A New Perspective

My students are amazing individuals. They go through lots of ups and downs.  They each have their own sets of heartaches, and hurts, and happinesses. They are forced to deal with  so much..deaths, family issues, divorce, abuse, relationships, friendships, peer pressure, body image, depression, health issues...and are still expected to show up every single day, ready to learn.

This year, I decided to stray from the normal character analysis I do 1st term.  Actually, I decided to stray from the whole formalized essay all together, and instead, I allowed my students do a creative writing piece, written in a mosaic-type format, similar to that of The House on Mango Street.   As an English teacher who has focused primarily on formal informational/analytical type writing, this was a difficult shift. I have never taught creative writing before! I had to let go of control.  I had to let go of formality. Heck, I even had to let go of proper grammar and sentence structure. 

However, I am so glad I did it. I was absolutely blown away with what my students produced.  I have always thought of my students as people first and I try and remember that my class is only a portion of their very complex lives.  But, reading these gave me an even better sense of who they are.  It was like looking through a camera lens and being able to see snapshots of each of their lives. Writing these showed a lot of vulnerability.  Many students opened up to me (and their peers) and trusted us with some pretty deep stuff.
(For more information on the assignment, go here )

They were so good, in fact, that I asked a few of them if I could share their writing so that you all could have the same privilege I have had in reading these. Not all of them said yes, but some did.  I promised they would remain anonymous.  Here are a three different students' pieces:

Baby Rattlers

Mommy doesn’t sleep. I always sleep near her, and she doesn’t sleep. My rest is bombarded by her midnight missions. She prances across the carpet. A confused slur of urgency. I am sensitive to her movements. Every impression on the floor stirs me. Mommy always goes to find her purse.  Why does she need her purse at this hour? She is not leaving. She pinky swore she wouldn't leave. Sometimes I think she is spitting all her dreams into the crevices of that purse, because she never sleeps, they must go somewhere. She has to release all of the unconscious energy somehow.

I hear her shaking baby rattlers. I don’t understand. I hear her drop a tic tac on the kitchen floor. Mommy always has candy with her. She keeps candy in orange bottles that my adolescent fingers cannot open. She doesn’t share. Sometimes I know she is eating too much candy because she vomits. I know she tries not to wake me. Mommy thinks I sleep through the rattlers.

She makes her way back. And every step is deafening to me. I know she is not asleep, but her mind is in another place. Sometimes her eyes are closed. I know mommy always tries to be quiet, she does. But her words are slippery, and I don’t know who she’s talking to. No one else seems to hear her at night. Only me, I am alone. I try to ignore what she does at night, but I can’t pry my brown eyes that look like hers, off of mommy. She sits up all night and swats at the air. Mommy is silly. I think she sees fruit flies behind her eyelids. I think she hears voices that speak in a language that only she comprehends.

I just want Mommy to sleep, and wake in the morning.

If Scales Could Speak

         “Age is just a number,” said someone who feels old. “I’m vertically challenged.” Said someone who feels too short. However, if a scale could speak, the numbers would be a foreign language, translated to say too much, or too little. Scales are like the new exchange student, and their interpreters are peoples doctors and nurses. Their job, is to take whatever the scale said and make us understand it. Sometimes they even have to take whatever was said bluntly, and make it socially acceptable. Doctors do it all the time. Lay down the facts, sprinkle on a sugar coat, and the cycle repeats. “Well, your weight is above the range it should be for your age so we’ll put you on this”. But what we all here is, "You're fat, let's try to make you normal." As if a bottle of pills can repair the damage that’s already been done by staring at the numbers between my feet. So like a typical “moody” teen girl. I just put in my headphones so that I can listen to a language that I actually understand: Music.

Sunday

This time it was four months, and we went out again. It was Sunday. Early evening. You look beautiful, he says looking at the braided updo my mother helped me with and looking at the earrings he bought me the previous day and looking at my eyes. The green eyes that he tells me he loves. We walked to the restaurant. He held the door for me. Holding hands and having an actual conversation. Why did we ever worry about not being normal? Why did I always reject him? Why did I chase around the other boys who only cared about looks and popularity? Why did I think I was lonely and that nobody loved me, when there had always been someone there? The boy in the background who was rejected by the girl of his dreams time after time, but still waited for her. On that one Sunday evening, I realized that he was perfect. He was perfect for me, not only for looks or for a relationship status, but for friendship. I realized, this is my best friend. I realized, I love him.

Students Were So Engaged..with Poetry??!!

Yesterday, I came home with a warm, fuzzy feeling.  It was one of those days were my 9th grade students just GOT it.  They were engaged in meaningful conversations, they were respectfully questioning each other, and they were referring back to their text to prove their points. All the awesome things that as I teacher I WANT them to do!  As I walked around the classroom, I literally had goosebumps forming as I heard such bright and insightful questions and comments.

What I am even more proud of is that these amazing conversations came out as students were looking at poetry.  Now, I must admit, poetry is not my favorite thing to teach, largely in part because when students find out we are reading a poem, I am often met with groans and eye rolls. For some reason, most students (not all) have an aversion to poetry and it's sometimes hard to get them going with it because of it.

My job, as a teacher, is to talk them down off the metaphorical ledge that poetry forces them onto, and make them realize it's not as scary as they think. One of the first ways I do this is by giving them a song to analyze as I play the music.  I usually start with a popular song in the last couple years, and have them look for (1) what they think the main message of the song is and (2) what specific evidence (lines) makes them think this.  Last year, I used the song "Royals" by Lorde, and I continued with it this year as well because the students did such a great job with it.  It is amazing how much they are willing to analyze and pull out of a pop song but how much they shut down sometimes with poetry!

Then, after we discuss the song fully, we talk about how songs are actually similar to poetry.  I always praise them for their analysis and explain that all they need to do is transfer those skills over to a poem.  After that, we start a poem.  When I give them a poem, I have specific things that I want them to look for and mark up (ex: rhyme scheme, repetition, alliteration, to name a few) and then I have them also mark up the text, trying to figure out meaning.  Even though students sometimes resist this last step, it is SO crucial to aid them in their understanding!  I think my students this year are more adept at marking the text, which is why I think their conversations were perhaps so rich.

Then, once they struggle with the text individually, they work together as a group to figure out meaning and answer the questions that accompany it. And yesterday, that was where the magic happened.  I was so proud of my students for their engagement, their conversation, and above all, their commitment to the poem. 

I think it's important to remember that good teaching is not always about big projects and flashy props that take lots of time to set up.  Good teaching and a successful day can be something as simple as students reading, talking, and just getting it. It was one of those lovely moments where I, as the teacher, could truly sit back and watch them teach themselves...and about poetry of all things!