Aww, the power!

Mary Anne Raywid's article, A Teacher's Awesome Power, is both immensely inspirational and also a bit frightening. She sheds light on the many ways in which teachers are powerful, despite the legal and professional hiearchy of control over the classroom. It is very refreshing to hear someone speak positively on the power of teachers, especially after enduring an entire quarter of hearing about the lack thereof.

I guess Raywid's insight is not so much a surprise, but more of a breath of fresh air-- a kind of realization of "good, other people do feel the same way as I do." I believe that teachers do maintain conciderable power within the classroom. Yes, there are a million other head-haunchos limiting what is allowed to enter the classroom-- but once it enters the classroom, the teacher is given a lot of room to exercise his/her own powers. I'm not sure "power" is always the appropriate word choice, it's not like teachers are really the power-hungry individuals among our society. But, for lack of a better word, I will continue with Raywid's word choice.

I like that she highlighted the basic power structure within the classroom. From the way the class is expected to act (neat and orderally vs. collaborative and friendly) to the control of conversation (what is discussed and what is rewarded as good responses), the teacher does have incredible power in the classroom. Put on top of that the adult to child power ratio already in place in our society, and the teacher is seen as almost a god among most students. What the teacher values can and often is taken as truths in the "real world" among many students. Casual bias peeping through class discussion may be taken as gospel to student who adore their teacher.

Now, all this can seem very exciting. I mean, who doesn't want to feel like they have the most important and impressionable career on the face of the planet?! But, it keeps me thinking, "Goodness, I hope we allowing good people to be teachers." And then I look at myself-- I concider myself a good person. Am I capable of maintaining this much power? I am very bias on many issues, and I am cautious of this when teaching. But, am I concious of every moment that my bias towards or against a particular issue may cause me to act in a certain way? If a student mentions George W. Bush does my teacher-cheery smile slightly fade for a moment? When a student blames a late metro bus for his tardiness, do I excuse him more easily than the student who was late becuase his mom couldn't find her car keys? It is the subtle bias that fear in my own teaching.

This article has definately opened my eyes to the emmense power we as teachers hold, without actually knowing it. I have always understood teachers control classroom dynamics-- how students are seated, how they participate in discussion, whether or not there is disucssion for that matter. I have also understood how teachers control issues discussed in class-- I spent an entire year studying the Holocaust, another with a rigious routine of country reports. But, it is the intense power of subtle bias that made me think. I feel that as human beings we can never be completely seperate from our bias on a broad range of issues, but as teachers this is the one thing we must do. Raywid's writing has reminded me that our power of being a teacher compells us to be even more aware of our bias. I don't particularly think she wants us to always combat the bias in attempts to provide a completely neutral, unemotional education. Yet, I do understand that the awareness of our bias is vital to preventing it from potentially portraying a false truth.

In some cases, I believe it is okay for teachers to state their bias. Issues like saving the whales, buying locally and riding the bus are the sort of issues teachers are expected to promote. If teachers arn't going to shed light on the loss of tribal lands in Africa, how are the youngsters going to ever know of the issue's existance. Again, as a teacher, the other side should always be presented. But, seriously? Not being allowed to say, "I support green living" is like educating robots. It's the way you go about it, aknowledging your bias and presenting all the facts.

You Can't Say, "You Can't Play"

"You Can't Say, 'You Can't Play'" is such an odd book. Truly, I do not, do not, understand Vivian Paley's style of writing. I love the topic and I love how she portrays herself in the classroom. Paley honestly sounds like a teacher I would have loved to have in second grade. Likewise, reading her story, I am making many mental notes on good teaching methods that I would like to use in my classroom.

But her writing style? Yikes! I mean, I am all for imaginative spelling and not following all the conventional styles of the "right" way to write. But, after a short Googling experiment it looks as if Paley's book is often used in an educational format-- IE, not for personal enrichment or entertainment. If this is her intended audience-- a professional academic audience-- I am very confused on her awkward style. This is not written as a fictional novel where the switch between creative story telling and straight forward narrative is more easily accepted. I am often confused between her two voices separated by nothing more than italics. No transition sentences, nothing-- just a bit of slanted text.

Okay, off my Daily editor soapbox. Content. Content. Content. I LOVE this concept. I had to read the title a few times to "get it," but as soon as I started reading Paley's ideas came to life through the dialog of her students. I work with toddlers, and at two there is little concept of "rejection" in the physical form or any of its euphemisms. Two year olds generally play with themselves and moderately include those who are within closest proximity. Yet I do see the beginning development of rejection. It's not like the 4-6 year olds who thrive on being asked, "Do you want to be my friend at recess today?" But you can see the little boy-- the one who has a hard time separating from mom in the mornings-- more often sitting in his own world, playing all by himself. In my class of 16, there are three boys in particular that I would claim are left to play alone more often than not. So I related Paley's kids to my class under this lens.

The first section of Paley's book is titled "The Habit of Rejection." I read it aloud trying to grasp the understanding. My mother, sitting on the couch next to me said, "Hmmm, interesting. Habit? Like the classroom creates rejection habitually..." I racked my brain, recalling my own schooling. There were times when I was left out of play groups in the classroom. Was that because of some structural, habitual reason within the classroom setting itself? Then I thought of my kids.

There are three teachers in my classroom. We have favorites. It happens. But we hide it, right? As Paley says, "We [teachers] all fawned over the popular children and were impatient with the unchosen." Which comes first? Do our "favorites" become popular among the students who respect their teacher's opinions, or do we as teachers find ourselves swayed by the same character traits that make a child popular among his or her peers? In my classroom, it is the full time, 8am to 5pm kids that capture our hearts. We spend more time with them then mom and dad get to-- we have seen them grow the most. Plus, they are most familiar with the school schedule-- they have grown up with it-- that makes them easier to work with. In my classroom, I think that it is the teachers who have made these kids "popular" among their peers. The "left out" boys are part time, less than 20 hours a week. Are their peers less likely to include them in play because they are less familiar? Or is it because the teachers do not treat them with subconscious favoritism?

I am going to take the blame on this one. Teachers are at fault. So teachers should step in to "fix" this problem, yes? I constantly tell my kids to "play together" when conflicts arise. And, as two year olds do, they are often happy to comply with my request. But what if its not so easy? Last week one of my secret favorites, "Danny" came up and gave the most adorable hug to another boy. I said, "I love it when my friends give such nice hugs!" A quieter, part-time boy named "Luke" leaned in for his hug from the Danny. Both boys were now looking at me, each confused. I said the typical teacher thing, "Danny, can you give Luke a nice hug too!" And Danny gives me a toddler head shake insinuating a "no." A sudden sadness came across Luke's face. Luckily another friend who had gained interest in our activities quickly stepped in and accidentally saved the day by giving Luke a hug. But talk about a sticky situation!!! You cannot force a student to hug another student and likewise you cannot force a student to play with another student. As a teacher you can, and should, highly suggest fair and inclusive playing. But what if the student does not want to buy in? In order to uphold the "rule" of "you can't say you can't play" it must be followed by all students. Distraction or redirection of the left out student does not solve the problem. Likewise, the rejecting student is not learning the lesson. How do you enforce personal policing of the rule?

I am interested to see how Paley's story unfolds. She seems like such a lovely teacher who cares about her students in such an insightful way. She draws on her own experiences in a useful way and battles her personal beliefs with her professional beliefs in a way that truly validates her writing. I know it's not the kind of book that will have a neat and tidy answer at the end, but I am very excited to see what Paley concludes.

Health builds strong community

My classroom has now reached an epidemic level of flu cases over the past week. It's to the point that each day includes sending at least one child home early, followed by me spraying down the entire classroom with bleach at the end of the day. It's brutal.


But, this epidemic has also brought a solid halt to our educational routine. Granite, I work with two year olds-- we don't have a staunch educational program and we definately are not preparing for the WASL. Yet, we have our circle time at 9 am every day. We read the book of the week (which is nearly memorized come Friday), go through our flashcards (animals+sounds, foods, simple Spanish), and do a simple group activity that requires a bit of physicial movement. As of late, circle time is a no-go. When you have two kids crying because their guts are rumbling, one with diahrea and another who's temperature just read 103 degrees, circle time seems kind of fluffy. Physical child care, caring for the health of the child, is a much more immediate need.


So the books are pushed aside. By the afternoon art project, we are down to half our class size as parents come for their ill children. How can you justify hanging art on the wall that only represents 1/2 your students? By the end of the day, I don't even have enough students left to be concidered "school"-- it's more like personal tutoring at that point.


Up until tonight, I've just seen this epedemic as annoying in my efforts to conduct a proper classroom atmosphere. After reading Sapon-Shevin's "Building a Safe Community for Learning" I have realized what is really happening in my classroom. My classroom community is being upheaved. I have one little boy who has been out with the flu for an entire week now. The first few days the other kids would ask, "Tina, where's Lockie at today?" After the weekend passed, nobody bothered to ask about Lockie. It's not that they have forgotten who he is, but as far as their two-year-old mind is concerned he is out of sight and out of mind. Last Friday, one of my little girls, Soledad, was physically frightened after a fellow classmate vomited all over the classroom. The sick girl was then ostricized for the remainder of the day.


The flu has literally been destroying my classroom community, and at this age the learning community is far more important then the physical schooling that happens inbetween all the socialization and exploration. Now, there are many benifits to working with upper-middle class, white two-year-olds. One of which is that this distruction of community will soon be mended. This flu epidemic will pass, most likely never to return until next year's flu season. Within a week or so, my kids will be back in full blast. Their age attention span will allow us to pick up almost exactly where we left off. The little girl who was otricised for puking will be welcomed with hugs the morning. Things will fall back into order and community will be restored.


But, let's say this wasn't a well off community of white toddlers. Let's say perhaps they are your typical inner city middle school, jam packed with poverty stricken students and enough minority students to qualify as a UN embassy. Yikes! Just imagine, all the issues and factors that go into building a strong learning community.


In a school population where many students fall at or below the poverty line, health can become a very burdening truth. Children of poor families are more susceptible to catching colds and other illnesses common among school children. But unlike the more well-off families, a flu season impacts poor families in many more uncomfortable ways. Single-parent households or dual income households may not be able to take a day off from work to stay home with a sick child. Perhaps an older sibling is asked to take care of younger brother or sister, taking yet another child out of school. Or perhaps, there are no other options and the child must attend school—even if it means staying in the nurse’s office all day.


Any one of us who has tried to work a full day with even a slightly meddling cold has first hand experience of the miserable feeling that stays with you throughout the day. Now, translate that same miserable feeling to a seven year old trying to get through a day at school. She cannot even fully express what she is feeling or understand why. Does this miserable feeling make a connection in young person’s mind to school itself being miserable?


To make matters far worse, many families in our country do not have proper health care. This is no longer just a problem for the poor inner city schools—families across all but the top economic, cultural and geographical lines are lacking proper health care. Middle class white families in the suburb and poverty stricken, unpapered immigrants in the country or inner city all suffer from lack of health care. This translates to education in a very direct way. When a child is suffering from even a something as simple as a tooth ache, their family cannot afford to take them to a doctor. Keep in mind a doctor’s visit must also include an available family member taking the day off work to accompany the sick child.


It is so intense to think that a teacher trying to build a safe and enjoyable learning enviornment has work around such a huge national health care problem. I have worked with the difficulties of teaching through the flu season, and it is rough-- but temporary. It takes entirely dedicated individuals to be able to battle health issues in the classroom all year round. Ill children are unable to enjoy school in the manner as healthy children. Likewise, children forced to stay out of the classroom due to illness are further alienated from their educational community.


Aww, the joys of figuring out how to create the perfect learning community amist the horrors of reality.

When I decided to "become a teacher"

I feel like the decision to "become a teacher" should be this big fight against society's values. Then I look at my decision to go into teaching, and it fails in comparison to the epic internal battles and huge convincing arguments with family and loved ones that I hear others speak of. My journey has not been quite as thrilling.

In fact, I went through undergrad with a million and one different careers that I was interested in. Every week I would come to a brilliant discovery of a new career that was just SO perfect. I'd throw myself into it heart and soul until the next brilliant discovery occurred. Come spring of my last year, I decided money was nice but I needed just enough to maintain my student lifestyle, something fun, not corporate or boring. Somehow, that brought me back to teaching-- a career I had long been interested in and often told I'd be good at. I know, I know... it's not easy by any means and I will have to work my butt off to be a good teacher. And, I still hold on to the idealistic thought of summer vacation. I am determined to put in an 85 hr week in June to have one month off. It will happen.

But the epic fights to convince my family that teaching was in fact a career never happened. My family, loved ones, college classmates and even high school dropout friends all knew I would be a teacher before I had even realized it myself (it was kind of like one of those "coming out of the closet" announcements that is wayy too obvious to be shocking). I'm not going to say that everyone is fully supporting me-- most of my friends could care less what I was doing, as long as I was happy doing it. My parents are thrilled that I am off my "I want to be a flight attendant" kick and that I will have a respectable career. I feel like the decision to "become a teacher" was so much more intense for others. Did I do something wrong?

Okay, now on to the readings.
The Delpit article really stuck out in my mind. She is one of those writers that I simply cannot agree with on many points, yet completely agree with on other points. I fundamentaly dislike the way Delpit finds a way to explain everything as a race issue. On a personal level, I believe that people try to "pull the race card" more often then appropriate. When Delpit is telling the story of the 3 year old black boy with "a little crush on a white girl" I would not see the pre-school teacher's comment about lust in any way realtional to race. It may very well be an inadequate description for a 3 year old, but does the fact that he is black really have anything to do with it? Her assumptions of a "black college professor as just a maid in an exlusive high rise" is also a stretch. I think class in this case would play an obvious role in any preliminary judgement. Not to mention when I first read "black college professor" I immediately thought "male college professor"-- the maid comment threw me off enough to require a re-read.

On the other hand, Delpit's discussion of child story-telling was incredibly fascinating. It is so interesting that children from different cultural backgrounds would have such different story-telling styles-- and even more interesting that the perticular style is favored by like cultures even when narrated by one person, without dilect.

And on a completly different note, isn't entirely ironic that the young Irish American teacher treated her new black student as so alien? Is she blind to her own history? Maybe it's idealistic of me, but it seems she would have more power and intent to give those students from "the projects" the best shot at education that she could offer.


Reply to last week's blog:
"Religious differences" in Northern Ireland is very much a psuedoname for race/class struggle. The tricky part is that both races are white and neither class is entirely dominant.

In simpliest terms possible, and I mean super lamen terms: Ireland was a land of Celtic/Catholic villages, farmers for the most part (ie your stereotypical Ireland). The British Crown converted to Protestantism and sent colonies of "proper Protestants" to Ireland to "teach them how to be more British" (ie less barbaric).

So, Catholics = Native Americans,
Protestants = John Smith.

Eventually the two grew into equal size populations, but the Protestants being more proper British citizens had political power. Thus the power struggle.

That's the history, ironically the history everyone in Northern Ireland is trying to forget. Education is tricky becuase the history itself is SO entirely different depending on the culture you hear it from. Catholics have a different truth than Protestants. It's hard for a teacher, obviously trained in one of these cultures of divided schooling (almost all teaching schools are Protestant), to be able to teach without bias. That is, if they can even decide on an unbias history. The general response is to not teach the history. It's just too complicated.

How fustrating is that?!