Standardised Testing

October 5, 2009 at 3:11 pm (Reading, education)
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A cousin of mine is a Reading Recovery specialist in the US.  Apparently, they have standardised testing – just as we do in Ontario – and she is having to prepare first-grade students for a written test in their second week of school, and give them weekly spelling tests of nonsense words.  She wrote a letter to my mother in which she complained about having to give up 20% of her teaching time to prepare the kids for these ridiculous tests.  My mother forwarded the letter to me.  I think my mother likes my rants.  :)

Business dudes who are very good at business may be quite useful when one is organising a school; most educators are not likely to be very good at the business side of things because they’re too busy concentrating on the students.  If I ever get to open a school, I’ll definitely hire some business dude.  But the business dude will never be allowed in my school when the students are there.

It’s like the elements: air and fire are both perfect elements but if there is too much air either the fire gets blown out or it rages out of control.  Add the wrong kind of air and you get a pretty nifty explosion which is fun to watch until all the particles fall back to earth and make a royal mess.

Do you have any suggestions for the improvement of education?  Great!  Write them down on a piece of paper and we’ll circulate it amongst the students (’cause they’re the ones who are doing the learning… and even paying us to teach them), and we’ll see what they think.  If any of the Grade 1 students want to write essays and spell nonsense words, we’ll give you a call.  In the meantime, here are some nonsense words for you to study for next week: freedom, democracy, reason.

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The reality of books

March 23, 2009 at 12:22 am (Reading)
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My 13-year-old daughter and I were wasting away Saturday morning, and ended up discussing the books we would take with us if we ran away from home (don’t ask).

My list included the books from my adolescence, with my Vikram Seth and Timothy Findley books thrown in.  I found it interesting that the older books seemed more important than the newer things which I regularly re-read.  Should I ever be expected to go without these books, my heart would break, I’m sure.

My daughter’s list included none of those from my list, despite the fact she’s read them all.  Hers included:

Sweetblood, by Pete Hautman

Blood Brothers, by Marilyn Halvorson

Heart-Shaped Box, by Joe Hill

She also debated taking favourites by Judy Blume and Deborah Ellis.

When I asked her why she would take these books in particular, she answered, “Because these books are reality.”  I, in a stupid moment of parenthood, tried to suggest these books may be an escape from reality, or a preferred reality, but she just gave me one of those withering looks and said, “No.”

When I think about it, I would have answered the same way when I was her age.  The books were what I lived, and the rest of my life is what I survived.

I see my books a little differently, now.  They’re my escape, pure and simple.  They’re no longer formative to my personality (which is forged in steel, damn it).  They’re no longer an optional way to live (even if I have a fleeting moment of wanting to be a vampire).

It made me a little sad, like I’d lost something.  But the conversation also inspired me to write things for her, so she’ll have a wide selection of realities to choose from.  If I have my druthers, she’ll see the books as reality for a long time to come.

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Endymion in Africa

March 20, 2009 at 6:24 pm (Reading, education)
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Endymion read Conrad’s Heart Of Darkness (not voluntarily, of course).  While we both agree the novella could have been written in 20 pages or less, he rather enjoyed the story.  He’s quite firm on his opinions regarding one race’s supremacy over another.  He likes Marlow, a lot.  He doesn’t see the attraction to ivory.

His teacher is trying to introduce the class to Post-Colonial Literary Theory.  It was difficult for Endymion to wrap his mind around this, as he’s not a reader, and has never read anything which is considered to be Post-Colonial.  A little history about England and India gave him something concrete to which he could relate the book.  (This he knows, given his heritage.)  He’s interested in the concepts.

Our problem is currently lying in the strong currents of the “in-class essay”:  Endymion has to write 8 paragraphs (his first time writing more than 5) discussing Conrad’s use of narrative conventions as seen through the lens of Post-Colonial theory.  Yeah, this is going to be useful in his adult life. Endymion’s not stupid; he knows the narrative conventions (and can identify them in the text), he understands the basics of Post-Colonial theory (and can discuss them fairly intelligently).  What he can’t do is write 8 coherent paragraphs on the subject without someone doing some serious editing, and he certainly can’t do it in the three hours allotted.  Some benevolent deity must be on our side, though, as the teacher gave the warning just before Spring Break, so we’ve had the whole week to work on it.

I’m highly impressed, and highly amused, by Endymion’s progress since last year.  He had to read Frankenstein, and it almost killed him; two essays were the end of the world.  This year, he seems to have a friend in his English class, and said friend is apparently female.  The efforts put into this year’s work go right off the scale; he’s spent more than 10 hours preparing for this essay.  He has asked me to help him improve his vocabulary, so he sounds like he’s in Grade 12 rather than Grade 8.  He’s trying for an 80% rather than a 65%.

I’m thinkin’ I should pair up all of my students with a member of their preferred sex, but then I’d likely be out of a job.

Conrad should have included more women in his books.

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Sheila and her books

February 18, 2009 at 4:15 pm (English Language, Reading, education)
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When I read the Shopaholic books, I identified with the main character.  Not because I knew what the heck a Jimmy Choo shoe looked like, but because I understand the need which arises when faced with an item which will fill your soul to the brim, remove you from all your cares, and stimulate all your senses at once.

‘Course, my vice is books, not clothes, but the physical reaction is the same.

I finally found a copy of Dorothy Butler’s Cushla and Her Books.  I read this book when I was in my early teens (wonder how it came to be in the small-town library, which was comprised mainly of Harlequin Romances).  I probably picked it up because the photograph on the cover shows two hippie-type parents with long hair, and that’s pretty much all that was moving me at the time.  However, something inside the book must have moved me, because I have remembered it every time I’ve been faced with a bored baby.

Cushla was born with numerous health problems, and these invariably lead to learning delays.  What strikes me now is the way her parents chose to deal with these problems: experimentation.  They tested things until they found what worked for their daughter.  What a logical way to raise a child.  They used a constant supply of books to keep Cushla stimulated, and they believe the books are the reason she overcame her developmental delays.

Wicked cool, man.

I didn’t have the chance to overcome developmental delays with my own children, because they were read to immediately.  My father gave me a copy of Timothy Findley’s Headhunter the week before my first child was born, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do with the baby for the one hour he was awake on his first night, so I read him Headhunter.  We haven’t stopped reading since.  I suspect my daughter may have inherited a reading and writing disability from her father and paternal grandmother, but she was also read to from day one, so I’ll never know if she didn’t inherit the disability to the same degree as her relatives, or if she lost it through reading.

I miss reading to my kids.  They still pile on the bed with me, but with their own books.  I don’t get to read Mog stories anymore.  I have a little niece and a nephew who are now victim to my desires for kids’ books.

Sometimes I think my students would benefit from ditching school and sitting on a large bed with a large pile of kids’ books; most of them missed that part of childhood.  Perhaps after we read for an hour or two, I could take them on a field trip to a second-hand bookstore….

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Neil Gaiman has mad skills

January 27, 2009 at 2:48 pm (Reading, education)
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I love the way Neil Gaiman puts words together.

I don’t like sci-fi/fantasy; I have a hard enough time dealing with the realities of this world, much less those of someone else’s make-believe world.  However, the rest of Neil Gaiman’s books are just wickedly brilliant, and if I don’t like the story I can just snuggle down into the sounds of the words.

So, if this guy is winning Newbery awards, why aren’t we using his books to teach English literature?  What’s the sense in having Newbery awards if we ignore them?

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I am not Siddhartha

December 28, 2008 at 9:24 pm (Reading, education)

…one can learn nothing.  There is, so I believe, in the essence of everything, something that we cannot call learning.  There is, my friend, only a knowledge – that is everywhere, that is Atman, that is in me and you and in every creature, and I am beginning to believe that this knowledge has no worse enemy than the man of knowledge, than learning. Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse

I am re-reading Siddhartha; it’s been about 20 years since I’ve read it.  It’s an entirely different book, now.  It’s hard to believe I’ve read it before.

The quote is something which has been rattling around in my brain for over a week, now.  When I read it, my reaction was such that I’m surprised I have a brain left.

Learning is the enemy of knowledge?  Really? What god-forsaken person would even contemplate writing that?

I put the book down for a couple of hours, did some Reality Level 13 things (shopping, dishes, cleaned a litter box or two), then sat down with a pen and paper for a little Reality Level 1.  What came out of the R.1 time was this: I am not Siddhartha;  Siddhartha was not human;  Hermann Hesse had guts.

I guess I now know where I am in my reincarnation cycle….  Huh.

Okay, so this is where I am.  I acknowledge there is a Knowledge which I will not attain in this lifetime.  I acknowledge there are people who have a better understanding of this Knowledge than I do.  I acknowledge… ah, to hell with it.  Forget Hesse and Siddhartha: learning is breathing.  All Atman really wants is a book, and to listen to people talk.  Trust me.

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Salaam, Walaikum, and Bob

December 23, 2008 at 5:42 pm (Reading, education)
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It’s triplets!

Salaam and Walaikum have been joined by “Bob”, who is in Walaikum’s class.  He arrived last week, and happily greeted the other two with a non-commital grunt (but it seems unkind to address him as “urgh”).   Having all three in the same class is working out beautifully; they each have different strengths, and they seem to realise this.  When they stopped working on the essays and asking questions, and started discussing the literature, I just sat back and watched.  When they looked like they were getting stuck, I threw in a thought or a question, and they started right up again.

I was particularly proud of Salaam, who is nowhere near as articulate as Walaikum or Bob, yet held his own in the discussion.  (There may be something to say for having same age/same sex classrooms, in that the weaker ones may feel more comfortable and therefore learn more through participating… may the deities of alternative education forgive me.)

What fascinated me about the last discussion was when they were trying to decide which characters from which texts they would compare in their essays.  They’ve been given Lord of the Flies, Macbeth, and Death of a Salesman, and must discuss the personal demons of the characters.  Walaikum went first, deciding on Jack, Macbeth and Willy Loman, and how their personal demons are their undoing.  After a moment silence, Bob noted he probably wouldn’t do that, because Jack doesn’t have any personal demons left unconquered, and he doesn’t come undone.  Salaam agreed, citing Jack’s stereotypical character towards the end of the novel.  Walaikum blushed; he didn’t defend his position, nor did he admit a change of mind.  Instead, he blustered something about being wrong once again, and “okay, are you guys happy now?”

Ode magazine published an article called In Praise of Failure in their October issue; it articulated my general thoughts about failure.  Don’t get me wrong: I’m not fond of making mistakes, but there is something truly absurd in assuming one should never make an error, particularly with something so whimsical as English literature.  If you recall,  Walaikum has an entirely acceptable average (he’s up to a 93% in English).  I’m toying with the idea of giving him a copy of the essay, despite what it may do to his ego.

I wait impatiently for the triplets’ time slot, now.

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They have too much funding

December 16, 2008 at 8:53 pm (Reading)
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I’ve been a little lax at keeping up with the unnecessaries, lately:  I just got around to reading this post on Guys Lit Wire this morning.  Once I recovered from the image of Sarah Palin, I was trying to think about how I felt about the idea of “blaming” someone for a child not reading.

Um, I cannot wrap my mind around blaming the mothers for reading to their children.

I cannot wrap my mind around blaming the fathers for teaching their sons the “manly arts”.

Were women not banned from advanced education for thousands of years?  Were men not responsible for writing and printing books?  Were the universities only opened to women about 150 years ago?

Wouldn’t one think there were perhaps a few more factors involved in defining the causes of a dislike of reading?

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A+ for effort

December 4, 2008 at 6:29 pm (Reading, education)
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It’s that time of year where my students either sink or swim.  On average, they swim… with a floatie, of course.

Yesterday, one of my grade 12 students sat down in his chair and gave me the Cheshire Cat grin of the century.  He’s discovered how to make English interesting: he compared Abigail Williams to a condom, because she appears to be protective but she’s actually pretty unreliable; his I.S.U. explores prostitution in literature; his journal entry is a story about a couple attempting to conceive a child.  The other students were highly intrigued.  We may see a trend starting here….

A grade 9 student, who has never voluntarily read a book (and never actually read an entire book for school, either) has read 129 pages of Twilight in three days.  Cute, sparkly vampires promote literacy.

Sinking is merely a matter of perspective; Walaikum was moved, almost to tears, when he showed me the ridiculous, pathetic mark of 95% he received on his last essay.  Salaam snorted.

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How does a young person approach a text differently than an English tutor? Why?

November 7, 2008 at 5:07 pm (Reading, education)
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Blair Bertrand asked this question in a comment on one of my other posts, and I’ve been thinking about it for some time.  This question doesn’t really apply to my E.S.L. students; I’ll deal with them in another post, another day.  This question is for my North American students, all of whom have been in Canada for most of their lives, and are considered to be fluent in English.

My students, who, logically, are coming to me only because they are having problems in English class, hate reading.  I have a couple who will voluntarily read graphic novels, but about 99% don’t even read the back of the cereal box.  It’s not that they’re stupid, or have any learning disabilities which prevent them from reading: they just don’t like doing it.  They can’t do it.  When they need information, they ask a human being, or watch a television programme.  Some of them are very visual, even to the point of depending on diagrams and pictures for guidance,  but the written word is not a language they use to communicate.

I watch these students, and ask them what they think of the book they’ve just read, or the book they’re allowed to read.  If I ask if they liked the book, they say, “yeah”, but if I ask what they liked about it, they just shrug.  Books are taken in hand with a deep breath, as if they are undertaking the Herculean tasks.

A good number of them are afraid of reading.  It makes sense that, if you don’t like reading, you’re not likely to be very good at it.  All but one of my students are in either the public or the Catholic school system, so their lack of reading has probably resulted in just one-or-a-thousand parent/teacher interviews, and considerable humiliation in the classroom.   If the task can be avoided, it is something to be done with the determination of one avoiding torture.

When I give them a selection of books, and ask them to choose something they might like to read, they invariably choose the shortest text available which is not a poem.  Poetry, they think, has some hidden meaning which they are never able to decipher.  Novels are just hard.  Short stories don’t take too long to read, and are not likely to have too many ethereal meanings or elusive literary devices.

Reading provides no pleasure for my students.  There is no thrill in hearing a particular word; there are no “funny” words or onomatopoeia which make them giggle; there is no chance of getting so lost in a text that you are shaken to find yourself still on earth.

How do my students “approach a text”?  As a chore; as a threat to their general sense of ease and contentment; as something which, like a strange religion, they can never understand.

Why?  Because not everyone can speak the same language.  Just because we call it all “English”, doesn’t mean it bears any resemblance to the spoken language.

I do understand my students: I feel the same way about numbers.

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