Sweet Summer

Spare Time? My June Reading List

What am I going to do with all this spare time?

Although I suspect it will be in shorter supply that it now seems, I just ordered about nine million books from Amazon. (My favorite store in the world)

Two guilty pleasures to start: the 11th Sookie Stackhouse book and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.

A handful of books to satisfy my YA lit obsession: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, The Unnameables, As Long as the River Flows, Jacqueline Woodson's Miracle's Boys, Gardiner's Stone Fox, Theodore Taylor's The Cay, Bruchac's The Arrow over the Door and Geronimo, and Where the Red Fern Grows.

Picture books: Birmingham, 1963; Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge; Freedom Summer; Bad News for Outlaws: The Remarkable Life of Bass Reeves; Growing Up in Coal Country; and Middle Passage: White Ships/Black Cargo.

My "Grown-Up" Choices: Invisible Man, My Own Country: A Doctor's Story, The Legacy of a Freedom School and Angela Johnson's The First Part Last.

And the professional ones: A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children (been meaning to get this one forever!), Nancy Atwell's Naming the World: A Year of Poems and Lessons, Still Learning to Read: Teaching Students in Grades 3-6, and The Next Step in Guided Reading: Focused Assessments and Targeted Lessons.

I can't wait for the UPS man. I'm like a kid on Christmas morning when I hear that truck in my driveway.

Beginnings, Endings, and Farewells

For me, it's the hardest part of teaching.

We had a frenzied Friday, with sixth grade graduation at 10 a.m. Handing out yearbooks and collecting the straggler's money took up until about 9:30. Somewhere around 9:55, as I was frantically stuffing report cards that the computer refused to print until the last minute into envelopes, we realized we were missing one of the student's promotion certificates.

"Go ask Mrs. D to print another! (Since my printer has been broken for the last month.) Then sprint to the offices and get it signed! Ok, how fast can you all line up in alphabetical order by last name! We're late!" (In case you're wondering, not very fast.)

Ok, we made it. Somebody tells me, "Ms. M, you have to open the ceremony." (What! Didn't anyone else think about my paralyzing fear of public speaking!)

It runs smoothly and I get too caught up in being proud of the students sitting in the front rows to think about all the other people behind them. I make stuff up and steal lines from the 45 graduations I've been to in the past few years.

Hugs, photographs, goodbyes. Packing up the room with the handful of students who stuck around after graduation. Dealing with last minute nonsense of students deciding to sign each other's shirts with inappropriate content. Carrying stuff out to my car.

And then the drive home, and the music, and the more than 30 seconds to sit down makes me realize how sad I am, and the tears fall. What will become of them all? And I'm surprised that I'm sad. I've only been with these kids for 3 months. But I guess if you spend most of your waking moments with people. They're so funny and smart and unsure of themselves and yet confident. They drove me nuts and made me laugh and gave me a few gray hairs. And then, they're just off. And for most, if not all of them, I'll never know what comes next.

"In teaching you cannot see the fruit of a day's work.

It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years."

~Jacques Barzun

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User playingwithbrushes.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User fd.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User ucumari.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User Michael Heiss.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User Monroe Dragonfly.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User lepiaf.gio.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr User macieklew.

Image of the Day: Summer Vacation

From Flickr user madmetal.

Work Harder.

I do love when journalists who apparently know little to nothing about education and have little inclination to remedy that weigh in on the ails of the educational system in this country.  

In this charming article from The Economist, we hear again what is fast becoming a tedious argument.

Kids must work harder.  Longer.  Faster.  

The opener:

AMERICANS like to think of themselves as martyrs to work. They delight in telling stories about their punishing hours, snatched holidays and ever-intrusive BlackBerrys. At this time of the year they marvel at the laziness of their European cousins, particularly the French. Did you know that the French take the whole of August off to recover from their 35-hour work weeks? Have you heard that they are so addicted to their holidays that they leave the sick to die and the dead to moulder?

There is an element of exaggeration in this, of course, and not just about French burial habits; studies show that Americans are less Stakhanovite than they think. Still, the average American gets only four weeks of paid leave a year compared with seven for the French and eight for the Germans. In Paris many shops simply close down for August; in Washington, where the weather is sweltering, they remain open, some for 24 hours a day.

Perhaps we run in different circles, but generally when vacation time/maternity leave/paid time off in international contexts comes up in my circles, we lament not the laziness of the French but the insane frenzy of life here.  A year maternity leave.  Paid maternity leave!   Yes, those crazy French.

Anyway, the article then goes into how the only place Americans are lazy is in childhood, how children should instead be working 40+ hour weeks, 52 weeks a year.  And longer if necessary!  Damnit we'll work them to the bone till they learn!!!  Nevermind that there are things outside of school worth learning.  It's not the system that might need rethought, it's these damn kids today.  They just don't work hard enough.  Let's give them another 57 worksheets.

Hat tip to Wonkette, who nailed it.

What I Learned on Summer Vacation.

How to catch frogs. (By watching my brothers do it, and then running away when they tried to touch me with them.) That the north sides of trees and rocks have moss on them. How to build a fort. How to capture the flag. That crayfish lived in the crick behind the house. How not to make a profit at the lemonade stand. How to make a profit at a carnival my best friend and I planned for my backyard. What giving to a cause felt like. (We donated half the proceeds to the MS foundation.) How to make compost. How to grow impatiens from seed, and then impatiently wait for them to sprout seed pods we could pop. That those “frogs” were actually toads, and couldn’t swim so well. That a snake can be eating a frog [toad] while it is still croaking and alive. (Freaky. I think I might have cried.)

How to take pictures. Fill water balloons without getting blisters on my fingers. How to find those little crabs that burrow in the sand after the wave washes up on shore. What happens when you hit your neighbor with a large stick because he snuck in and destroyed your fort.

That some people are mean. And some aren’t. And I’d rather spend time with the ones who are nice, and make you laugh.

How to write a play. And pretend. How to swing on vines. How far we could ride our bikes. How many times I could fall and break open the same wounds on my knees. How to grow a vegetable garden, and not get too upset when most of it died. That no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch a rabbit.

One of the best things I learned on summer vacation is that if you go back to the woods with a blanket, your brothers and sister, and some suntan lotion, spread that lotion around the blanket to “attract the animals”, and sit quietly, a deer will come right up to you. So close you could touch. And stay there. Until your mom yells for dinner, you don’t answer, and she gets louder.

We need to rethink education in this country. Most of us know that. Some have suggested year round, or at least longer-year, schools. If, by that, they mean to make the kids what they do now the whole damn year, well, I can’t think of a worse idea. Some of the research supports it. Some doesn’t. Most measure “learning” in reading and math anyway, so what the hell do they know what I learned about crayfish and deer on those bubble tests. Not much.

But I’ve seen how cramped the style of learning has become. Teach to the test, get them up to standards. Building time for exploration and inquiry and critical thought is most definitely possible, but it takes work and I’ve seen too many who either don’t have the will to do it or the knowledge to know how.

I’d like to start with summer. Free from standardized tests, curriculum standards, and walls. Almost like we could start from scratch. I don’t want to take away that freedom and joy of summer. But then, not all kids today get that time. They stay inside, playing video games, or watching TV, which both have their place, but have nothing on the woods. Why can’t we create a summer school that provides that? Opportunities for kids to explore their interests and be hands-on and drive learning.

Only let’s not call it school. School’s got a bad rap in kid circles. Call it a club, or a guild, or whatever. Take the involuntary connotation out of it.

Take high school. Kids can sign up for the clubs of their choice during the year. Upper classes get first pick. They can choose from say, Photography Club and Biology Club and the Guild of Naturalists and the Junior Archaeologists and the Music Club [only more types of music, let the kids pick, have a garage band if it suits their fancy], and Art and History and Genealogy and Drama and Anthro and Activism and Business Club and whatever. I could keep going. You get the idea.

Almost every day, either when I’m dropping Jack off at school or on my way to my own, I hear this song. I can’t help but think someone’s trying to tell me something.

*Cross posted at Annals of the Hive.* Image by Flickr User adwriter, Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.0 Generic.