Teacher Talk

I am alarmed by the growing popularity of the English only movement in this country. The chapter about teaching second language learners in “But Will it Work with Real Students?”: Scenarios for Teaching English Language Arts by Janet Alsup and Jonathan Bush made me think about why I need to be more of an advocate for second language learners. I agree with the authors that “Language conflicts often have their root in fear and insecurity over economic and nationalistic issues, and consequently they can elicit high emotion, defensiveness, and anger” (2003, p.111). While I understand the root of the conflict, I do not understand why we can’t move beyond the conflict. I wish that I could speak more than one language; I think we should nurture this skill in our ESL students. Understanding more than one language broadens their thinking and better prepares them for the global society.

I have worked in schools with different ESL programs, and, yes, some work better than others, but what I have found to be the most detrimental to ESL students are teacher attitudes. I have heard teachers complain about their ESL students and/or their parents, and it seems to me that this is what causes students to fail. In a way, I understand the teachers’ frustrations. I have had ESL students in my classes before that spoke minimal, if any, Englsih, and it was frustrating because I wanted to help them but, often, didn’t know how. I was trained in ESL when I worked in Florida (county to remain anonymous), so I used some of the methods that I had been taught (CLOZE, visuals, collaborative learning, etc.). But, ultimately, it was extremely difficult to overcome the language barrier. I can remember feeling useless, and I still feel like I failed those students. My point is that while I think the structure of ESL programs are important, I think teacher training and ongoing support for teachers is crucial. I mentioned that I was trained, but, looking back, I do not feel like my training was adequate. I remember that we showed up on the first night of class, received a notebook full of articles and activities, and returned six weeks later to turn in a packet of work. I did this for five different classes! There was no discussion, no support, and no real analysis of the issues…it was seen as just another county mandate—just another hoop to jump through in order to get a renewable certificate. No wonder I let my students down!

I don’t think our ESL students should be seen as a county mandate. I think we need more teacher training programs that promote effective second language pedagogies like those suggested in the Alsup and Bush text (e.g. inclusive language policies and thematic instruction). Finally, I think we (everybody, but here I am specifically talking about English teachers) should all work to learn different languages…the more languages the better! If we love words in English, why wouldn’t we love them in other languages, too?

I agree with Swenson et al. in their article, “Extending the Conversation: New Technologies, New Literacies, and English Education,” that the main purpose of writing (in any forum) is to make meaning. I also agree that our current model for assessing writing doesn’t promote teaching writing with this goal in mind. They write: “In an era of growing concern about student writing scores on standardized tests, we are also seeing large numbers of teachers and schools revert from more progressive pedagogies to reductionistic approaches that suggest that students need to master only a few steps to become successful writers (6+1 Writing Traits [2003], for instance)” (2006, p. 8). The “reductionistic” strategies do suggest that form is more important than content in writing. Likewise, I think that most writing teachers are dismayed by the current trends in writing instruction and are also well aware that content should come first; however, it is extremely difficult to focus on content in a time-constrained writing situation. How we assess students guides how we teach students. I am doing my students a serious disservice if I don’t give them a formula that will work when they go into a high-stakes, timed writing assessment. Therefore, as much as I would like to incorporate new literacies and more diverse composition assignments, I have limited time and my focus has to be on preparing students for the GHSWT. Don’t get me wrong—I do give students opportunities to engage in new literacies (I have a class blog, we do a multi-modal project, and students can choose from a variety of literacies in order to present their parallel novels), but when it comes to writing traditional text (an essay) my pedagogy definitely follows a set form.

I also worry, like Swenson et al., “that such formulaic conceptions of writing, instruction, and texts encourage students not to think critically, innovatively, or well, even as they reinforce the positivist impression that Truth can be known and communicated if writers only train themselves to think and write in a clear, linear, and orderly fashion” (2006, p. 9). But I don’t know how to reconcile the conflict between what I know are good writing practices and what I know are good test-taking practices. It takes me a long time to write a paper when my focus is to make meaning because writing is recursive and because I discover meaning as I go. If I tried to write for meaning in a timed-writing assessment, I would probably stare at a blank piece of paper for most of the test. I suspect that this is true for most of my students as well. Therefore, I use a set form that helps me create something that I know will earn a passing grade. I give my students a set form because I want them to get a passing grade as well. I guess my point is that there is always going to be resistance to new literacies and progressive pedagogies in composition classrooms as long as we are only testing students on their ability to write a traditional essay…especially when the focus is their ability to do it within a ninety-minute block of time. High school English teachers are expected not only to teach students how to read and critically analyze myriad texts, but also to teach students how to compose myriad texts of their own. In spite of this, the focus, naturally, is going to be on the kinds of texts that students (and teachers and schools) are going to be held accountable for. Change in the current climate, I am afraid, can only occur from the top down. I welcome disagreement, however, because I would like to know what kinds of things (other than what I am already doing with different kinds of marginal assignments) I can do to change the direction of composition instruction from the bottom up. Does anyone have any suggestions?

I have a confession to make: I have now read the chapter on deconstruction in Deborah Appleman’s book Critical Encounters in High School English three times, and I still don’t get it. It seems to me that deconstruction is only about finding contradictions within a text…is that it? Don’t we do that with every literary theory? Isn’t that what literary analysis is all about…finding the contradictions and making sense of them? But I guess with deconstruction you don’t have to make sense of anything; you find the inherent flaws or contradictions and that is enough. I think I agree with Rachel from the text, who is very upset about deconstruction. She says, “Here I am at the end of my high school education, and now it seems as if everything I was trying to do is worth absolutely nothing. Nothing means anything. Is that what I’m supposed to believe?” (Appleman, 2000, p. 112). I wouldn’t know how to respond to Rachel…I mean, I think she has a point.  Life is full of contradictions; I feel like that’s the point. Is that the point deconstruction is trying to make? Is it trying to say, “there are contradictions—see they’re everywhere!”? If this is deconstruction, maybe I do get it. But I still don’t know if I would feel comfortable teaching it. Does anyone know of more resources for using this theory? What else can I read that will help me get a better grasp on this theory?     

“I want my students to think about the worlds these texts both represent and invoke. I want them to think about what set of beliefs drive these characters and, in some cases, help seal their fate. I want them to think about the author’s relationship to those set of beliefs. I think I sometimes forget to help them see the big picture” (Appleman, 2000, p. 64).

Michael, a teacher in Deborah Appleman’s book Critical Encounters in High School English, reflects on why he decided to use critical theory with his AP English class. I found myself nodding in agreement as I read Michael’s words. Yes, I also want students to think about the big picture, and I also don’t think I do a very good job of helping students to see the big picture. It’s hard to convey issues of class, gender, and race to teenagers when they may not have the life experience to fully engage in the discussion. But maybe I’m not being fair. Maybe I haven’t presented the discussion appropriately. Truthfully, I have never tried using critical theory. I think I have been intimidated by the thought of teaching something that I’m not sure I completely understand. Although, after reading about Michael’s experience using Marxist theory, I think my fears have been ungrounded. I am impressed with the responses that his students had to a reading of Hamlet. After exploring the basic principles of Marxism, the students seemed to truly understand how class and power affected the characters’ roles and decisions. Perhaps it is unfair to assume that high school students are incapable of advanced critical analysis…given the right tools, they can appropriately discuss the text on a deeper level. I have failed to trust their ability to understand more complicated material. The trick is to break it down into manageable pieces and give them the vocabulary so that they can have more meaningful discussions. I want them to move beyond the personal connections that they are always so quick to make; I want them to make a connection even after they say things like, “I don’t want to read this because I can’t relate to it…these characters don’t have anything to do with me.” I want them to understand the deeper social implications of a text, or, as Michael says, I want them to see the big picture.

I’m curious if anyone has used critical theory in secondary instruction? How did it go? Were there unintended consequences that you wish you had avoided? What would you recommend to a teacher thinking about incorporating critical theory into her pedagogy?

I am probably most familiar with Reader-Response Theory. I have been using a reader-response approach to teaching literature since I first started teaching; In fact, I was using it before I knew what to call it. It is how I learned to approach literature and it is how I have most enjoyed dealing with literature, so it just made sense to use this method in my teaching. It didn’t always work out the way I anticipated though; it didn’t always seem like my students valued the practice as much as I did. I was beginning to doubt my pedagogy, but then I encountered Reader Response Theory in my graduate courses. Once I read about Louise Rosenblatt’s Transactional Theory, I began to understand why I taught the way I did. I learned sound theory to back up my pedagogical practices. However, even though I felt vindicated that I was doing something worthwhile and educationally sound, I still felt like things weren’t quite right during classroom discussions. I had a sinking suspicion that students weren’t making the connections that I hoped they would…that they couldn’t move beyond the personal and really evaluate a text for its literary merits.

Thus, I am especially grateful for the suggestions that Deborah Appleman makes about teaching Reader Response Theory. In her book, Critical Encounters in High School English: Teaching Literary Theory to Adolescents, she seems to be writing about a typical scene from my classroom. She writes: “Try as I might, I couldn’t move our conversation back to Hester or to anything specifically textual about The Scarlet Letter…I felt that she had dived off the springboard of personal response into an autobiographical wreck” (2000, p. 26). I have had this feeling many times during literature discussions. I want students to connect personally to the text, but I want their discussions to stay embedded in the text as well. But I have found that when I tell students to respond personally to texts, Pandora’s Box opens and I quickly lose control of the discussion. I have even considered eliminating reader response from literature-based discussions, but I’m not comfortable with taking away something that could be so meaningful for students. I am excited to try Appleman’s suggestion that I explicitly teach the theory to students before I expect them to apply it appropriately. Maybe if students could label the process of reader response and understand that it is a specific theory (and not just an anything goes, my opinion is all that counts and can’t be wrong kind of approach to literature), they could move beyond elementary or surface-level reactions and use reader response to get into a text or to prompt deeper-level discussions. I am curious as to how other teachers have handled Reader Response Theory. What has worked? What has failed and why?

Classroom management often evokes strong reactions and responses from teachers. While it is not more important than curriculum and instructional practices, as Janet Alsup and Jonathan Bush write in “But Will it Work with Real Students”: Scenarios for Teaching Secondary English Language Arts, “A teacher who does not develop a culture of learning and respect is doomed never to see his or her classroom goals fulfilled” (2003, p. 142). I think it is definitely an important part of a pre-service teacher curriculum. Like the teacher in the Alsup and Bush text, I can remember starting my first year teaching full of idealism and over-confidence only to be quickly dismayed by the lack of control that I was experiencing in my classes. I am sure that I asked myself the following question about a thousand times during that first year: What have I gotten myself into? Now in my fourth year of teaching, I can say that I never ask myself that question anymore and my classes are typically well-run and under control. This doesn’t mean that I don’t have difficulties; I still have a lot to learn.

I wish I had read some of the professional texts regarding classroom management before I started teaching. I did read Harry Wong’s book, but it didn’t prepare me for a lot of the difficulties that I actually faced. I greeted kids at the door, I always had a warm-up waiting for them, I kept rules short, simple, and positive, and I established set routines; I did not, however, have a plan set for what to do when a student refuses to work or gets verbally aggressive. I cried all night the first time it happened. I remember thinking, what is going on here…I never would have talked to a teacher like that!? Although, this isn’t fair either; I was a teenager and, I’m sure, not perfect all the time. I had to learn to not take things personally. My students were not personally attacking me; they were acting like normal 9^th graders would in a class where the teacher was young, inexperienced, and afraid that students wouldn’t like her. I have learned to be fair, consistent, and positive. This is easier said than done, but it is something that I strive for everyday. I really like the suggestion that Randy Gordon, a Nebraska teacher, made in the article, “The D Word,” posted on the National Education Association’s website (http://www.nea.org/neatoday/0509/coverstory.html). He writes that, “the best way to stop arguing is not to pay attention to the argument,” and he continues by saying that he usually responds to student complaints or excuses with a simple one-word response: “bummer.” I think I am going to adopt this word as my own. I would like to hear what other people use/have used that works? I have found empathy to be very effective. I’ll say things like, “I understand your frustration,” or, “I know how you feel and I’m sorry.” Does anyone have any other specific suggestions for classroom management that they have found to be effective in their classrooms?

I also want to add in a side-note here…I think it is important that we acknowledge good student behavior, too. For the most part, my students are very polite and respectful. I think that sometimes this point gets lost in the conversation. I think that if you show students that you care, treat them with respect, and model appropriate behavior, they will follow in kind. I think it is counter-productive to blame society or parents or the media or whomever else might influence kids today; I think that, for the most part, kids want to act the right way…they just need positive encouragement and reinforcement to keep them on track.

Students will swear that Shakespeare is written in a foreign language. As an English teacher, their protests are disheartening because it is the language that makes Shakespeare’s plays so wonderful and brilliant. I can get them to understand the themes, and I can get them to understand the characters, but I often have a difficult time getting them to understand the language. They will swear, as Casca tells Cassius in Julius Caesar, that it is Greek to them until I paraphrase lines into a more modern dialect. This is why I found the chapter on language in Rex Gibson’s book Teaching Shakespeare (1998) to be especially useful. I like how he dissected Shakespeare’s language into specific elements that are easy to identify within the plays. I can see how focusing on specific elements helps students overcome the anxiety that stems from whole text analysis. I guess, intuitively, I knew that it made good sense to break texts down into parts, but I never thought to break it down according to a specific element being used. For example, to say, “okay, now we are going to look at repetition and how that affects meaning,” or, “now let’s look at Shakespeare’s use of lists.”

I think another good way to get students engaged with Shakespeare’s language is to start with a discussion about the evolution of the English language. Gibson writes that language in Elizabethan England “was exceptionally fluid and malleable and that lack of fixity offered endless dramatic possibilities. Rules of grammar, spelling, pronunciation and punctuation were relatively relaxed” (1998, p. 45). I would argue that, much to the dismay of language purists, the same holds true today. I was recently at a conference where the keynote speaker kept telling us to “internationalize” our thinking, and it was driving my neighbor crazy. She would twitch every time he would say “internationalize” and forcefully whisper, “that’s not a word!” Learning to internationalize made sense to me, and I was not bothered by the word. My point is that I think students understand this concept…they make up words all the time. We are surrounded by new, made up words all the time (“Google it” or “that’s phat”). In fact, I think made up words can be fun. I like Gibson’s suggestion that teachers have students invent their own words within the context of a scene. However, I can already hear arguments against this type of activity, such as it will encourage bastardization of the language or misuse of proper English. I don’t agree with these arguments because I think fluidity is what makes language so great, but I am curious about what other people think. Are we asking for trouble by encouraging students to invent language? Is it like justifying their misuse of Standard English?

My first question after reading Arthur Applebee’s article, “Toward Thoughtful Curriculum: Fostering Discipline-Based Conversation in the English Language Arts Classroom” (1994), is what is so wrong with a content-based curriculum? While I agree that curriculum should be relevant to students’ lives, I am weary to throw content out the window. I mean, is there a core base of knowledge that we want students to have? The Applebee article talks about moving the focus in language arts classrooms away from things like the “analysis of symbols and imagery…toward a discussion of multiple perspectives on shared events within each time period” (p. 6). Why can’t we focus on both? Surely, examining literary devices is still an important component of the curriculum. These devices give us the language we need to deconstruct texts on a deeper level…right? Maybe I’m still stuck inside the box. It seems to me that without some sort of content guiding the coarse structure and goals, things would become extremely inconsistent. I agree that we need alternative texts in the classroom, and I agree that students should be free to construct their own meaning from a text, but I also think that there should be some core concepts that all students learn; otherwise, how are we going to prepare them for state-mandated tests? If I know that the test may ask students to identify things like tone and author’s purpose, am I not failing students by ignoring on these concepts?

Applebee also writes that learning needs to become “cumulative and reinforcing” (1994, p. 7). I agree that teachers need to find ways to connect the content; however, I wish I knew how to counter poor attendance and high attrition rates. How do I connect content for students when, simply put, they are not at school? It seems like I have four or five kids missing everyday in my on-level courses, and on the four-by-four block, these absences can be devastating. I have a current student who has already missed two weeks this semester (on a traditional schedule, this is like missing a whole month), how do I make the information connect for this student? How do I reinforce information that was never taught in the first place? I would love to hear how other people deal with this issue.

My first thought after reading both the Alsup and Bush (2003) discussion on standardized testing and The International Reading Association’s position statement on high-stakes assessments in reading (1999) was that testing is, surely, the bane of education. Even if we take an anti-testing stance, the bottom line is that the “tests are a reality for many teachers—a reality that affects their professional status, the futures of their students, and their school’s ‘grade’ within a state accountability system” (Alsup & Bush, 2003, 156). So much pressure! Educational policies always seem to stem from an “all or nothing” mentality…whatever happened to the middle ground? I don’t think that all testing is bad; assessments are a necessary and useful tool when used appropriately. The problem is that current policies regarding high-stakes testing and accountability have ventured into the unfair and unrealistic zone. No Child Left Behind (NCLB) sounds great in theory…I mean, who doesn’t want high standards for the learning of all children? The problem comes in practice; how do we ensure high standards for the learning of all children? The easiest, and cheapest, way to assess student learning is through high-stakes testing. Standardized tests give us solid numbers that are easy to compute and compare. But what is the story behind the numbers? Are we seeing the whole picture? I think it is safe to say that we are leaving something out. And then you add in the “adequate yearly progress” component of NCLB, which says that schools must raise student scores in reading and math every year, and we are not only leaving something out—we are completely striking out. There is no way that one single test can give us all the answers. Instead of focusing so heavily on these high-stakes tests, why don’t we spend more time, energy, and money on improving educational practices…like reducing class size, making teacher-education programs more rigorous, and, subsequently, increasing teacher salaries so that they are more in line with new rigorous requirements. NCLB creates a façade that says we care about education in this country. Until we are ready to invest in programs that will really make a difference when it comes to educating our children (meaning investing more in student learning and not just student assessment), we will not accomplish our goal to create high standards for the learning of all children.

That being said, I also think that we have to learn to work in a climate that puts extreme emphasis on standardized testing. If we ignore the tests all together, we are doing our students a serious disservice. I may not agree with how the tests are administered and used, but I still want my students to be completely prepared. The tests are a reality, and responsible educators should make the appropriate accommodations. This ties in with the Alsup and Bush (2003) reading for today on standardized testing (see above quote); the tests are a reality, so how do we cope with them? In the narrative presented in the text, the teacher responded to standardized tests “carefully and systematically” (p. 159). I felt like this teacher’s reaction to high-stakes testing was appropriate and commendable. I disagree with the responding teacher who felt like the narrative might suggest that “we should completely change our classes in order to achieve higher test scores” (p. 160). It sounds to me like, regardless of what prompted it, the teacher was only implementing good, solid teaching practices. She focused on different aspects of good writing independently. I can attest to the benefits of using this method of instruction. Writing can be overwhelming for students, so I have found that deconstructing writing tasks, like the teacher in the narrative suggests, makes the writing process more manageable for them. So my question is: should we even worry about teaching to the test? If we use good instructional practices, won’t our students inevitably be prepared?

How does one learn how to teach? What is that quintessential knowledge that good teachers have? Who is the expert—the classroom teacher or the university researcher? All of these questions kept reverberating in my head as I read the selections for today. Intuitively, I feel like I’ve known the answers to these questions all along. It feels obvious…I mean, you learn how to teach through practice. The quintessential knowledge is knowing that you will never know everything…that you will constantly be learning. And there is no such thing as an expert because reality keeps evolving and changing and classroom dynamics depend on a specific group of kids at a specific moment in time.

What I have slowly come to realize, through both my teaching experiences and university studies, is that I, ultimately, am completely responsible for my teaching pedagogy. This may sound too obvious. I almost want to say “duh” to myself when re-reading this passage, but, honestly, it has not always been so obvious to me. I have been searching for the metaphorical “magic pill” that will show me the one right way and teach me how to be the best teacher possible.

Needless to say, I have searched in vain because the answers have always been right in front of my face. I have gained the most knowledge about teaching through the physical act of teaching. Education theory has helped me to formulate rationales for why I do what I do. But, more importantly, concrete examples of what has worked (and what has not) have shaped my current philosophy and subsequent pedagogies. Quoting Freire, Cochran-Smith and Lytle write “that educators and their students are ‘knowing subjects,’ constantly learning from the process of teaching” (1993, p. 52). This gives me confidence that what I am doing is valid and authentic.

In education, information gained from personal experience is just as important as that gained through university sponsored research. One does not discredit the other. Indeed, I agree with Cochran-Smith and Lytle that teacher research needs to find a more equitable position in scholarship about and for education. As teachers in the field, we are the true experts and should use our expertise to help shape research, curriculum, and policy. It is not only our right but our responsibility.