I survived my first semester teaching language arts and art. Wahoo. Hip-hip hooray. Congratulations to me. Sort of.
At our school, teachers are required to shred any work with the students' names on it. Client confidentiality, security purposes, etc. etc. Throughout the semester I kept students' past work in a nice, unorganized heap on my desk. I was too afraid to shred any of it before this week. In my mind's eye I could just see it- I shred the student's work only to discover the next day that the school's computer based grade system crashed, all my grades lost somewhere in the graveyard of cyberwork past. Yet I'm far too unorganized to actually develop a filing system. So there the work sat in a completely chaotic, haphazard pile for months.
The end of the semester at long last has come, so I trotted on over to the teacher workroom, smiling all the while because I can count on one hand the days until I get a blessed week long break. I plopped down on a chair next to the shredder and got going. Before I gave the students' assignments the final kiss of death, I looked over it, wanting to reminisce on the things I so wonderfully taught. BIG mistake.
I could feel my peppy smile drooping, being replaced by a pained expression as I looked over what I so "wonderfully taught." First is was the grammar test I gave. We spent three weeks, THREE WEEKS going over parts of a sentence (complete subject, complete predicate, direct objects, etc.). I wrote examples on the board. We did practice sentences. I had them make falsh cards with their own made-up sentence on one side with the particular part we were studying that day underlined and a picture of the sentence on the other side. Audio learning- check. Visual learning- check. I was particularly jazzed about the card idea because the students could use their cards as study aides before the test- creating their own studyguide in essence. Brilliant... in theory. The day of the test came. I was more nervous than I'm sure any of the students were. They turned them in. I graded them. 4 got A's the rest failed. I don't mean Bs, Cs, or even Ds. I mean FAILED.
Then there was the compare/contrast essay. We did a two week unit on the short story, The Most Dangerous Game complete with inclass discussions and multiple activities to enhance story comprehension. As a culminating assignment, the students were to write an essay comparing and contrasting two particular characters. To make sure everyone understood what it meant to compare and contrast, I explained the concept in detail, had them practice comparing and contrasting familiar items then discussed them as a class, and had them write a practice essay. Students all set to go, right? The due day came (I use due date in the loosest sense of the term. All it really means is that it's the ball park figure for when I'll be expecting-well, hoping- for their work in the somewhat near future). I skimmed through a couple, cringed, and put them to the side to grade a few days later when I have the heart to bare it. Many were merely plot summaries- not a sentence of comparing/contrasting information to be found. Those that did manage to compare and contrast made exactly one point: "Both characters were hunters. One hunted humans. The other did not. The end." My personal favorite was the one I got that compared and contrasted U.S. and World History. Yep, I, a language arts teacher, assigned a comparing/contrasting essay on a The Most Dangerous Game; I got an essay examining U.S. and World History. The kicker- that essay got the highest grade.
Finally, there was the short story project. Some of the students were really excited about the idea of writing their own short story- a rare phenomenon and a promising sign, I thought. I wanted this final assignment to be something each student could turn in with a proud, shining smile, patting themselves on the back. So I went to work to try and help them create their sure-to-be-amazing stories. Thank the stars for Google! I found some excellent ideas, especially for developing character. The day arrived to turn their stories in. Surprisingly, the stories (for the most part) actually came. So come to find out, rather than spending time talking about how things like catch-phrases, family dynamics, and dress style all implicately give character detail, I should have been teaching them what a story IS. That is to say, I should have explained that in order to be a story, something must HAPPEN; that it was not just about describing a person. Silly me.
So in despair I bowed my head
There is no peace at work, I said
For the assignments are wrong
and mock the song
Of peace in class
Good grades this term.
