Conferring is the Pixie Dust: The Power of Two Minutes

To get students reading more--more books, more often, more widely, our English 9 team includes independent reading as a staple in our curriculum. In fact, 20% of my face-to-face time with students--the first fifteen minutes every day--is independent reading.

At the high school level, that lack of teacher-led direct instruction raises some eyebrows, especially if we teachers use that time to model 'the joy of reading' ourselves during that chunk of time. My colleague Marija and I felt a little teacher-guilt last year--an hour over the course of the day to read our own choice books! Sure, we'd monitor for kids off-task and field student questions, but interrupting them to confer while they were genuinely engaged in their books seemed like an intrusion.

We have also set an expectation for two hours weekly of outside-of-class reading. Pernille Ripp and others have opined that reading logs and other assignments teachers send home for kids to prove they're reading can devalue and lessen their enjoyment and motivation to read. And as a parent who's filled in and signed lots of last-minute, thrown-together logs over the years, I know such paperwork isn't always accurate. (And what about the kid who did all the reading but forgets/loses the sheet?) So how do we know?

Conferring.  This year, we've committed to using that first fifteen minutes of reading time to confer with kids. What I've learned already--it's the best way, the most authentic way, to hold students accountable for independent reading, both in and out of class.

After three weeks, I've managed to check in with virtually all of my students (150+) at least once. In several class periods I managed to touch base with five students in one fifteen-minute period, but with student questions, technology snafus, etc., I average closer to three. This tweak in protocol from last year--I did confer with students, but far more erratically or when touching base on particular project--is like sprinkling pixie dust all over Room 239.

What happens during these magic moments? Here are some highlights I scribbled down from this week:

• LK sharing that two narrators in Ellen Hopkins's Tilt haven't met each other yet, but he's "pretty sure they're going to soon, and [he's] really excited for that." 
• KS suggesting her own fix for not reading during study hall: "It gets too loud in there--oh, but I could go to the library." --So, so glad I didn't interrupt her thinking and chime in with that suggestion myself! I'm working on my pause-time in conferences; definitely a 'win' there.
• LG, who struggles to find books she can get into, has almost finished Wake, the first book in a trilogy. She's got the other two already at home, and her mom wants to read the series, too, so she'll be passing Wake on to her mom when she moves to Book #2. "I can't wait for my mom to read it so we can talk about it."  !!!
• JB, who I could easily forget is in my class because he's so quiet (and sits under the chalkboard during independent reading so it seriously took me a minute of hunting for him to find him to confer!), explaining first 57 pages of Enrique's Journey to me. When he said he's been reading outside class and I asked him if it was taking him a long time to get through the pages, he revealed he's reading a different book at home--The Things They Carried.  !!! He'd forgotten to put it on his Books Read list in notebook, so I had no idea. 

The power of conferring. 

In addition to these four WOWs, I've had countless one-on-ones about expectations of outside-of-class reading, library search tools, possible next reads and fix-ups of comprehension errors in their novels. Were I standing in the front of the class or modeling reading engrossed in a book myself, these minor things could become major barriers to success down the road for some of my students in terms of engagement, motivation, and/or grades. Another plus: my memory is better at recalling who's reading what and how it's going.

Subtly, too, I think my presence among the class during reading time naturally promotes on-task behavior. They expect to see me to be walking around their pods, stopping randomly to chat, so they're not distracted by me and not caught off guard when I drop beside them and ask them about their book. It's also pretty cool that kids overhear other students' enthusiasm about their books and my excitement for reading. 

Of course, not every student has bought into independent reading. A handful aren't using their time productively, yet. A few still grab the same book from the shelf at the start of class every day and put it back after fifteen minutes. I also have several students who genuinely struggle with verbalizing their thoughts to me, even informally. But because of conferring EVERY DAY, I know these things early; and because of the pixie dust, because of the countless productive, brief conversations I'm having with the overwhelming majority of my students, I'm energized to keep patiently, positively waving that wand of reading magic at those who resist. 

A little shift in what I'm doing during reading time, but a huge payoff for kids. And for me. 

The Million Dollar Question: What do you need?

I sat down yesterday to review the notecards I'd collected from students on the first day.  The question I'd posed: "What do you need from me to be successful in English 9?" In one or two sentences, my freshmen are already treating me to bursts of voice and personality, revealing their struggles and vulnerability, and driving home that the workshop framework is the best format to personalize instruction to meet their diverse needs.

Many freshmen used their cards to note their anxiety about public speaking, asking not to be called on in front of the class. Several requested seats in the back of the room. Two declared they'd like less reading. (Checking their reading surveys, I noted that both had indicated they'd read zero books over the summer and do not have a favorite author. So they don't like to read. Yet.) Every card provides me with a place to start when we get going on individual conferring in the next week.

A few messages:

I need you to help me learn new things and help me get better at reading. 

I need you to somewhat challenge me. English was never a challenge for me. But don't put me in the front please. ( I LOVE this VOICE! Challenge me *some*, not too much, and don't let me look like a teacher's pet.)

Occasional encouragement and help revising.

I would love to find more books and authors that can be my go-tos. I would also like to have quiet reading time in class. (Well, you've come to the right place!)

I really struggle with English, so if there's things I don't understand, I'd like individual help. (Hello, Conferring!)

Judge, help me correct everything I do here. (I wonder if this young man came straight from AP HuG and the shock of Mr. Scholze's syllabus. ;-) )

I need you to understand that I lost my mom at 11 on September 3rd. I will have bad days and I hate essays.

I've used notecards in the past on the first day, as well as introduction letters where I pointedly ask where they'd like more instruction--reading, essays, grammar, spelling, etc. Changing my wording, leaving it open--"What do you need?"--has swiftly elicited richer feedback that can help me forge stronger, trusting relationships with my kids this year. I know who may need more specific guidance to find a right first book for independent reading, and I know who may be quick to chuck a book if the action slows or gets complicated. These insights will enrich conferences and help me keep more kids on track and growing as readers and writers.

So exciting!

Learning How To Teach, Year 25

I've spent the last week reveling in the magic of reading and writing. Not the teaching part, but the crafts themselves. 

Kelly Gallagher and Penny Kittle speak of the "volume problem" in high school English. Kids, they say, aren't reading and writing enough to build stamina with challenging texts and to write focused, supported pieces. As I look at my list of books read this summer (fourteen!), as well as the hours I've labored over blog posts, I realize I've spent a lot of previous summers, as well as school months, not actively engaged in the practices where I'm the so-called 'expert'. We speak a lot about motivating and engaging kids. Modeling my love of reading by enthusing over To Kill A Mockingbird year in and year out for twenty-five years probably isn't enough to sustain buy-in for my students over the long haul. Reading for pleasure as a literature teacher isn't a luxury; it's necessary if I'm going to pull from rich examples and book talk relevant texts every day. 

In selecting books for my classroom library, I turned to Goodreads, where my account's been pretty dormant for years. What a goldmine! Authentic readers effusing the 'academic discourse' of literature discussion, genuine models for talking and writing about books. It's also cool to peek into the windows of my friends' diverse reading lives. I've suggested Goodreads to my students many times as a way to find books or 'next' books, but jumping into the sandbox myself has me stepping up my game and planning to incorporate it into my classes regularly this year. The suggested book lists will help students locate 'next books', and I can show kids that real people, all kinds of real people and not just English teachers, discuss and critique books every day. And--lo and behold!--no one is doing so via a five-paragraph essay.

Gallagher laments the focus on task-oriented vs. generative writing at the high school level. I am sooo guilty of forsaking the latter. I've let standards, test prep, MAP, ASPIRE, ACT, etc. dictate what I've allowed kids to create. How often when a student has raised a hand to ask, "When will we do creative writing?" has my mind filled with C-E-A paragraphs and A-C-T introductions, followed by a shrug, wince, and a lame remark about being creative with word choice and sentence structure? Too many times. What bunk. No more.

Writing is hard. I've generated more writing this summer than I have in decades. Keeping my "butt in the chair," as Anne Lamott would say, lends validity to expecting my kids to do it. And more than giving me the credibility to ask them write, it means compassion and empathy will drive my feedback. (Did I really give Caleb a C on one of his first writing assignments four years ago because the rubric focused on sentence structure and conventions--even though his voice dominated the piece? Ay-yai-yai!!!) 

The summer of 2017 has transformed pretty much all aspects of my life. One of my chief areas of growth, prep and planning, started with a daily organizer where I'm mapping out and reviewing what I've got going on for the day/week/month etc. each morning. An amazing Target purchase, my daily planner includes a quote for each day. Today's is from Seneca: "As long is you live, keep learning how to live." As I enter my 11th year at South, my 19th in Waukesha, and my 25th as an educator, I'm rephrasing Seneca's words to fit my mindset for this year: "As long as you teach, keep learning how to teach."

Exploring Identity Through A Gay Lens

After reading Anne's compelling post on including books that address LGBTQ+ issues, I grabbed a few titles she noted from the Muk library this weekend. I've been reading up a lot this summer on ways to organize books for kids in the classroom library, so on my drive back home from the library, I weighed the pros and cons of designating a category as "LGBTQ+" versus by their primary focus, such as identity or social justice or family relationships, etc.

How fitting, then, that my first book in this sub-genre was Bill Konigsberg's Openly Straight. Rafe, our narrator, has been openly gay since coming out to his almost-too-accepting-to-be-believable parents in eighth grade. Wishing to escape the confines of being seen as 'gay' before anything else, Rafe moves from Colorado to an East Coast all-boys boarding school for his junior year of high school and intends to keep his gayness a secret so he can just fit in and be Rafe instead of Gay Rafe.

Rafe is a witty narrator, and I think my stronger Pre-AP readers will like him. Some of the nuance in language will go unnoticed by the average student, but that's true of many teen novels I've read of late. There's a little too much frank talk of sex for my comfort level, but nothing that surpasses scenes that have squicked me out in several other YA books I've read this summer.  Konigsberg includes a writing journal motif where Rafe's teacher comments on his entries, which I found utterly cringey because the teacher asks questions and critiques Rafe's word choice and style, which seems totally inappropriate for a "just write your thoughts and make something from nothing" journal. Were I not an English teacher, this would fly right over my head, I'm sure.

As Rafe justifies his reasoning for pretending to be straight, first to us the reader and later to his parents and his best friend back home, his conflict echoes my back-and-forth about where gender identity and sexual orientation books fit best in my library. Rafe wants to be recognized as himself first. Do we do kids a disservice by lumping all these books together? Do a few kids NOT select a book they want because of where it's been placed in the library? Definitely fodder for further discussion. No one way is best. Or permanent.

Rafe's attempt to shed the weight of one aspect of himself reflects a struggle so many of us face-- celebrating and taking pride in a critical piece of ourselves when it seems to overshadow the other facets of our identity. At several points in the text, I was reminded of other characters I've met through my summer reading, especially the black characters feeling both singled out and lumped together/stereotyped by their race as they come of age. I also thought of my Nick, who's "the kid in the wheelchair" first to most people outside our closest friends and family.

I'm excited to add to our libraries books that ensure every one of our kids finds characters, settings, and stories they identify with and relate to. Still not sure how I'll organize them all, but it will all sort out.

No! Don't make that book into a movie yet!

Scrolling through my twitter feed this morning, I saw a casting call for Seven and Khalil for the film adaptation of The Hate U Give.

Ugh.

Not even a year in print, this story will be viewed by the vast majority of my students before they've created voices for the characters, visualized the scenes, flipped back to re-read a section, or anticipated what would happen in the next chapter. What's more, many will watch it superficially--kinda understanding the plot but focused only on certain pieces, missing the complexity of characters, Thomas's nuanced plot, and Starr's compelling narration of current racial tension in our nation. "I already watched it," they'll tell me.  "I know what happens, so I don't need to read it."

This rush to put YA lit on the screen frustrates me; it's as though we're robbing future potential readers of experiencing the story come alive from their book. One of my favorite reads this spring was a student-recommended Everything, Everything. I ordered two copies for my library, then learned its movie had just been released--big plot twist 4/5 of the way through, no longer a surprise for future readers.

I know it's not a new thing: Twilight by Stephanie Meyer was published in 2005 with the movie following in 2008; Suzanne Collins's Hunger Games was released in 2008, with the film version in 20011. Lots of kids, teens, and adults were turned on to reading the series from watching the first movie. I didn't start reading Harry Potter to my boys until Alex had already seen the first two movies. What's more, I probably never would have read (or seen) anything from the Twilight saga in book or on screen if I hadn't looked up from grading vocab quizzes while subbing for a Spanish V class as the Cullens raced back to hide Bella after the bad vamps caught them playing baseball. (All but five of the Spanish students were on a field trip, and I suspect the movie was supposed to be playing in Spanish with subtitles.) The clip piqued my interest enough to ask my student aide about it; she lent me her copy of the book. And so it went.

So why am I all bent out of shape about print-to-film now?

Reason number one, hands down, is the classroom library. Still only available in hardcover, #1 on the YA Fiction Best Seller list, The Hate U Give was a costly title to add. Plus, at 440 pages, kids will need some stamina to push through to finish. I suspect a few more who do pick up the book after they've seen the movie will skim through some of the latter half of the book--I'd argue the half that requires the most attentive reading to glean all the insights that Thomas provides about the history of the racial conflicts in our society. There's a conversation between Starr, her brother, and her boyfriend as the novel approaches the climax--rioting in her neighborhood--a "white people are like this"/"black folks do this" conversation among teens (Starr and her brother are black; boyfriend is white)--and white boyfriend asks a question that makes the other two stop. It's an off-limits, offensive, 'racist' question to them. On the surface. Then Starr considers the conversation they'd been having, and how in the context of that conversation, boyfriend's question was pretty logical from his vantage point; so she answers the question, following up with an explanation of how what he'd asked would be construed by her and brother as offensive. My suspicion is that the movie version will amp up that riot, and that while conversation might include the dialogue, close-ups of Starr's expression and her changing tone of voice can't replace the author's paragraphs of narration conveying Starr's thinking.



Having a classroom library with gripping, relevant, high-interest texts is key to its success. In her awesome recent post, Anne cautions against confusing pop fiction with meaty literature in our haste to entertain the children, arguing that the 'classics' still belong in our English curriculum and we ought not be so hasty in casting off a title because someone said it's difficult of boring. As we've discussed often, almost all of the best current YA lit includes allusions to those classics; those connections are lost if kids have never been exposed to them.

The Hate U Give is an excellent example of a mentor text that can spark discussions and facilitate writing instruction. As meaty literature goes, it's got a lot of protein. (A lot of f-bombs, too.) It's one of those books a kid graduates to, challenges themselves with. [Check it out: plural pronoun for 'kid'. I'm unlearning/relearning. Growth. Woot.] I believe we're taking something away from that achievement by showing them what happens before we let them experience it in their mind's eye themselves. Sure, this movie will generate many of the same discussion points as the novel, but when I hark back to Louise Rosenblatt's Reader, Text, Response, I see so many passages in THUG where readers will bring their own experiences to bear as they create their own meanings. What powerful conversations could stem from them! The viewer of the film version will have a more reactionary response--meaningful still, yes. But I'd argue, probably less so.

But Gretchen, you say, To Kill A Mockingbird was made into a movie in 1962, just two years after it was published. We still have kids read that. Yeah, you got me there. The difference for me, I guess, is my desire for students to lose themselves in their independent books--following their characters and turning pages past their bedtime to see what happens next. While it is a part of what we do in teaching required texts, building their reading minds is a chief purpose of independent reading. I'm a little deflated that, for some of my kids, their experience with these characters and this story will be framed by a director's take of the words on the page rather than their own.

Who knows? Maybe I will love this movie. Maybe it will lend itself to an awesome book chat discussion and draw in more readers. I'll hope for that.

Text-rich Environments

After two years of reading research about text-rich environments and classroom libraries, I still do not think I fully grasped the importance of having text surrounding you day after day.  Then, I had Aiden; there is now a book for him in every single room in our house.  He runs to any book, grabs it, and will sit down to "read".  Because of his options, he does not need to look far to find a good book.

However, I witnessed another example of this today.  My newly-retired mother-in-law came over to watch Aiden today while I popped in to school for a quick meeting in the afternoon.  Unfortunately/fortunately, my mother-in-law came right as Aiden was ready to go down for his nap, so she had two-hours with nothing to do.  She found the book I was currently reading, American Street, on my kitchen counter, so she picked it up and started reading.  Over 100 pages later, she found herself hooked.  When I came home, the first thing she asked was if she could borrow the book when I was finished.  Yes.  Always yes.  I did not have to talk about the book to get her interested.  She simply saw the book, picked it up, and started reading.  Now, I completely understand that this is not the normal behavior of a high school student, especially if they had free wifi available.  However, I also know that this would not have happened if the book was not just lying out for my mother-in-law to see.  How do we create more of these situations in every day life and within our classrooms?  How do we set up these opportunities for others who may be looking for something to just take up some time?  We need to have books ready at any time because who knows when that moment will happen where someone finally has time to pick up a book.  We need to be ready.

I have also decided that I am the worst book critic EVER because I love every single book, and American Street by Ibi Zoboi is no different.  I really enjoyed this book and the main character who is an immigrant from Haiti.  The story starts with the main character, Fabiola, and her mother coming to the United States to live with her Aunt and three cousins.  At customs, her mother gets stopped, and Fabiola gets sent on to stay with her relatives.  The plot develops as Fabiola needs to learn how to live in Detroit, Michigan while wondering what will happen to her mother.  The conflicts in this novel bring up some tough issues that deal with abusive relationships (boyfriend/girlfriend), drugs, gang violence, deportation, and the conflicts that develop in different types of relationships that Fabiola has.  The end of the book is realistic in that it's not just some happy-ending and everything is fixed.  I left this book feeling sad for the characters that still had to keep on living even after all of the tragedy.  I would be careful in recommending this book to high school students, and I would definitely want to know the student well before suggesting this one.  On the other hand, I love that it is a quick read with short chapters which I always think is appealing for high school students.

Next up is Choice Words by Peter Johnston.  This is a "school" book, and I'm already desperately wanting to read another YA book.  I may have to head to library to start finding some other YA titles that I have been wanting to read or at least books to scatter around my house to encourage others who visit to pick a book to read. 😀

(Re) Discovering Ourselves

     Lately, I have found myself remembering different parts of my former selves. Not necessarily with a longing for times gone by, but with a sense of nostalgia. Like that feeling when you wake from a dream and can't quite sift through what was real and what was the dream. That moment when you hear a certain song, and it triggers the memories and the wave of emotion that is attached to those memories, unexpected and raw.
     I've always been someone who gets too involved in 'other worlds'. When I watch movies, I have a hard time separating myself from the fact that it isn't 'really' real. This is probably why I find it impossible to watch horror films. 
     I'm always reminded of Tim O'Brien's novel The Things They Carried. He explores the idea of truth, of fiction vs. fact. He talks about how often the "story-truths" are more true than "happening-truths." I find the same to be true with really great literature and movies. I find myself drawn into the worlds like I'm a part of them, a part of the characters' lives. This year, I found myself a sobbing puddle at the end of The Book Thief. The emotion of it stayed with me for days. If I'm honest, it still haunts me a bit from time to time. I suppose good literature really should never stop haunting.
     I had the fine experience of heading to the library alone yesterday, a bit of a lost art for me. As much as I can spend endless amounts of time perusing children's literature with my kids, and I really can, I am a lover of children's books, there is something about the endless possibilities of walking into a library and choosing books...for myself.
     This is where the my former selves come in. I have been rediscovering my need for nature and the outdoors, of escaping the busy-ness of life and remembering to be mindful. To take a damn minute. To breathe. 
     I was drawn to non-fiction, hungry for some peace and quiet on the page. I need to feed my soul, and my soul needs a break from the escapism of fiction. Though, Mr. O'Brien might tell me that fiction is the real non-fiction...or something like that. These books are a way for me to feel that old familiar feeling of the things I care about most...but have left for a while. I chose a book about wandering and listening, about the environment and helping to create urban green space, hoping to channel some remnants of Thoreau and Whitman, Kerouac and maybe London. I also chose a few wild cards. I never know what I really want, so I get more than I need. I am also a chronic over-packer...I think the two ideas are closely linked, for better or for worse.
     The shelves of the library are full of words and ideas screaming to be discovered. I, of course, ended up with more books than I could comfortably carry. What hit me, though, was the weight of the books I'd left on the shelf. It was almost painful to walk away from the books I knew I might like as much or even more than what I'd chosen. What if I'd chosen "incorrectly?" What if there was something on that fiction shelf that would speak to me more? I had to talk myself down...it WAS ok to walk away. There is always a tomorrow, or a next week, or a week after that. There is summer. There is ice water with lemon and lime and cucumber. There is sun and warmth. There is a garden growing in my back yard. There are the voices of small children riding circles on their bicycles. And there is an infinite amount of minutes to read or re-read, to discover and re-discover the selves I have been and the selves I am to become. 

What I ended up carrying out of the library: 

     

 

What I have on my immediate "To-Read Next" List but left on the shelf: