I hate writing report cards. It's a long, tedious process. It's something that I avoid doing until I can avoid it no longer. This go round, that means I'm beginning them as soon as I finish writing this posting. And folding the laundry. And doing some shopping.
I think that writing report cards is perceived by most as a pretty easy task. My father (not a teacher) used to explain the process; teachers stand at the top of a flight of stairs and toss test papers down. The ones that land near the top garner those fortunate children A's and then so forth down the steps. Although he was attempting humour, I think that many people don't realize how arduous the task truly is.
To get reports done right, a teacher has to amass tons of data so that an honest assessment can be made and a mark can be assigned. The marks then have to be supported with comments that accurately reflect them. The comments themselves must be positive, yet honest, and not full of edu-babble. Finally, marks and comments as to where a child stands at that moment do not suffice. That is not the sole purpose of a report card. A 'next steps' comment needs to be in place to give the child and parents a direction for progress. The entire process is a pain in the neck (sometimes literally), because in the end, everyone knows that universities don't look at elementary school marks when considering an applicant. So, if elementary report cards aren't essential for any major life choice or decisions, other than needing an official document to satisfy government regulations, why do we write them? Are they even necessary, and if so, why?
Oh, I can hear all of you shouting answers at me as I type. Report cards tell the parent how the child is doing. Report cards tell the child how he or she is doing. Report cards are there so that the parents of the brilliant students can 'kvell'. Reports cards are benchmarks for a child's academic growth. Report cards are there so that a generation later when the child is a parent, he can pull them out to prove that he was a better student than his son is, in order to spur some sense into the kid... or on the flipside, prove to his kid that despite his marks, the parent went on to become the CEO of a company, and therefore, so can the child. I hear all of your answers, and you're right, but I'll offer one more.
Over the years, I've realized that the report card acts as an assessment for the teacher, to see how well she knows her students.
In preparation for report card writing, I need to have a snapshot of the child in my mind before I begin. Sure, filling in the marks is an easy task. But when I sit down to write the comments, the child must be mentally beside me. I visualize her at her desk. I watch her work. I see her in the playground. I think about how she participates, or if she participates, and what type of answers she gives. In my mind's eye, I look at her eyes, and see what subjects make them sparkle. Twice a year I go through this process. It takes hours and hours. But by the end of it, I feel that I have a good idea of who those boys and girls are, inside and out. I see where they've progressed, and know what my next steps are. The feeling when report card writing is completed is a combination of relief, exhaustion and elation.
Report cards force me to focus on each child as an individual, and not see them merely as one of a group. It's something that as a parent I love to do as well. I relish my one-on-one time with each of my children. When they were younger, it might have meant a game of Boggle, or a walk to the grocery store. Now it might mean a chat over coffee or a Skype conversation between cities. These moments afford me the opportunity to spend time alone with them, to watch them grow and to get to know them better. I listen to their stories and try to keep up with what they're doing. And while they speak, I look into their eyes to see what topics make them sparkle. It's a very selfish act.
While I don't recommend writing report cards to anyone, I do advocate spending one-on-one time with the people you love. Whether it's a Skype conversation, sharing a cuppa, a snuggling time, a walk in the neighbourhood, or sharing a meal or a long drive, reconnecting on a regular basis reminds us of how important these important relationships are.
Well, I've procrastinated long enough. I must get down to work. And when I'm done, I think I'll celebrate by calling my kids and share a cuppa with them.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
It's a blog about nothing
It's what all we teachers live to experience. It's that day when all our ducks seem to be in a row, when we're sure we're delivering an incredible lesson. It's the ego booster, the nod from the crowd that we're doing everything right. If we were comedians, we'd be 'hot'. We'd be 'on'. It's when we feel like were born for the job...until we notice the boy (in this case) staring off into the land of X-Box or Wii or hockey or....
"What were you thinking about?", I ask as Grade five boy momentarily rouses out of his reverie. "Uhhh, nothin'", he replies in a dozy voice, and blinks his eyes a few times. "Nothing?" I ask. "Uh, gee" budding Einstein (and I say that only slightly sarcastically, because I know better) adds, "if I was thinking about something, I can't remember." And then, "No," he says with assurance after contemplating a bit, "nothing." And I believe him.
A few Monday mornings ago, the staff room was bustling with the usual choruses of "Hi, how was your weekend?" Each teacher, as is the ritual, proudly took her turn (there aren't enough male teachers in my school to warrant a 'his or her') rhyming off a laundry list of activites (including laundry, by the way) completed over the forty-eight hours since we had watched every second tick until the bell signifying the end of the work week rang in glory.
In the midst of this reporting, one teacher crowed (thereby inspiring this posting), "Doesn't it make you feel great knowing you've accomplished so much over the weekend?" All I could do was to sit with my hand cupped in my chin and wonder to myself, Hmmm, I'm not so sure. After all, what's so wrong with doing absolutely nothing?
Mind you, mea culpa, I'm as guilty as everyone else. When it's my turn, I talk about how much I cooked, how much I drove, how many people I hosted for how many meals, how many hours I cleaned or shopped or did school work. And, oh the school work! Report card time becomes the Belmont Stakes of who does the most over the weekend, because the mounds of after-hours school work become top of the list items, adding to the potential list of accomplishments. It's a sick, depraved, sordid competition of who did the most work on our supposed time off, the reward being arriving at work on Monday bearing bragging rights, but also being more exhausted than when we left on Friday. So, why is doing a lot so desirable? Should we be admonishing ourselves if we accomplish nothing during our down time?
Idle hands may be the Devil's tools but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. It seems to me that over working by adults and over programming for children (arranged by over working adults) is counter productive. I have yet to see how either proves to be healthy. It is not unusual to see a child who has been at school all day, partake in some after school sports activity, which is then followed by eating a 'quick' dinner in the car so that she can get from her swimming class to her ballet lesson (and do her homework while holding her sandwich in the back seat) and then back home in time for her tutor, a bath, and fifteen minutes to practise her piano before she can relax for her mandatory ten minutes of reading before bed. Yes, children are buoyant. But I think too much overprogramming robs a child of many important skills.
I'm a big proponent of routine for children. I think they not only need it, but crave it. Too many things in a routine, however, is in my opinion, taxing, overloading and overwhelming. When too much of the day is programmed, a child loses the opportunity to play quietly alone. I find it fascinating to see how many children have great difficulty occupying themselves when they find they have nothing to do. They quickly resort to a screen of some type. Imaginary play breeds creativity, and I wonder if what children really need is fewer programmed activities and more time to slow down, ponder and play.
We grown ups who did not grow up with cellphones and all the assortment of berries that are out there are now being urged to be accessible 24/7. I admonish myself for taking a cellphone with me when I go for a walk. Yes, yes, I need it for protection. That's what I tell myself. But the truth is, society expects everyone to be accessible. When did that happen? And what has happened to cause us to believe that in order for us to be fine, upstanding people, we must be actively engaged in a responsible activity every waking moment of the day? Why is it not only acceptable but desirable to multi-task? How many of us are actually embarrassed to admit that we take the time to watch an hour of TV and not fold laundry, cook or do some sort of household task at the same time, because that would be admitting that we're being unproductive?
As the demands of the day and demands of technology overcome and overwhelm us, I remember with fondness the woman who lived in the house across the street from me when I was growing up. She used to announce that she was going to sit in her 'do nothing' chair for a few minutes. As a child, I thought it was odd that this lady, who baked and cooked and doted over her husband and three daughters openly relished being so lazy. Actually, she wasn't being lazy at all. She was simply allowing herself the luxury of doing 'nothing' for a few minutes to revitalize herself before taking on the demands of her day. In retrospect, I think this woman was quite brilliant.
To quote Phoebe Gilman's book title, I think that we should all take some time to make Something from Nothing. Whether it's taking a moment to phone a friend or read the newspaper or maybe just sitting on a do-nothing chair for a few moments to reward ourselves for a hard day's work, 'nothing' really can be 'something'.
Do you know where there's a sale on do-nothing chairs?
"What were you thinking about?", I ask as Grade five boy momentarily rouses out of his reverie. "Uhhh, nothin'", he replies in a dozy voice, and blinks his eyes a few times. "Nothing?" I ask. "Uh, gee" budding Einstein (and I say that only slightly sarcastically, because I know better) adds, "if I was thinking about something, I can't remember." And then, "No," he says with assurance after contemplating a bit, "nothing." And I believe him.
A few Monday mornings ago, the staff room was bustling with the usual choruses of "Hi, how was your weekend?" Each teacher, as is the ritual, proudly took her turn (there aren't enough male teachers in my school to warrant a 'his or her') rhyming off a laundry list of activites (including laundry, by the way) completed over the forty-eight hours since we had watched every second tick until the bell signifying the end of the work week rang in glory.
In the midst of this reporting, one teacher crowed (thereby inspiring this posting), "Doesn't it make you feel great knowing you've accomplished so much over the weekend?" All I could do was to sit with my hand cupped in my chin and wonder to myself, Hmmm, I'm not so sure. After all, what's so wrong with doing absolutely nothing?
Mind you, mea culpa, I'm as guilty as everyone else. When it's my turn, I talk about how much I cooked, how much I drove, how many people I hosted for how many meals, how many hours I cleaned or shopped or did school work. And, oh the school work! Report card time becomes the Belmont Stakes of who does the most over the weekend, because the mounds of after-hours school work become top of the list items, adding to the potential list of accomplishments. It's a sick, depraved, sordid competition of who did the most work on our supposed time off, the reward being arriving at work on Monday bearing bragging rights, but also being more exhausted than when we left on Friday. So, why is doing a lot so desirable? Should we be admonishing ourselves if we accomplish nothing during our down time?
Idle hands may be the Devil's tools but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. It seems to me that over working by adults and over programming for children (arranged by over working adults) is counter productive. I have yet to see how either proves to be healthy. It is not unusual to see a child who has been at school all day, partake in some after school sports activity, which is then followed by eating a 'quick' dinner in the car so that she can get from her swimming class to her ballet lesson (and do her homework while holding her sandwich in the back seat) and then back home in time for her tutor, a bath, and fifteen minutes to practise her piano before she can relax for her mandatory ten minutes of reading before bed. Yes, children are buoyant. But I think too much overprogramming robs a child of many important skills.
I'm a big proponent of routine for children. I think they not only need it, but crave it. Too many things in a routine, however, is in my opinion, taxing, overloading and overwhelming. When too much of the day is programmed, a child loses the opportunity to play quietly alone. I find it fascinating to see how many children have great difficulty occupying themselves when they find they have nothing to do. They quickly resort to a screen of some type. Imaginary play breeds creativity, and I wonder if what children really need is fewer programmed activities and more time to slow down, ponder and play.
We grown ups who did not grow up with cellphones and all the assortment of berries that are out there are now being urged to be accessible 24/7. I admonish myself for taking a cellphone with me when I go for a walk. Yes, yes, I need it for protection. That's what I tell myself. But the truth is, society expects everyone to be accessible. When did that happen? And what has happened to cause us to believe that in order for us to be fine, upstanding people, we must be actively engaged in a responsible activity every waking moment of the day? Why is it not only acceptable but desirable to multi-task? How many of us are actually embarrassed to admit that we take the time to watch an hour of TV and not fold laundry, cook or do some sort of household task at the same time, because that would be admitting that we're being unproductive?
As the demands of the day and demands of technology overcome and overwhelm us, I remember with fondness the woman who lived in the house across the street from me when I was growing up. She used to announce that she was going to sit in her 'do nothing' chair for a few minutes. As a child, I thought it was odd that this lady, who baked and cooked and doted over her husband and three daughters openly relished being so lazy. Actually, she wasn't being lazy at all. She was simply allowing herself the luxury of doing 'nothing' for a few minutes to revitalize herself before taking on the demands of her day. In retrospect, I think this woman was quite brilliant.
To quote Phoebe Gilman's book title, I think that we should all take some time to make Something from Nothing. Whether it's taking a moment to phone a friend or read the newspaper or maybe just sitting on a do-nothing chair for a few moments to reward ourselves for a hard day's work, 'nothing' really can be 'something'.
Do you know where there's a sale on do-nothing chairs?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Hurry!
Okay, here's a little conundrum that continues to baffle me year after year. We all know that some children spend a lot of time throughout the school day sitting in class watching the clock, pondering how many minutes remain until they can go home. So here's my question: Why is it that the very same children will do anything first thing in the morning or right after recess to ensure that they're the first ones in the building when the bell rings? Every day I see the same children who would rather be somewhere else push ahead in line, refuse to hold the door, and even sneak in other doors to be the first one for the class that they want to leave as soon as possible.
Strangely enough, we adults exhibit the same strange behaviour. We are constantly in a rush, even downright excited to do something we don't want to do.
Recently, I underwent that routine, spectaclar medical test that marks the beauty of turning 50. I was sitting in the hospital waiting room populated by men and women with squeaky clean colons, contemplating an unknown doctor exploring my netherworlds while sedated, when I was reminded of something Jerry Seinfeld illustrated so brilliantly in an episode of Seinfeld. Here we were, a bunch of people about to have an important, necessary, yet fairly unpleasant procedure (well, at least the prep isn't exactly a party), and we couldn't wait to be called. As Jerry explains, "And then, they finally call you and it’s a very exciting moment. They finally call you, and you stand up and you kinda look around at the other people in the room. “Well, I guess I’ve been chosen. I’ll see you all later.”"
For me at least, the anticipation of a particular event is often worse than the experience itself, so the real attraction to expedite matters is simply to get the whatever-it-is, over with. Basically, the faster I get in, the faster I'll get out. So I have to ask myself, is this how kids view school? Do they scramble in the doors just so they can, theoretically, get out faster?
I'm not so sure. Granted, I see elementary children every day. You might tell me that it's different with high school and university students, but I'm still not so sure. You see, I think that most children view even the things they're not sure they want to do with a different attitude. Children want to give people and situtations the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it's because adults are reassuring them. Maybe it's because they're not experienced enough in life to know any better. Whatever the reason, even children who are having a tough go of school will, by and large, push their way into the doors day after day, because to them, a new day offers them a new opportunity to have a good day instead of a bad one.
We all have those things in life that we dread. Experience is a great teacher. Experience alone, however, should not be the only marker in judging the outcome of any particular event. Undoubtedly, we need to be mindful of past experiences when we head into new ones. At the same time, we need to remind ourselves that new experiences are just that...new experiences. Their outcomes might be different than ones from the past.
When we are armed with experience, we can take the plunge to discover new territory. And when my name is called, I'll stand up and look around at the other people in the room and announce, “Well, I guess I’ve been chosen. I’ll see you all later."
Strangely enough, we adults exhibit the same strange behaviour. We are constantly in a rush, even downright excited to do something we don't want to do.
Recently, I underwent that routine, spectaclar medical test that marks the beauty of turning 50. I was sitting in the hospital waiting room populated by men and women with squeaky clean colons, contemplating an unknown doctor exploring my netherworlds while sedated, when I was reminded of something Jerry Seinfeld illustrated so brilliantly in an episode of Seinfeld. Here we were, a bunch of people about to have an important, necessary, yet fairly unpleasant procedure (well, at least the prep isn't exactly a party), and we couldn't wait to be called. As Jerry explains, "And then, they finally call you and it’s a very exciting moment. They finally call you, and you stand up and you kinda look around at the other people in the room. “Well, I guess I’ve been chosen. I’ll see you all later.”"
For me at least, the anticipation of a particular event is often worse than the experience itself, so the real attraction to expedite matters is simply to get the whatever-it-is, over with. Basically, the faster I get in, the faster I'll get out. So I have to ask myself, is this how kids view school? Do they scramble in the doors just so they can, theoretically, get out faster?
I'm not so sure. Granted, I see elementary children every day. You might tell me that it's different with high school and university students, but I'm still not so sure. You see, I think that most children view even the things they're not sure they want to do with a different attitude. Children want to give people and situtations the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it's because adults are reassuring them. Maybe it's because they're not experienced enough in life to know any better. Whatever the reason, even children who are having a tough go of school will, by and large, push their way into the doors day after day, because to them, a new day offers them a new opportunity to have a good day instead of a bad one.
We all have those things in life that we dread. Experience is a great teacher. Experience alone, however, should not be the only marker in judging the outcome of any particular event. Undoubtedly, we need to be mindful of past experiences when we head into new ones. At the same time, we need to remind ourselves that new experiences are just that...new experiences. Their outcomes might be different than ones from the past.
When we are armed with experience, we can take the plunge to discover new territory. And when my name is called, I'll stand up and look around at the other people in the room and announce, “Well, I guess I’ve been chosen. I’ll see you all later."
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Do you like my party hat?
Silly Hat Day. Crazy Tie Day. Wear something Blue, or Red or Purple or Orange Day. Each of these are special events that are created in school to promote spirit and comradery. I'm kind of pareve when it comes to these 'special days'. I ususally forget about them until it's too late, and then run around my place frantically scrambling at the last minute to find the hat or tie or something borrowed or something blue to wear to work. All these days do nothing for me, except one. I like Backwards Day.
The whole concept of Backwards Day tickles me. I like the idea of wearing clothes backwards. In truth, the overall effect looks really cute but becomes very uncomfortable very fast. But for those first few minutes, seeing heads on backwards and literally not knowing if someone is coming or going is fabulously comical. Of course, Backwards Day in the true sense never happens, for if it were to be celebrated to its full and proper extent, at the sound of the first bell I'd be saying 'sayonara' and heading home.
Maybe I like Backwards Day because I enjoy reading newspapers and magazines backwards. I like starting at the last page of a section and working my way forward. I have no idea why I do this, I just do. I flip over the particular newspaper section and begin...or end.
Backward and forward thinking is illuminated at Chanukah with the correct procedure for lighting the Chanukiah, the Chanukah menora. The great yeshivas of Hillel and Shammai argued over which way the candles should be lit. In Tractate Shabbat of the Talmud, Shammai proposes that the candles be lit in reverse order, backwards shall we say, to what we do today. Essentially and for a variety of reasons, he felt that on the first night of Chanukah, eight candles should be lit; on the seventh night, seven and so on and so forth. Hillel, on the other hand, felt that the candles should be lit in ascending order. Although Shammai made a lot of sense, after much argument, Hillel's reasoning prevailed, which is why we light the candles in the manner that we do to this very day.
When I light my Chanukah candles, I am made aware that Hillel wanted us to live our lives facing forward. I think he knew that it's too easy to look backward, to get mired in the past. There is no question that we must not forget history, but once we learn from the past, we need to take those lessons and move toward the future.
As the miracle of the oil grows each night before our eyes, it becomes evident that it is indeed important to glance behind our shoulder to know where we've come from, but it is essential to face forward in order to see the miracles that await us.
Is that enough to convince me enough to read the newspaper from front to back? Not sure.But if I do, I think I'll simply begin to think of it as forward thinking.
The whole concept of Backwards Day tickles me. I like the idea of wearing clothes backwards. In truth, the overall effect looks really cute but becomes very uncomfortable very fast. But for those first few minutes, seeing heads on backwards and literally not knowing if someone is coming or going is fabulously comical. Of course, Backwards Day in the true sense never happens, for if it were to be celebrated to its full and proper extent, at the sound of the first bell I'd be saying 'sayonara' and heading home.
Maybe I like Backwards Day because I enjoy reading newspapers and magazines backwards. I like starting at the last page of a section and working my way forward. I have no idea why I do this, I just do. I flip over the particular newspaper section and begin...or end.
Backward and forward thinking is illuminated at Chanukah with the correct procedure for lighting the Chanukiah, the Chanukah menora. The great yeshivas of Hillel and Shammai argued over which way the candles should be lit. In Tractate Shabbat of the Talmud, Shammai proposes that the candles be lit in reverse order, backwards shall we say, to what we do today. Essentially and for a variety of reasons, he felt that on the first night of Chanukah, eight candles should be lit; on the seventh night, seven and so on and so forth. Hillel, on the other hand, felt that the candles should be lit in ascending order. Although Shammai made a lot of sense, after much argument, Hillel's reasoning prevailed, which is why we light the candles in the manner that we do to this very day.
When I light my Chanukah candles, I am made aware that Hillel wanted us to live our lives facing forward. I think he knew that it's too easy to look backward, to get mired in the past. There is no question that we must not forget history, but once we learn from the past, we need to take those lessons and move toward the future.
As the miracle of the oil grows each night before our eyes, it becomes evident that it is indeed important to glance behind our shoulder to know where we've come from, but it is essential to face forward in order to see the miracles that await us.
Is that enough to convince me enough to read the newspaper from front to back? Not sure.But if I do, I think I'll simply begin to think of it as forward thinking.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)