the notecard you created on an index card. You are expected to give over massive chunks of time to something you had little hand in creating. You minimize that which you are passionate about and, if all goes according to plan, have 50 or 100 or even 150 8-10 page papers (because it’s not truly a rite of passage unless it’s a big piece of writing) that are tedious to grade. This mind-numbing process is inversely proportional to the amount of time you generally have to grade them. You write comments on them that no one will ever read, and though the option more often than not exists, few if any students elect to revise their papers, and you will be too exhausted to encourage it because you will have to deal with the inevitable 2-3 examples of plagiarism.

You are probably an English teacher because even though research is required in science and Social Studies, among other subjects, it has fallen to the English Department to steer this particular battleship because (and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise) everyone takes English all 4 years. So you do this and it is done. Those who don’t finish or do well are likely doomed (in terms of their grade, college success, financial earnings, chances of ever shooting a hole in one, etc.) and the students, supposedly learning the skills that are as necessary as breathing, almost certainly never do such a paper again.

Thanks to the internet, yesterday’s research has become little more than a kind of curation of existing materials according to a structure pre-determined by the teacher. Assignments that cross that rubicon from pre-Internet to post-Internet are revealed as the absurdities they are. I taught once at a school where the 8th graders were expected to select an author from a set list, read a few of the author’s book, research the author’s biography, and produce an epic ‘Author Research Paper.’ When I first encountered it, the assignment hadn’t changed in 25 or 30 years. Teachers hated teaching it, students hated doing it, so some plagiarized it and others handed it off to their parents, and the results were as dull as they were long. Why did we ever think an 8th grader would be able to write something worthwhile about Ernest Hemingway? At that same school, the 6th graders wrote a biography of a world leader. There were always a plethora of Mandela biographies. None of this is research. At best, it is an exercise in curation, and at worst, it’s an invitation to cheat.

We need to rethink research. The most promising concept I’ve encountered is YPAR – Youth Participatory Action Research. As with most concepts / jargon that enters the educational realm, there is already a danger of abuse. The woman who said, “Oh, yeah, I do YPAR. We focus on human trafficking” has it wrong. Students, either in groups or as individuals choose. They select a topic and refine their research question the way we might work with them on selecting a topic and writing a thesis for a paper in response to The Scarlet Letter. The topic has to be a passion for them. These projects are invariably long and allowing students to select something banal will be painful for both of you. Take your time with the questions.

Look around your community. Start with your school.  What are the assets? Who are the assets? What are the needs? Some topics are inevitable – dress code, school lunch, school schedule, etc.. These are likely okay, especially for freshman and / or if your school is isolated. If we’re not turning to the internet, then, what exactly is the research?

Strictly speaking, it’s not that we’re not using the internet, it’s just that we’re not turning to it first. Create a hierarchy of skills. Surveys were a good 9th grade skill. Imagine the steps. What’s a good survey question? How many questions? What kind? What kind of biographical information do you want to collect? On paper or on the computer (I recommend Google Forms; Survey Monkey proved unwieldy)? How do you handle sensitive topics, like teen suicide? How many surveys are enough? And then, when the data comes in, how do you read, analyze and present it?

We tried observations as the other research skill for 9th grade. It just didn’t suit enough topics and some topics (How many people give to the homeless on the street? What kind of violence takes place around an elementary school vs. a high school?) had other problems. This year, in 10th grade, we are trying interviews and focus groups. Interview questions can be similar to survey questions. What I’ve found is that students will read through their list of questions without being nimble enough to be alert to the prospect of asking follow-up questions. Have them practice on each other. Are they going to record? Transcription takes a long time.

They are not very familiar with the idea of a focus group. Model one. Or three. There are logistical challenges when it comes to setting these things up. When can they happen? Note that they can still do surveys and observations as well as other forms of research, but they are supporting actors.

I was excited when the topics for the second year were much better than the first, though some students have elected to dig deeper into their topics, which we encouraged. Then they got stuck. Last year, we told them they were going to do a poster presentation. This year, they have to design their own product. They are also working individually.

They can fail which, in most cases, is simply not finishing. They are to keep a process journal in which they describe their use of time, make to-do lists, jot down notes from phone calls, etc.. If they don’t finish or can’t make their final product, they have to account for and reflect on why.

The culminating event saw students rise to the occasion. They dressed up. They took it seriously, even when the audience was just their peers. They were proud of themselves. Our guests – parents, community members – were impressed. And then, exhausted, we had to try to turn to the action part.


Here is one of the best projects that came out of my advisory.


Next: What’s action?






When I get angry, I seem to turn to Dylan for help

Bob, that is.

I was thinking about “Sundown on the union,” but that’s not right. I was thinking about “People seldom do what they believe in / they do what’s most convenient, and then repent.” That’s closer, but the son of a bitch never repented.

I taught at a school for a year. It was not a good match. There were all sorts of details and situations, all sorts of problems and perspectives. But I was the first-year teacher and so it was just as easy for all of us to agree that I shouldn’t stay.

And you know what? I’m glad. I was not happy there. My subsequent stops have been much more my style. I was angry for a while, was even heard out by a Central Office admin, and slowly the feelings drifted away.

Now comes word that one of my former colleagues there has, in all probability, been woefully mistreated. Of course, she had been there much longer so she definitely had more allies. You know what? Though I never saw her teach, she seemed to have her stuff together. I can’t recall any acrimony between us, but I’m known for missing such things.

And the same person who claimed he knew all along, the same person who is supposed to help all teachers, who did nothing for me except listen to me vent and buy the flowers for my funeral, is perched high on his soapbox, complete with unnecessarily inflammatory rhetoric, detailing all of the ways this colleague was wronged. I don’t know the facts. I can’t know them. I suspect, given all else that’s tumbling out of this particular district lately, one that has such a great reputation (“he smiled at your face, but behind your back he hissed” – Dylan again – or there’s probably something better from Othello), I suspect his concerns, however clumsily they are expressed, are largely right.

Why didn’t you stand for me? Maybe you didn’t like me? I know I hadn’t been there as long, but cripes, man, anyone could see you were just going through the motions and even that was far too late. But you won’t discuss it. You are far too perfect and popular. I should have known then and try to remember now that “He might be standing next to you, the person that you notice the least / I hear that sometimes Satan comes as a man of peace.”

Another Digital Divide

This is not about money. Or race. This is about generations.

We just had parent conferences. Several parents – when reminded about how they can go online to access all of the information they were asking for – admitted it with a tone approaching confession. “I just can’t figure it out.”

Now I am far from a technical wizard, but I can navigate our various electronic platforms and get basic information. We also had stations set up for training, training that was conducted by folks much more skilled than me (not a high bar, I admit). But it started me thinking.

If I get home from work and want to check on how my child is doing or find an assignment or communicate with a teacher and none of these things are comfortable for me and to accomplish any of them I am likely going to have to count on said child to help me, well, then I might not get past, “Have any homework?” “No.” “Great.”

Have we gone too far?

In our efforts to make everything (jargon alert! jargon alert!) “transparent,” are we instead putting up another obstacle? How many students are raised by grandparents? I’m not saying that there aren’t grandparents who are tech-savvy. I am just saying that maybe we’ve created yet another divide, made it just a bit harder for those who are trying to stay involved, who may also have trouble with internet access.

R.S.V.Puh-leaze (with no apologies for the profanity)

“It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.”
                                                 —Frederick Douglass
on being invited to the groundbreaking at my former school
So you want me to show up at 2:30
to watch you be photographed digging
up some dirt? I say you’re late and
you’re not gonna get a pass be-
cause we already dug up some dirt,
the kind you bury kids in, the kind
of kids who are the same color as
that dirt, dirt poor, who say things like,
“I didn’t come to school yesterday be-
cause my mother didn’t wash my clothes.”
Where were you then, you suit-wearin’,
smile-barin’, not caring photo op fucks?
What’s the matter? No votes in the dead?
Yeah, you heard what I said, Data Head.
All your comments are ripped from the script
“Mental health,” ‘Counselors,” “Tragedy” you say
But they’re happy like that hole used to be
You’re not there the next day
And I am.
And there’s lead in the water like
there was lead in that body and I’m
the one who bought all the books
on my shelf.
So you better shovel your shit somewhere else.
And, by the way, your test scores won’t bring
back their health.
You cheap whores who sit so proud and pronounce,
get ready to listen, it’s my turn to announce:
“Glasses for this kid and breakfast for that. Try
teaching Algebra to her, she doesn’t know where or
if she’s sleeping tonight.”
You know, I wanted to dig some dirt once,
grow that kind of food that is endangered here,
as endangered as, as our students, show them
a tomato doesn’t have to be white. You said,
“You must be some kind of joke. I’m here to
offer them ice cream, but diet Coke.”
So you, with your titles, keep building your
buildings, yeah, go on begin them
You’re all more concerned with what’s outside
than what’s really within them
Before you get into that BMW, though,
there’s just one thing I want to know,
“Is the school where your children will go?”
with the sleeping sub in math class:
the fights in the hall
the anger that’s rancid
the parents who won’t take my call
So, no, I won’t be there at 2:30,
no time, see I teach
you can call me to meetings
where you want to preach
you’ll find me with students
26 and 10 books
no one to take pictures
no one to look
that’s okay by me
my feelings ain’t hurt
I’m spending my time
my money
my health
my energy
my heart
my love
my self
keeping kids out of your dirt
Dig it?

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