Teacher Journals: Katherine

I am currently a student in the Teaching and Curriculum (TAC) program at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. I am working on my Masters in Education in addition to secondary school certification in mathematics.

I earned my undergraduate degree in 1999 in mathematics and childhood studies with the intention of continuing on for teacher certification.

In addition to teaching, curriculum development and research in secondary (and elementary) school mathematics, I am interested in the use of technology to enhance education, and international education (both working in multicultural school settings as well as working overseas in education reform/teacher training).

Select from among Katherine's journal entries:

10.07.2001

On beginning to own the school--

A boy of slight build, half my height, with wire-rimmed glasses, hides behind his hooded sweatshirt and oversized book bag that nearly topples him over with its weight. It is one of the first days of school; he is a new ninth grader, lost in the shuffle of the 2000-plus-student high school.

I watch him as he scurries underneath the laughing, booming voices of the older students, darting from one room to the next along the long crowded hallways full of teenage hormones and overactive energy.

I watch him, invisible in the classroom, doodling in his notebook, his homework and books in disarray on his desk. He tells me he can't open his locker, can't get his folder. He memorized his combination on the first day and can recite it, but still can't open his locker. Three days pass; the combination is checked with the office; it is the right one. He still can't open his locker. I go upstairs with him to try it--with nervous, shaking fingers he repeats the steps after me, and the fourth time, he succeeds. The teachers talk of school phobia in the weekly meeting --a student has been hospitalized, she won't be back for some time.

In a school with no time, no space, no privacy--how do you learn to "own" it? How do you take the school and turn it inside out--for you?

I feel like my hooded friend on my first few days of school. I arrive late on the first day because of a wrong turn, even though I had walked the way many a time before. In the office I feel invisible, shoved to the side by a group of other newcomers. When I finally find out where I am supposed to be, I realize it is the wrong room. I get to my classroom right before the class starts, although I had hoped to be there early in order to establish my grounds. I am at a loss; I am taken out of my comfort zone and thrown into the midst of the complete and utter unknown.

Yet this is my school. This will be my classroom; the students will be my students. The lessons will be my lessons and the decisions will be my decisions. How do I get there? Before I can begin to answer the questions of homework and curricula, I need to address my needs for safety--how do I become comfortable and find my time, my space, my power--and ultimately, also my privacy, in this massive building, filled with what seem like "mobs" of teens, staff, and faculty?

And my hooded friend--how will he gain ownership? This is his school: he will be here for four years. How will he learn to demand the time and space and privacy--and ultimately, find and declare his power? And what is my role in helping him find his place, in creating a safe space for my students?

Learning the art of creating safe spaces in schools the sizes of small towns; finding my grounds and learning how to help others find theirs--these are my tasks for the year. After that, hopefully, I will find myself well on my way to becoming a "teacher."

11.19.2001

On learning how to think on my feet--

I have decided that the one main mark of a good teacher is a person who can think on her feet.

I have started teaching some lessons. A friend of mine called me one night as I was planning a section for the next day and he asked me how long I had been at it. "Two or so days," I said. TWO or so days, I wince when I think of it. How will I ever get through the spring when I'll be teaching 2-3 lessons a day if I it takes me "two or so" days to plan one single lesson?

One lesson plan gets rewritten 3-4 times and my notes litter my room, my bed, my bag, my mind. I imagine how the lesson will play out in class--the steps, the examples, the concepts, the "purposes." It's absurd. I copy the role-play onto the final lesson plans, the ones I use in class.

Yet even then, with my perfectly polished and timed lesson plans, carefully mulled over and analyzed to the core-in the implementation of it all, I too often fall flat on my face...I fall flat on my face because I forget where I am, I leave my body and I neglect my ability to reflect. I look at the board, I look at my students, and I am stupefied--my mind is blank. My role-play is cast to the side and the entire class goes down the drain--and I come to the frightful realization that I have forgotten how to think when I am standing in front of the class.

When I weave in and out of the rows of students as I am aiding my mentor, I am active: I hear the students, I see their thinking, and I know what they are questioning. I just know. I am comfortable. Yet, in front of the class, I somehow lose this level of comfort. These are the same students, it's the same room, it's the same material--but when I'm in front of the class, by the blackboard, I forget about the glorious brain and I muddle around in confusion.

I need to learn how to take a deep breath, get up there and hang out with the students, talk with them, discuss with them, hypothesize with them. I need to find the main ideas, the main points and the main goals--and build a discussion out of these points, build thought, and build critique. But to build this thought, I need to realign my body--with that breath, take the time to readjust and collect myself--and with this "recentering," once again, THINK.

To do this, I also realize that I need to revisit my lesson plans once again. I need to question how I approach learning, how I approach understanding. What will it take for me to build lessons where I am forced to think on my feet and thus, model the practice fir my students who will be one day forced to think on their feet. I know I will need to take baby-steps, but I need to begin to take them. I have all these great academic, theoretical ideas, but as someone once said, a good theory can't be a good theory if it's not good in practice. So...I will go home and revisit my lesson plans, my friend will call me and I will tell him I am on my third of "three or so" days. Hopefully, soon, learning how to think again, the three or so days will return to two or so days, and then the two or so days to one or so day--my ideas more coherent and my mind working again.

12.21.2001

Before I leave for winter break...

I am tired.

I was sick for about a week and realized how difficult it is to be sick when you're a teacher. I ended up in school with a raspy throat and a fever; but I had to be there--my students had a test that day. I had the test with me and I also had promised to spend the advisory period working with a couple of students. It made me realize how important "longer" term planning (instead of my occasionally haphazard day-by-day planning) is, having my lessons ready and at the school just in case something happens and I can't be there that day. It made me also realize how important my time with the students is. My students are great, but I worry about them.

I worked with one of my juniors the day that I was sick. This boy in my Algebra class works three nights a week and on the weekends, sometimes until 10 at night. He plays hockey in the mornings, getting up at 5:00 a.m. His homework had been haphazard for the last few weeks before that day. When I talked to him about it, he did not sound worried. I was. He passed the test with a C, but I knew he could have done so much better.

Another one of my students entered the school in the fall as a brand new ninth grader: smart, right on task, scoring high on the tests, and even interested in fulfilling extra credit challenge problems. After the end of first quarter, things started slipping. Now, as we near winter break, half way through second quarter, his grades are at a D average. When I spoke to him, he seemed distraught, but also quite apathetic. He did not feel that preparing for the next two tests in the quarter would do him much good and wouldn't change the D. He also did not seem to comprehend that not doing well on the two tests coming up could lower his overall grade. His behavior seemed stagnant and he had none of the same enthusiasm left that I saw in him at the beginning of the year. I feel he is struggling in his social circles, trying to find a way to fit in in the new school and the new environment. I also know he does not get enough sleep, going to bed around one or two in the morning, playing hockey, and arriving at school at 8. I wonder about his late nights; he has no reason that he will share.

One of my ninth grade girls works late nights and is clearly checked out at school. She is incredibly bright but terribly disorganized and her lack of high-quality work is partially defined by past failures. I work with her individually every once in a while, but I worry about her seeming lack of interest and nonchalance. I know she can do the work, I have seen her excel, but her lack of expectations is bringing her down.

I can commend, I can push, I can question, and I will worry. Trying to grow up, trying to fit in, trying to make a little money and trying to be independent--there's a lot that goes on during high school. As their teacher, I will be there for them. I will check on them, I will talk with them. But I also know that there is a point where I need to step back and let my students take a hold of their own lives. The point where I need to trust them knowing that they trust me.

Although I am tired, I am also excited. I am excited because although my students are in the midst of the uncertainty of the teenage years, they are also absolutely incredible. They are kind, they are good, and they are bright. And what is most amazing is feeling that they do trust me. They trust me with the material and they trust me as a person. This, of course, makes me even more worried: not knowing when it is that I should push more, when it is that I should step back, and when it is that I should ask the questions. Ultimately I want to create an open classroom environment, have time to spend with each one of my students, and build two-way communication. For however much time I put into lesson plans, I am realizing that teaching is so much more. It is about the students, it is about sharing, it is about learning, it is about growing, it is about finding one's place in the world.

There isn't much I know for certain about what I will face in the spring, but I do know that I will never be bored. Once again, there is so much to learn.

02.19.2002

On detentions and understanding my students:

I never thought I would give out detentions, and I have now given out two. The first one happened because of school rules--a student had cut class and he got detention. I am not sure really what the detention served. I would have much rather have had him come in and work on his math with me. I wonder about what detentions and suspensions serve, what they really accomplish. The students don't see them as a serious punishment and there are no real repercussions. After coming to class for a few days after receiving the detentions, the student has now cut my class three more times. The school's rules state that a student will fail the class if s/he has more than four unexcused absences. Could I have done something differently? I am sure. Should I have gone running after him? Perhaps. Should I have hunted the halls for him? I do that at times for some of the other students; I do not know why I did not do it for him? Perhaps it is easier with some of the other students. There is just something about him that I don't really know how to address.

I gave the other detention yesterday. It could easily have been avoided. It was a slow day, close to the vacation, half the class was away on a field trip, and I had decided to show a movie to the students left in the class. I wasn't going to start anything new before the vacation, and had planned on playing a game of math jeopardy the next day. The girl had been intently working on the questions for the game I asked the students to make up, carefully writing long and challenging problems. Yet, as soon as she was done with the questions, she decided that she was done for the day, and put her head down on the table to go to sleep. I had asked someone else earlier during the period to lift his head up and so moved to ask her to pick up her head as well. She refused to do so. I requested her to do so again, but she would not. I told her that I demanded all of my students to keep their heads up, or at least somehow pretend to pay attention. She said she wouldn't. There was no way to compromise: I pleaded with her, and questioned her, but I received nothing. She said she would just rather go to the office. I said if she left, she would have to get a detention. She decided to go with that. I hate that. I hate it when I cannot keep my students in my classroom. I hate it when they leave.

Yet I also know that in order to keep all of my students in the class, I need to begin to think about things a little differently. I need to stop pleading, questioning, and, instead, I need to begin listening more in challenging situations. I may be able to listen when the situation is not argumentative, but whenever there may be some conflict, I lose all ability to think logically and move into the role of the demander. I need to stop and listen, hear my students out. Find out what is really going on.

Like the boy, the girl I sent out also has something about her I do not understand. Many of my students I will never learn to fully understand. I loved school, I excelled, I looked forward to going every day. Most of the students I work with do not share my same excitement, probably for any number of reasons. My challenge is to learn to understand these reasons: what is it that isn't working, what has gone wrong, what are the grudges. I need to find ways to reach out to these students to be able to learn what their needs are and how to begin to attempt to try to meet these needs. Otherwise, I will always stay in the role of the demander rather than reaching out to the middle ground with the students.

The girl returned to class the next day and participated enthusiastically. I still have not seen the boy.

04.22.2002

On wondering about teaching:

As the end of my year at Harvard gets closer (I have already reserved my graduation gown), I have been feeling that utter and complete spring fever burnt-out-ness, and have at times wondered whether teaching is for me after all.

I know I've been learning this year, and that I won't deny. And I know that my program is intensive. Yet I wonder if next year, with my own class and my own students, I will feel the same way, the same kind of exhaustion, the same feeling of being completely and utterly overwhelmed?

I have heard people quoting students who say that instead of fostering the desire, schools are killing their desire to learn. I wonder about this with my students sometimes--and then with myself. Whatever it is, the environment, the culture, the timing--there is something that is stealing the learning out of the teaching and schooling--and it is with this that I am struggling.

Yet, my students are brilliant. I love working with them one-on-one, in small groups, joking around and chatting with them about life outside the classroom. And I forget to do this as often as I need to. The other day I was thinking about my own high school experience and remembering how I wondered whether the teachers understood that we had homework from other classes as well, not just that English class, or not just that math class--sometimes it was too much. And now I wonder whether my students feel the same way, for I find myself thinking only about the work for the class and forgetting that both they and I have lives outside the four walls of this classroom.

I still struggle with developing that balance. I get really stressed out--too stressed out--and I forget about reveling in the amazing moments. Moments like the Friday before April vacation: the day I did not think anyone would get any work done, when my students came in early from lunch and just hung out to chat with me; when my student who hates math (and readily shares that with me in multiple ways, cartoons, notes, comments) stopped me in the hallway to ask me where I had been the hour before, having wanted some help with her work; when the girl who received a bouquet of roses from her boyfriend brought them in to share with me and tell me of their "engagement"; when a few of the boys in the class tried to distract me from the lesson by asking me endless questions about my background, my interests, and my life; when the class was bustling with energy (probably due to the chocolate I had brought them as they had beaten me in a race to expand a binomial to the 10th power...) and I didn't know how to quiet them down. After a few "sternish" words, the class grew silent and began to work on the problem for the day. By the end of the class, they had produced formulas I hadn't even yet calculated--it was amazing.

And although I know I am improving in my teaching methods, and I am becoming more at ease in creating activities that the students are clearly enjoying and are authentically involved in, sometimes I can't help but wonder whether I really belong in the classroom, or whether my role in education may lie somewhere else. I guess this is where the power of reflection lies: critically examining the questions and the opportunities and looking for the best choices. I know that I greatly enjoy working with my students and this is something I will take with me whatever I decide to do next year.

05.24.2002

I will definitely be teaching next year. I don't yet know where I will be, but I am looking forward to the new opportunities and the time to truly become involved with the school, the courses, and the extracurricular activities.

It's been a tough year. It's been tiring and stressful and sometimes I wondered whether it was truly really worth it all. Spending more time with the students every day than I often would with my family or friends, it was difficult not receiving much feedback. But there are also those moments that make it all worthwhile.

It felt good reading the final comments of the students from their evaluations: the constructive criticism (or sometimes blatant criticism--"Ruthless with homework!!!", the praise ("If you can survive a year with us without raising your voice, you have some serious potential!), and the gratitude. Sometimes you forget that the students might actually like having you around. I knew they did, but it was nice to finally hear it, and also from people that I didn't expect to hear it; my most sarcastic student apologized and wrote, "I hope I didn't seem too sarcastic; it's just my nature."

My most difficult student wrote that I was "amazingly friendly," wished me the best of luck in my teaching career, and told me that there wasn't anything else I could have done for her--that she was just a "difficult student." Yet my favorite comment was a response to the question: "Write down something you have learned in math this year." One of my struggling students wrote: "If I pay attention, I can accomplish anything." Having spent hours sitting with her one-on-one, pushing her to pay attention, listen, take some notes, think about the topics, something did actually happen! And her last two test scores also indicated this change. As a last note, she wrote to me: "Thank you for improving my grades." She is a sweet young girl who often seemed as if she had given up everything; I told her that she was the one who made the improvement--not me; I hope the push will keep her going.

Yet besides the relationships I built with my students this past year, one of the things that kept me going was my mentor teacher. This past year, I spent at least 4 hours a day with my mentor teacher, more than anyone else in my life. I always had someone there to ask questions from, to think through some of the more difficult situations, the concerns about some students, the excitement, the work in progress, and mostly, the school itself, the culture and the life. The time was invaluable--there is something wonderful to say about collegiality and working with peers within the school; without this teaching would be an even lonelier profession. I look forward to the new relationships I build with teachers in the schools I will work at in the future.

And so here I am, three days after my student teaching has ended. It feels good. I am excited. (And graduation in two weeks--WOO HOO!!!)