Slices of Stacy

An Open Letter to my Algebra Professor

Dear Professor Stinson:

Now that the semester is over (HOLLA!) and I can breathe, I want to thank you for a terrific class.  I didn't have a chance to talk to you after we handed in the final and frankly, I think that this discussion would have sounded terribly ass-kissy at that point, so here it is -- after final grades are calculated.

(Note:  Plus, I'm way behind on blog postings and what some people call laziness I call multitasking! HA!)

First, I appreciate what you said about the way Mathematics needs to be taught as opposed to the way it used to be taught.  I'm terribly afraid to have to be the one to tell you this, but 'used to be' is 'still.'  I was partnered with a Math teacher for a while this semester and not only does she still teach by skill-and-drill, she refuses to teach more than one method for any mathematical procedure.  She is afraid that a) the parents wouldn't know how to help and b) the kids would just get confused.

Unfortunately, she may be partially correct.

I taught several small group lessons on multiplying by powers of ten.  (Incidental shout-out to Poor Statue at Convince Me for leading me in the direction of the Beyonce lyric:  "To the left, to the left, when you multiply a factor by a fraction move it LEFT, to the left, to the left,"  I love it when you get to see the little light bulbs go off above their heads.)  What I discovered was disheartening: the students have no real number sense.  I wanted to go get the manipulatives and re-teach the basic principles of a base-ten system.

However, I will disagree with that teacher in a couple of important areas.  When I made suggestions about things I might teach or how I might teach them, she blanched at anything that would have involved higher-level math thinking, swearing the students couldn't do it.  Maybe she was right, but if you don't try, how will you know?  How are we ever to prepare these students for classes like yours in this manner?

Gah.  Cannot wait until I have my own classroom.

Another thing you brought up that I really appreciated is the fact that we have to captivate our students where they are and bring them to where we need for them to be.  You are so right.  One of my biggest frustrations as an intern is listening to teacher after teacher bemoan the fact that "Kids these days don't want to work, they just show up, they're not motivated, blah blah blah."  Well, they're right: kids should show up motivated, ready to capture the pearls of wisdom about to fall from our lips, yada, etc. 

But that's not the way it is.  Welcome to the real world.

In my student population, kids show up at school having had no breakfast, some in the same clothes they were wearing the day before.  Their mothers may or may not have come home the previous night.  My fifth graders were probably responsible for getting themselves and at least one younger sibling up and ready to go.  A couple are even homeless.  They have had adults in their lives break promises, lie, hit, cheat, steal and go to prison.  And they're going to walk into school bright-eyed and yearning for higher knowledge?  Yeah RIGHT.

It's all about choices.  Teachers can spend their time focusing on the way things USED to be or the way things SHOULD be or they can use their energy to captivate this generation and motivate them.  I've managed to build relationships with the students that encourage participation and excitement and I'm only there two days a week!

Yes, it's going to require more effort.

No, we're not going to get paid more for it.

Yes, it is reality.  Deal with it or go home.   This isn't a job in a cubicle somewhere, where your disinterest will show up in a less-than-snazzy Powerpoint presentation.  These are children's lives.  We're preparing them for a world we can't even conceive of and, as you said, Professor, we are doing them a disservice if we think for even one minute, "I hate my job."

So there you have it.  Thank you again for reminding me how it feels to struggle cognitively and how rewarding it is to find the answer on my own after that struggle.  Thank you for refusing to answer most questions but knowing when to help, after all.  Thank you for teaching us the way we should be teaching our students.  Have a great summer.

Sincerely,

Stacy

Sad but true

I've taken three tests in the past week:  Geometry, Statistics and emissions (okay, my car did that last one, but it couldn't have driven itself there, right?).  I passed one of the three -- guess which one!

Driving and striving and hugging the turns

I had to take a break in my Geometry-study frenzy to go see New Shrink today.  (Q:  When does New Shrink lose his newness?)  Not surprisingly, the main topic of conversation was "Why Stacy Believes That Getting a 'B' is the End of Life as We Know It." 

I was a mediocre student from third grade on.  Not coincidentally, that is when my stepfather began molesting me.  You can see the change in my elementary school photos.  Second grade I'm all gap-toothed, messy-haired grin.  Third grade Stacy has guarded eyes and a sad smile.  Nobody thought to wonder, I guess, why my grades suddenly dropped.

Low grades or not, I ended up in the 'Gifted' program, which didn't have a teacher so it was just me and a few of my friends sitting around the library (no 'media center' back in my day, nosirree, we went to the LIBRARY and we LIKED IT) talking about why KISS was the best band ever.  Even then I felt as though the administration of my school was blowing sunshine up my ass with the whole 'gifted' thing.  No matter how many times I was told I was smart, (and dear Jesus on a cracker, I was told I was smart-just-not-applying-herself so many times I wanted to stab myself in the ear) I never really bought into it. 

I'm considering taking the Stanford-Binet, just for shits and giggles.

I'm not sure why I drive myself so hard when it comes to grades.  I have to keep my GPA above 3.0 in order to keep my HOPE scholarship but with my current 3.8, I don't need to sweat that.  Yes, I want to get into a Master's program, which means I need a decent GPA.  But I end up with tension headaches before every test.  I study for hours and the little part that I don't know feels like it's growing exponentially until it looms over me like a dark cloud.  A cloud with pointy edges and lightning and stuff.

Maybe getting good grades, working my ass off, is my penance for having the audacity to quit my job (two years ago, y'all, can you believe it?) and put our finances into a permanent state of Fucked.  Maybe this is that age-old 'I'm not worthy' crap again.  Gah.  Am so sick of myself. 

It was suggested to me today that I lack perspective.  Apparently I should be trying to remember that this is just one test in one class in one semester.  I killed the person that told me that and ate her liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

And then I went back to the Euclidean Postulates.

In Which the Author Battles the 'Intern Observation' Demons

1.  I will not apologize for using the word 'fun' in my lesson plan.  Yes, the students are there to learn, not just <gasp> have FUN, but I aspire to more than just teaching the standards.  I want to teach my students a lifelong love of learning.  I want to inspire them to want to learn more and more and more and since we're talking about five- and six-year-olds... I think that starts by having fun.

2.  I refuse to apologize for not knowing more than I know.  I am in my first semester of Early Childhood Education.  I will no longer expect myself to have all the answers.  I am not perfect.  I am a student with a lot to learn.  I refuse to feel badly for not getting it right the first time.

3.  Or the second.  Or the third.

4.  I will not apologize for my nature.  I am affectionate and loving towards my students.  I will not turn away a hug or a small hand placed trustingly in mine.  I will treasure those moments, knowing that in that one moment I have made a connection with another human being.  In just a few short years these same students will spurn any physical contact with an adult.  I will not take these years for granted.

5.  I will stand quietly in my truth and, if necessary, let the storm rage around me.  There are those who will mock my high ideals or ridicule my lack of knowledge.  They do not know what I know: that in my heart, when I am with the students, I am in the place God intended for me to be.  When I am fully engaged with my kids, I feel exceptional and strong and unique.  I will not let the turkeys bring me down.

Thorne in my side

Conversation with my Child Development professor this morning, after receiving my midterm grade (which, incidentally, was a 98):

Stacy:  I have a question about #9.  The question has to do with why naturalistic observation is useful.  The correct answer, according to your key, is 'D: Because we can observe what people naturally do during their activities'.  However, doesn't the Hawthorne Effect negate that?

Prof:  Whaaa????

Stacy:  Well, the Hawthorne Effect states that if someone knows they're being observed they cannot possibly behave the way they normally would.  So wouldn't A be a better answer, 'It's the best way to observe infants and toddlers', especially since that's the context in which we used naturalistic observation?

Prof:  We didn't go over the Hawthorne Effect in class.

Stacy:  No, I learned it somewhere else.

Prof:  For the purposes of this class and given the information we learned in the textbook and during the lectures, you should have answered 'D'.  Do not use outside information to try to answer the questions.

By that logic, I shouldn't be able to take the test until she teaches me how to read, right?  All righty then.

In which the author plays a game OTHER than "Pretty Pretty Princess Cinderella Edition" for once in her damn life

Hey!  Now that I've proven that I can take a perfectly good metaphor and do the Mexican fucking hat dance on it, to the point that my cousin e-mails me to ask me if I need food or clothes after the blaze, let's move on to more pleasant topics, shall we?  Yes, let's.

So.  Let's play a game!

I started my placements this week for the ECE program.  For the next five weeks I'll be spending two days a week at a Pre-K in the city.  I want you to take a look at the following list and, in the comments section (if I have any readers left, which I totally don't deserve to have you and I love you forever because you're here) guess whether the items came from Sweet Pea or one of my students.

Ready?

Go!

1. You're a meanie! I hate you!
2. You're so nice.
3. Will you be my friend?
4. You are my only friend.
5. I WANT YOU TO PLAY WITH ME NOW.
6. You're so nice and squishy.  It must be because you eat too much food.
7. Your breath stinks.
8. Girls don't have penises, only boys.
9. My sister has a vagina!
10. How big are my breasts going to get?
11. I'm going to miss you.
12. Will you miss me?
13. Actually, I don't need your help.
14. I'm going to have a beer with lunch!
15. I drew this picture for you.
16. You're not very good at this, are you?
17. Smell my bottom!
18. After you go pee-pee we can play this game!
19. Wow.  You are REALLY old.
20. I just want you to stay with me forever.

Four- and five-year-olds are alternately infuriating and exhilarating.  I'm learning a lot.

Mostly that I don't want to teach Pre-K.

Book porn or something like it

I can't seem to read for pleasure during a semester.  Sure, I can knock out a quick romance novel or two during spring break, but real reading, the kind where you can immerse yourself for hours... not so much.

I love words.  I love the words in my textbooks, but when I read them I must also comprehend them all.  When I read for pleasure I'm allowed to simply wallow in the words, permitted to forget them the minute they're over or read one beautifully written sentence over and over.  Have you ever had the lottery fantasy that involves rolling around on a bed of money?  That's how I feel when I'm reading a really good book, that I'm rolling in the words or walking across the pages.

My mother read for pleasure and genuinely loves books.  I can remember her lying on the couch for hours, days if necessary, immersed in a book.  One of her greatest gifts has been passing that love on to me.  I have long thought that if I can teach Sweet Pea to love reading and be willing to eat vegetables, I'll be 'most of the way to raising a decent person.  Of course, Mom also ascribed to the theory that if I was old enough to read a book, I should be allowed to try.  It's this kind of theory that made her think that letting a child watch 'Trilogy of Terror' was a good thing and I blame her for my automatonophobia.

At any rate, some of the first adult books I read were by Stephen King.  To this day my all-time favorite book is 'The Stand' -- and not the unabridged version that he lamely tried to update, but the original.  I liked reading about how the virus started but for me the book starts at Hap Hapscomb's gas station forever and ever amen.  King is also the reason that I can't stand an open closet door at night or leaving my foot hanging off the edge of the bed, just in case a cold hand reaches out from under the bed to grasp my ankle.  He put that image in my head at the age of 12 and 26 years later I haven't forgotten it.

Stephen King now writes a column for Entertainment Weekly.  A few times a year he writes his 'best of' lists (summer books, music, etc) and although our tastes differ wildly in music, I have been known to literally jump for joy when I read a book list.  Uncle Stevie (as he occasionally and snarkily refers to himself) will tell you his favorite books of the year or his recommendations for a season.  They may have been published this year... or not.  In fact, one of the books on his list is out of print (thank you, Half.com for the $.87 copy!) but I live for these lists.  He introduced me to Ruth Rendell and Sandra Brown.  And Cormac McCarthy... how is it possible that I went all these years without reading Cormac McCarthy's books?  Of course, King also introduced me to Bentley Little and while most of Little's books that I have read are gruesome and wonderfully horrible (Read 'The Store' and try to walk around Wal-Mart or Brandsmart without a shudder) there was a point in 'The Return' when, as the mother of a four-year-old, I had to return the book without finishing it.  Something so gruesome happened, something that felt so gratuitous and unnecessary, that I had to stop.  And it has to be bad for me to stop.  There is usually a book of poetry on his list that I try to buy.  I love poetry but rarely read it -- I'm not sure why.  It's like my relationship with Chinese food: if you ask me if I want Chinese food I'll probably wrinkle my nose and decline, but if we go anyway about halfway through the meal I'll turn to you and say, "What up? I LOVE Chinese food! Why can't I remember that?"  That's how it is with me and poetry.  Words, again... just pure words.

I feel weirdly comfortable thinking of King as 'Uncle Stevie' (please note -- I'm using a fairly smarmy, sarcastic tone in my head) because I actually have an Uncle named Steve who looks like the sketch of King in his EW column, and because I have an entire shelf of books by King.  His book 'On Writing' should be required reading for everyone who has a blog (in fact, I re-read it after my essay was published and am ashamed, Internet.  I did not kill my darlings.) or email or even a checkbook.  If you use words, you should read that book.  Stephen King's novels have been a part of my reading life for as long as I can remember and he is a mainstay on my 'ultimate dinner party' list, along with Tori Amos and Jesus.

So.  The lists.  When our last 'EW' came in the mail, Uncle Stevie's latest list was on the back page.  As I do with the other book lists, I just ripped out the entire page and put it in my wallet.  I forced myself to wait until after my last final, a treat for all my hard work.  All day I hummed along, anticipating the trip to the library.  I found five of the ten, I'm on the waiting list for a sixth, and I ordered two from Half.com.  On the way home I was like a junkie anticipating a fix.  I looked at and stroked the covers, trying to decide which one to read first.  I read the synopsis, then the first sentence of each. 

I have a couple of days all to myself.  Next week DJ will be home but Sweet Pea still has school.  The week after that my Mom will be here monopolizing Sweet Pea with her cooking and reading and movie-watching.

Guess what I'll be doing?

The End is Near

Finals week.  Gah.

Here's a photo of my husband dressed as an elf to keep you busy until I get back.

What the hell is my problem?

I realize that asking this question is opening a Now! Even Larger! size can of worms, but still...

I'm working on my website for my IT class and have just realized that for every project I assigned out (naturally, I'm the leader - HA! SUCKER!) I took on two. 

Didn't want to look like I was trying to cop out, you know.

Sucker.

The wha' in the wha' wha?

Okay, I will totally send you $5 via Paypal* if you can explain the difference between a subset and a proper subset.

*Not really.  How about a picture of my breasts?