It is quite something to hear my friend Carrie recite Chaucer (in Old English), or Shakespeare, or lengthy poems from her days at the Chinquapin Colored School, the Rosenwald school (see www.underthekudzu.org) she attended in Duplin County, NC. Hearing her speak with such wonderful expression, hearing her talk about how she and her sisters would recite as they worked in the fields, makes me think about the value of memorization and recitation. When words seep into us, whether literature or poetry or famous speeches or song lyrics, they shape and form us.
When I was in middle school, words and music saved me. I tell my middle school students now, be happy that your teachers and administrators are in the hallways, and monitoring the lunch room, and with you at recess. We hassle you because we love you. The thing I don't usually say is, I know what it's like to attend a middle school where the adults have given up. When I attended middle school in NYC in the 1970s, the adults hid in the offices and classrooms. The halls were a riot of children shoving each other, boys assaulting girls in corners, kids pushing each other down the stairs. Three years went by, and I wouldn't have recognized my principal if s/he had walked into me. (I just realized I don't even know whether the principal was a man or woman!)
At any rate, the situation was quite stressful, and I think I would have felt hopeless except for one thing: Somehow, I got pulled into chorus class with Ms. Morrison. She was the only adult in the entire school who had the respect of every student. She was a talented singer and a demanding teacher. Ms. Morrison was beautiful and commanding, and I never tired of looking at her colorful print dresses, her elaborate silver earrings, her high cheekbones set off by her hair, which she wore in a short Afro.
I have to say here, I have very limited singing talent. While a few of my classmates were so talented that they were part of the Children's Chorus at the Metropolitan Opera House, and many more of them had impressive ranges and pure soprano tones, I did well to carry a tune in my alto voice. Ms. Morrison was well aware of my inherent limitations, but she didn't kick me out of her class. In fact, back in those days before strict attendance laws and computerized student records, we frequently left gym and other environments that were too wild and headed to the chorus room. I don't recall that she ever turned us away.
It was in this haven that I first became aware of the power of words, repeated words, historic words, words set to music. Never before or since have I heard anyone sing part of the text of Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, but we sang it in that class, and it was powerful. Gradually, my mind began to open. The words of the gospel songs we learned wove with an Italian opera solo that Ms. Morrison would sing for us. My capacity for recalling and savoring words expanded. I began to memorize poetry and quotes that struck a chord with me.
Sometimes I wonder whether, due to our discomfort around the topic of segregation, we discarded some valuable educational practices from that era. During the course of my documentary research, blacks and whites alike mentioned the poetry, speeches, plays and literature they committed to memory during their school days. Often, they recited for me with great feeling. I could see that, like me, their minds return to these words in spare moments, and also in times of stress or despair.
When I quote Shakespeare or Pound or MLK to my students, they fall silent and look, blinking uncertainly. They are not quite sure what to do with these words, but they sense the power in them. In modern education parlance, we stress the ability to deconstruct and analyze over any task of mere memory. In my experience, though, and in the experience of countless others who have been formed by great words, memory and recitation are gateways to deeper meaning.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Flood
Sometimes, as a teacher, I feel overwhelmed by a flood of needs. On Friday I became depressed at the end of the day, when I had to break up a fight in the hallway, then rush out to afternoon duty. After that I went back to speak with my assistant principal about the fight, as well as another student who should probably go into a day treatment program.
Going to back to my room, I did some of the mountain of paperwork on my desk, and then looked up to realize I was running behind for my own sons' school event. I rushed out at 5:20, picked them up from their after school program, and barely made it to the event.
It's easy to feel overwhelmed and overlook the fact that most of the children are doing what they're supposed to, and it's also easy to underestimate the difference a teacher can make by noticing individual students' talents.
So my day Friday started this way: I stole some time during homeroom to run upstairs to the 8th grade hall and find a student I taught two years ago at another school. He is an exceptional young man: Poised, ambitious, an A student whose family has few material resources but tremendous integrity. I went to see him because I want him to apply for our district's early college high schools; if he is admitted he could earn two years of college credit at no cost to his family.
When I saw this young man on Thursday, he said his mother wasn't sure about him applying-- I asked him why, pointing out the benefits of the small classes and college credit. He said "I know, that's what I'm saying." I could only conclude that his mother didn't really understand the opportunity. That is why, Friday morning, I took some printed information to him about the programs and asked the 8th grade counselor to be available to answer his mother's questions. By the end of the day the counselor told me he had decided to apply. Of course, there are no guarantees-- he might not be admitted, or he might decide in the end to attend his regular zoned high school so that he can play sports. The main thing is, I wanted him to expand his horizon, to have more choices.
Fridays are usually a "mop up" and testing day, when I pull some of my EC students in for individual conferences while we proctor tests. I check in with some students, help them organize their notes, and give them encouragement. One young lady lacks self-confidence but has a burning desire to be a journalist; I had pushed her earlier this year to sign up to work on the school newspaper, which she did. At our conference yesterday we talked about a great website (www.writingkid.com) that lists publishing opportunities just for kids. With luck, she will get an early start on her writing career.
At lunch we had a little pizza party for a student who is leaving for another school. He is very bright but his social perceptions are sometimes way off because of his disability. This has often made it hard for him to connect and to see others' good intentions. We sat around the table and talked about what we would remember about this student's time at my school. When I asked him, he said he would remember "That there are good people in the world."
In retrospect, my day had some real high points, but I allowed myself to feel carried away by the flood of circumstances and needs that no one person could ever fulfill. Yet Monday will bring a chance to try again!
Going to back to my room, I did some of the mountain of paperwork on my desk, and then looked up to realize I was running behind for my own sons' school event. I rushed out at 5:20, picked them up from their after school program, and barely made it to the event.
It's easy to feel overwhelmed and overlook the fact that most of the children are doing what they're supposed to, and it's also easy to underestimate the difference a teacher can make by noticing individual students' talents.
So my day Friday started this way: I stole some time during homeroom to run upstairs to the 8th grade hall and find a student I taught two years ago at another school. He is an exceptional young man: Poised, ambitious, an A student whose family has few material resources but tremendous integrity. I went to see him because I want him to apply for our district's early college high schools; if he is admitted he could earn two years of college credit at no cost to his family.
When I saw this young man on Thursday, he said his mother wasn't sure about him applying-- I asked him why, pointing out the benefits of the small classes and college credit. He said "I know, that's what I'm saying." I could only conclude that his mother didn't really understand the opportunity. That is why, Friday morning, I took some printed information to him about the programs and asked the 8th grade counselor to be available to answer his mother's questions. By the end of the day the counselor told me he had decided to apply. Of course, there are no guarantees-- he might not be admitted, or he might decide in the end to attend his regular zoned high school so that he can play sports. The main thing is, I wanted him to expand his horizon, to have more choices.
Fridays are usually a "mop up" and testing day, when I pull some of my EC students in for individual conferences while we proctor tests. I check in with some students, help them organize their notes, and give them encouragement. One young lady lacks self-confidence but has a burning desire to be a journalist; I had pushed her earlier this year to sign up to work on the school newspaper, which she did. At our conference yesterday we talked about a great website (www.writingkid.com) that lists publishing opportunities just for kids. With luck, she will get an early start on her writing career.
At lunch we had a little pizza party for a student who is leaving for another school. He is very bright but his social perceptions are sometimes way off because of his disability. This has often made it hard for him to connect and to see others' good intentions. We sat around the table and talked about what we would remember about this student's time at my school. When I asked him, he said he would remember "That there are good people in the world."
In retrospect, my day had some real high points, but I allowed myself to feel carried away by the flood of circumstances and needs that no one person could ever fulfill. Yet Monday will bring a chance to try again!
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