Thoughts on the End of a Quarter

Teaching for me is making a bunch of decisions while maintaining a steady stream of interaction on a certain topic. It's creating problems in the moment to be solved when the students leave the room.

Here's an example of this problem-making/problem-solving cycle. While grading papers, I realize that my students have serious issues with certain homophones. I decide to do a quick warm-up with homophones the next morning.

They ask if they should take notes.

I say, "Yeah... if you want to make sense in your writing." Oh no, here it comes...

"Will there be a test?" they ask.

I pause. Here's what's happening in my brain: Well, crap. Then I have to make a test, don't I? And do a review beforehand? Or maybe I assess them in some other way. One more column in their writing rubrics? Or maybe they make posters. There is literally no more room for posters on my walls. Or maybe I need to think of some new means of assessing that I've never thought of before. Time to research. Why didn't I think of assessment before I thought of this activity? Oh, right. Because I was grading their papers. Does every, little tiny minutia have to have a grade? Why isn't knowing the right thing enough of a gift? Why the grades why all the grades forever?

Here is what comes out. "I will tell you tomorrow how you'll be graded. But today, take notes."

The more you think ahead of time, the less stressful that moment has to be. But I can't plan ahead all the time. When? If I'm in a heavy grading cycle, then anything the students get to learn in class while I am spending evenings grading essays is a freebie. Learn it or don't. I can't grade everything.

That is problematic in my current setting, though, because if things aren't attached to a grade, students very often feel that they do not need to be attentive or even civil in class.

So what's the solution? What do you do when you can't grade everything?

Here's what I do: I lie about it.

Okay, it's not exactly a lie. It might be on the test. But it might not be. I might grade it after I collect it. But I just as easily might get to the end of the quarter and throw it away.

This week, my trash can was *full* of stacks of ungraded papers every afternoon.

Love is Like Clothes

One event in a speech meet is the impromptu speech. A student chooses one of three random topics, and has seven minutes to think through and perform on the topic. They can divide the preparation with the speaking however they choose, but they are advised to stay on topic, be organized, and say something meaningful.

Mohammed was a roly-poly, bespectacled sixth-grader from another school. I can't even remember which topic he chose, because he prepared for all of 30 seconds, then spoke for 30 more seconds, somehow managing to find time to chew on the edge of a folder in his hand and stare at me uncomfortably for several seconds. When he was finished, my mouth was agape with his disregard for convention and his absolute failure to say anything of value.

Later in the day I conferred with another judge who had also had a round of impromptu that included little Mohammed. His topic was "love." I wasn't even there to see this sub-par performance. The presiding judge told me about it, and I could just imagine the rest.

Mohammed prepared for perhaps a minute or less, then got up with his wide eyes behind his wide glasses and said, "Love is... like clothes. You put it on... it keeps you warm."

He may have said a few other lines before his reserves were exhausted, his eyes grew fearful, and he quietly ended with, "that's all. That's it," and made a quick exit.

The impromptu speakers were notable, many of them, but this little guy... he was the only one to say something truly worth remembering. Love is like clothes. Love is like clothes. Love is like clothes.

Love is like... clothes.