CST Steam

It really bothers me that the california state tests aren't an effective measure of a child's ability.  I have spent the last six months simply trying to survive teaching the eighth grade, but today is CST day.  And I'm nervous.  Really, really nervous.  As a first year teacher, I shouldn't be as nervous as I am.  I'm not perfect, and I'm not highly effective.  But these students of mine are potentially going to receive the lowest marks they've ever received on this test, and its a reflection on me.  Even though that's not what California says is the point of this series of ridiculous tests.  Its frustrating that I'm unutterably expected to teach to the test, but I'm utterably not.  

A colleague pointed out a poignant thought however, when I divulged my concerns over a cup of impromptu coffee the other day:  Perhaps this test really is the mark of a good teacher, who doesn't teach to the test.  Perhaps it separates those who lean on the crutch of the standardized curriculum, and those who are capable of instilling the same knowledge without being told what to do each day in class, verminitum.  (My feeble attempt at making up latin words: minute by minute).   Did my credentialling program prepare me to be the former or the latter of those groups of teachers?  

I guess I'll find out around the same time that I find out whether or not I am employed next year.  A week before school starts.

Cie la freaking Vie.

One Would Hope 11.9.07

one would hope
that a good book 
and a comfortable seat in the sun 
would help to remind oneself of the times which one must
nay needs to experience with lethargy.

and yet.
the occurrence is not apparent.
the gull should seek the shore 
in the instance of stark tempest.

and yet.
his end is invited through the pleasure
of the welcoming waves.
the flower fades without the sun
yet the hand plants in the shadow of the glorious.

what then?
must the flower accept her fate?
must she wither in the glory of others?
or shall she find her own glory in the excellence of those she loves?

only the sun knows for sure.
and look how he sits with his book, behind the nimbus, propelling the excellent.
and yet.

Of the Child Left Behind 10.11.07

One would think to consider the desire for knowledge

The struggle for freedom

For prosperity

For opportunity

For the same damn chance as every other American—I mean person—in this world.

But not so.

 

One would hope that the beaming foreign faces would sway

—or at least affect—

Even the most ignorant at heart.

But not so, for these consider those

Bright and beaming faces

To be the ignorant ones: 'can't even speak English'

And

'They don't belong here, so send 'em back to their own country'

But not so, for they are here for awhile.

To get an "education"

No child (from this country, and by that I mean the most able) Will Be Left Behind, you know

And all that crap.

So what happens to the child left behind

/to staple newsletters

/to run hall passes

/to put away transparencies

.to stop learning?

What child is this that we say we care about while most other children are left illiterate through bureaucracies that can't get past the red tape to let them learn?

Is it the golden child?

Is it the Future of America?

How is possible for a white, middle class child to be the poster child for the next era?

Is it fair?

To the white kid or the black kid?

Wait, aren't we forgetting someone?

What happened to the kid who came from Russia to West Sac?

Who came from India to California?

Who gave up the passing grades they had,

Caring school,

Accepting peers

In exchange for a system that fails them, that judges them, that suspects them, that cheats them.

Yeah, um, about that…

They got left behind.

Forgotten in the classroom, stapling newsletters "because they do it faster."

In Regards To Teaching Vocabulary and Cheating 11.9.07

Chirp/Chorp/Chirp/Harep/Chor/Chip/Chirp/Chap

Now you can hear…

Repeat after me. Chirp.

Shirp.

No, Chirp.

Shirp.

Chirp, Chirp, Chirp.

Shirp, Shirp, Shirp.

…the birds…

Write the sentences as you hear them, stop talking.

Seriously, stop talking!

Oleg, stop talking, stop cheating (stop trying to be retained for the second year in the row.)

If they only did their own work, we would all be alright.

Eyes wander unashamed, lips move flagrantly betraying their possessors.

Feet turn aside, toward the others while arms arch backward to steady the torso.

Scan.

Think. Wait don't. Just copy.

Surely "nion you hair the beir the shore" is how you write "Now you can hear the birds chirp."

Turn 180 to the espanole. Read.

And reconsider—Oh—

Its "Now you can here the bears chert."

That must be it.

Write quickly. La maestra is walking over.

Nah, don't bother. Just get the answer down.

Chirp/Chirp/Chirp/Chorp/Shore/

Chert/Chirp/Chirp/Shirt/Chures/

Stop talking, start writing.

Do your own work Raj.

Sari teechir.

Lips grin.

Why is it that they cheat? Cheating means a failing mind, but not a failing grade.

What are the consequences?

None.

Can't I punish them? Can't I make it so that they don't want to cheat anymore?

Can't I make it so that they learn?

Can't I make them learn?

Can't I make them?

Can't I?

Flip it

Ode to the Welfare Kid From Russia With Love 11.9.07

Hey boy.

Come to California. The great and golden USA.

Leave Your Comrades, Leave Your Country. 

Come be an American.

You can make more money, you can buy a bigger house, drive a bigger car.  

Eat more food, work less hours for more pay. 

You can learn

the

best

language

     in

the

world.

English.

Best Regards, Your American

 

Hey boy. Hey boy.

You're here, you're here.

Can't you see what a great apartment this is?

Your parents can sleep in this room with the baby, and you can sleep in this room.

In a great big bed. With great big sheets.

With Oleg,

Igor,

Serghei,

Stas,

Liya,

and Luiza.

So. Much. Room!

(Don't mind the cockroaches.  Don't mind the mold. And please don't mind the gunshots that might just possibly wake the baby up at night.)

Best Regards, Your American Landlord.

Hey boy, you look sad.  Whats up homie?

Why the long face, foreigner?

Why can't you speak so I can understand you? Why can't you speak my language? 

(the best one there is, of course,

now let me go get

fatter while I

sit in my office

all day

deciding lives.)

What? You're not going to graduate by January?

What? You're still in Beginning ESL?

You've had three months!

Hey Boy,

I'm sorry to inform you but we're taking away your money.

We are also pulling support from the rest of your family.

(I don't remember when working from midnight to 5am actually mattered to me or this business.)

And so, with (no) regret,

àAnd make sure you get thisß

                                               ………………………………………………….…Straight………………………………...……………….…

Unless you graduate by the end of this semester,

We will no longer be able to send you check.

Signed,

Your Welfare Man

PS: Our educational system, I mean welfare system, I mean American mindset doesn't allow for your kind of problems.  Go back to Russia Boy.  You're clearly not welcome here. 

ADHD Kid 4.25.08

The mind spider spins its

spindly

web and blocks your sense from Sense.

And so Sense, she leaves you to

struggle

against the self and men.

The men they do not know

the war that rages

boils

crawls for survival

toward to top of the trench

where "know" lives

feeds, exists only through the

calming of the storm. The cecession of the war.

one small bead

builds the bridge

to salvation through the swallow.

swallow.

swallow.

Dust the spindly web--

woven by the spider,

the creepie crawlies,

the constant humming and

inability of inhibition--

from the ultimate edges of your

hungry, yet intermittantly absent

self; your

"such a good boy when he's on his meds"

"why can't he get a blood test"

"his mother is a criminal not to pick up those pills"

self.

Thank you Woolf. 2.13.07

Silence roar inside these-walls-
cement and strong and tall.
The noise I fear betrays me true
to what I ne'er need call:

onetwo onetwo the foul sleeps
while I here stand Alone:
The oozing bricks the gibbering self
Silence still, --proceed sans cone--

soothing yet: he seems so full
the waves roll fro and to
close door open window
allow the flowers fall, Daughter do.

Such were some of the parts, now bring them together.
Emerge as an empty space, no hue no hue
then Score the canvas with nervous running lines
modelling my colors, purple gold blue.

to Want and Want and not to Have
there must have been a Shadow though;
what a power was in the Human Soul!

GATE Cert class...

I know the purple elephant comes next. A gifted and talented reflection.

 

I know the purple elephant comes next.

What if it turns blue?

What if it runs for president? 

Writing Wit Wordplay

Play with words, minds, Authority.

Can’t stand myself. Not GOOD enough.

Got the purple elephant. I’m excellent.

Skeptical, evaluative. Better than the rest.

Won’t eat it Don’t feed it

fly.paper. gotta catch those leaves.

underfunded, overtested but

I know the purple elephant comes next.

Question authority,

protect pernicious practice of perfectionism

make the whole class laugh.

I’m the smart one. Not the cute one. Not the funny one.

Being smart means…

love from teachers, admiration from peers, respect from parents.

having a cover story for being insecure, lonely, a misfit.

Anxious and externally validated.

But I know the purple elephant comes next.