Every sixth Thursday I finish teaching my four classes at one school, pack a huge amount of gear in my car, and drive six hours to Boise to teach another class of 50 kids the following morning.
It’s worth it, but it’s not easy. Teaching at three schools is wearing and requires more energy than I sometimes want to admit that I have. I get fatigued, worn down, dulled, though I often refuse to admit it.
January in Idaho is cold and bleak. The sun goes down early. …
You can still see the scene in your mind, can’t you?
Up the wide stone steps. Through the glass doors, already sporting smudgy handprints. A vast river of other kids, first in a mighty channel, then branching into creeks, streams, and finally trickles through wooden doorways with security glass set in tiny windows too high for you to see through.
Heaven forbid you should be late, not because the teacher might give you a dreaded tardy, but because you would then be the focus of the other kids. What are they looking at? What are they looking for? Do they…
I teach kids ranging in age from 11 to 50 (sometimes in the same class). With such a diverse range of ages, one of the most important things to do is to make sure we have a shared framework for discussion. It’s very easy for people to become polarized, and stop listening to each other, and that’s death to an education.
So one of our first rules is to recognize that every policy, every idea, every thesis, has a downside. Doesn’t matter what it is. Free speech? People will say stuff that hurts. Freedom of the press? They’ll get up…
Most people are gearing up to go back to school. Because US society is built on school, and the school rhythm pervades everything in our lives, that means we’re all getting ready for what has been called everything from an inevitable disaster to one of the greatest opportunities we’ve ever had.
Tough times can make for dark outlooks. But they don’t have to. As a teacher of history, I’m faced with a couple hundred new students a year, many of whom are besieged with round-the-clock disaster stories, tweeted and posted with accompanying emojis. If kids are scared, it’s no wonder.
I’m a teacher. One of the things teachers do is administer assessments — what we used to call “give quizzes” when I was in school. Allow me to give you one. Ready?
What do systemic racism, global pandemic, climate change, and economic crisis have in common?
You, there in the back. Yes ma’am, you.
They’re all happening right now? That’s an excellent answer. True, in some ways, though not true in others — for instance, racism isn’t systemic if it’s a momentary thing, but only if it is ongoing and codified — but I’ll give you points for your thinking.
My wife and I are teachers. She teaches the hard stuff (math), and I teach everything else. This last term was her first experience with online teaching, and she <ahem> didn’t like it very much. Looking ahead to the fall, though, it became clear that she was going to be at least partly on-camera again. She lamented this, and I said something without thinking that I now believe was inescapably true: “You are probably never going to teach another class in which all your students are there in the room with you.”
School districts around the country are putting together their plans for the fall — under enormous pressure from parents, who are seeing Labor Day getting very big in the window — and trying to deal with COVID plus one of the world’s largest bureaucratic institutions in the education establishment. It is not a job you want, I don’t think. It was hard enough before all this; now it’s impossible. By “impossible” I don’t mean “it’s really hard.” I mean impossible in the physics sense, as in “two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time” type impossible.
I just spent three weeks teaching in a school with kids in the classroom. Back in February, that would have been one of the most unremarkable statements a teacher could possibly make. But within just a couple of months, the idea of students filling classrooms went from being commonplace to almost impossible to believe.
My school conducted a very carefully controlled experiment in the month of May. Under strict Covid-19 guidelines set by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, we reopened our school and held classes on campus with live, in-person instruction. …
My class and I (kids from Utah and Idaho) were discussing food supply disruption, quarantining, TP shortages, a bunch of other things. One of my students said it didn’t matter what happened, because his family was going to be fine. “Why is that?” I said.
“Because we just planted a garden,” he said.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” I said. “What will you eat next Wednesday?”
As humans, we have experience with mass extinction. Depending on where you live, it could come in October or November (or May or June), but it will come, make no mistake, and take…
But, really. I think this is important to say. It just won’t make me very popular. On the other hand, if I cared about that, I wouldn’t think this was important to say. So.
Public school administrators and teachers should start begging people, right now, to homeschool their kids for the 2020–21 school year.
Thank you, sir, for throwing the first stone. And you, ma’am. You have an excellent arm.
Earlier today I read a heartbreakingly brilliant article by Harley Litzelman entitled “We Cannot Return to Campus this Fall”. My immediate reaction to that was “you’re an idiot”, which is…
Working writer, teacher of historical things. I sing opera, and I fish. Usually not at the same time.