The Other Side of the DeskCherry Watts

She snapped her gum loudly,crossed her legs, and tossed her pageboy, brown hair. Herwhole body language spoke ofboredom and disenchantment.This college senior and long-time student sitting in mykindergarten practicum seminarwas not engaged in the words I spoke, nor in the activities the class did.

In the kindergarten classroom a few weekslater, surrounded by eager, little 5 year-oldbodies, she sat on the floor with them, reading a story with passionate expression,transformed. These rather unruly kinder-

garten students held their collective breathsto see where on the enormous floor map oftheir classroom their own desks were. Theyplaced their desk symbol on the map andwaited quietly while others didthe same.

What caused this transforma-tion from bored learning toengaged teaching?

continued on page 2

Special Edition Celebrates Writing Retreat

Beginning in the fall of 2003, Teacher Consultants of the West Tennessee Writing Project havegathered for a weekend retreat near the banks of the Kentucky Lake at Paris Landing State ParkInn. Believe it or not, it is not the catfish or prime rib night that brings these teachers togethereach fall; it is the opportunity to write and enjoy the company of colleagues from across the state.

This annual Writing on Water (WOW) retreat has resulted in three anthologies of writing.Great examples of teachers’ writing about their practice fill these anthologies. Every piece isoutstanding and offers a window into classrooms across the state. This special edition of FieldNotes has been compiled to celebrate the three years of writing and fellowship of the WOWretreat. In this issue, you will find the best of the best writing from the three WOW anthologies.

Selecting the best pieces of writing was not easy because of the quality of work submitted eachyear. After much deliberation, we were able to agree on two essays from each anthology. Wehope that you enjoy opening the windows into these classrooms as much as we did, and that

these selections might inspire you to write about your own practice. Most of all, we hope thatyou will see the tenets of WTWP reflected in this very special edition of Field Notes.

Sincerely,

The Best of the Best from the Writing on Water RetreatSpecial Edition Field Notes Focal Team

Molly CoffmanEnglish III and yearbook

Madison Academic Magnet High SchoolJackson

Beth Halbert11th grade EnglishMt. Juliet High School

Andi Neihoff 7th grade language arts

St. Mary’s School

Jackson

Angela Redden 8th grade literatureDickson Middle School

Nancy Warden7th grade EnglishHarris Middle School Shelbyville

West Tennessee Writing Project Vol. 14 No. 3

2

noisy and active, as everyone creates an air-plane. Then we test them to see if they fly byhaving a flying contest to see whose goes thefurthest. One airplane flies out the door intothe hall.

Then we discuss what they learned from eachexercise. They decide that the first activitywas useless. No learning except that theteacher was petty and mean. The secondactivity, well, each person flew a plane, eachperson had a slightly different design (whichwe discussed), all used resources to create a learning that meant something unique to them.

But what did the other professor see? Hethought he saw learning and involvement.What do teachers see when the class is performing the worksheet task? What doprincipals and curriculum supervisors lookingin classrooms see? Are they seeing learning?

My seniors in teacher education have studiedPiaget and Vygotsky in several different

settings and can tell you something about

constructivist theory. Constructivist theoryholds that all students construct their ownknowledge based on individual experiences.The meaning and understanding of any par-ticular teaching experience impacts the learnerin unique ways depending on present under-standing of the world. The learning must be significant to the learner for it to holdmeaning.

As learners and students they relate to this.They understand that they have been incourses whose content they do not recall.They remember those moments when a lightflashed through their consciousness and a

new understanding of some part of the worldmade them love learning.

To apply this knowledge to teaching, their

new profession, they don’t get--until they get to the classroom.

It is apparent that just like in kindergarten, intraining new teachers we need to have hooksto hang theoretical knowledge on. So muchearly teacher training is theoretical, philo-

The caterpillar. The chrysalis.The butterfly.Three weeks later across the miles in anotherkindergarten classroom, another practicumstudent was reading the life cycle of the but-terfly to her children. She then had them lie,belly down on the carpet and crawl like cater-

pillars. They wiggled and wiggled and giggledand giggled. Then she said, “Now feel yourbody stiffen. You can’t move anything. Youare wrapped up in a ball of yarn.” They

stopped and their bodies tensed and nothingmoved. She said, “The caterpillars fall asleep.”And they started snoring. The stage was setfor movement. She said, “Now stick one arm

and break through the yarn. And now another,

and a leg.” When you have broken throughthe wall of yarn, youfly and fly around theroom. And 20 five-year-old butterfliesflew in rhythm toMozart, some fast and

some slow, and sometangled. They wantedto do it again.

When does learning stick to us, become ours?When do we begin to understand? How dothose ah-ha’s happen—that light of under-standing shining in the eyes and illuminatingthe face?

Could it be that the light of understandingcomes to the learner when there is some placeto hang that learning in thought? Some expe-rience, some thought, some connection.Those 5 year-old little people were havingexperiences that meant something to them. It involved them–their bodies, their minds. It made sense to them because it connectedtheir new learning to experiences they had.They wanted to learn.

Then their regular teacher comes back tothem with the Saxon phonics lesson, alreadyscripted so no teacher can “mess it up.” Theirbright eyes dim, the pencils appear, and theomnipresent worksheet covers the desk.

Which lesson will be remembered?That’s obvious. Or is it?

Why do we continueto use thework-sheets?

One teacher explained, “Ineed some hard piece of evidence that thechildren have actually worked on the desig-nated curriculum each day. I send that work-sheet or that activity home with the studentso that the parents know that we are doingserious work in our kindergarten class.” Doyou think that the students will rememberthe worksheet learning? Does it relate to their lives? Where is the meaning?

On the first day of my seminar with pre-student-teaching college seniors, teacher

wannabees,I do anexercise

with thestudents togive themthe experi-ence of

what the difference between the worksheetand the hands-on activity might mean forthem. I ask them to copy EXACTLY some

picture that I draw on the board. It is an uglypicture, for I lack any artistic talent. I givethem paper and tell them to draw. Then Icriticize their efforts, making petty comments

about the shape, size, or accuracy of their

drawing. Did they color in the lines? In themiddle of their drawing exercise, before I gotto the “you didn’t get it right” stage, one ofthe senior professors sticks his head in thedoor (unplanned) and says, “This group reallyseems involved in the activity you have justgiven them. They are so quiet and working so intently.” I could not have planned hisintrusion any better.

The next activity is to take that piece ofpaper and make a paper airplane that flies.The student can consult anyone, work with someone else, design her own, or lookthrough a book that I have. The room is

It involved them–their bodies, their minds. It made sense to them

because it connected their new learn-ing to experiences they had. They

wanted to learn.

The Other Side of the Desk continued from page 1

continued on page 3

sophical, and psychological. Observations ofreal teaching are still exercises of the outsiderlooking in. The students don’t get the per-spective of teaching until they actually havethe experience of teaching. They don’t have a place in their experience to hook the theory that they are learning, those everyday

experiences of the day-to-day teacher.

One might assume that because young peoplehave been students for the vast majority oftheir lives, they have an idea of the tasks andtribulations of teaching. They have hadnumerous teachers, with a variety of stylesand expertise. Theyhave been through allthe different levels ofschooling—kinder-garten through college.They actually have thebasis for research on education—having experienced so much of it first hand.

But getting the view from the other side of the desk, the perspective of teaching, issomething brand new and a little scary.

In kindergarten practicum, pre-service teacherspractice teaching before they get to studentteaching. They start in a kindergarten class-room with a teacher who is obviously open to helping new people in the teaching profes-sion. These teachers do not fit any mold andare in many different schools across WestTennessee. They apprentice one day a weekfor a semester. The first day they get to learnthe names of the children and to observe howthe classroom operates. The second week theyteach a map/globe lesson. The third weekthey do a lesson that the cooperating teacherwants them to do and a graphing lesson.Then they branch out to circle time (variouslycalled meeting board, calendar time), butgenerally a time when the entire kindergartenclass reviews and celebrates what they know.Colors, the days of the week, the months, the weather (graphing whether it is sunny orrainy), counting (by ones, fives, 10s), learningletters and sounds, and finally by reading a

book. In the process the students sing andmove and may have a leadership role. Thepracticum students lead these activities, gettingthe experience of “teaching.” On the last dayof their practicum, after 11 weeks of practic-ing, they have a Lead Teacher Day where theydo all the teaching for the entire morning.

This is hands-on experience.

The practicum works as a bridge from university classroom to student teaching—a transition which gives incremental experi-ences leading to full-time classroom teaching.My problem with this is that it comes at the

end of their training for their profes-sion and not closer to the beginning.It is possible to come to the end ofthe teacher education training only to discover that this is not what you

had in mind. Would it not be more meaning-ful to have intermediate experiences, not justone lesson here and there, but longer, more

involved experiences in the classroom?Wouldn’t having those experiences help withtheoretical understanding and applications?

When I go to observe my students, I cannot

help but observe the classroom practice of thecooperating teacher. It is very obvious thatcurriculum decisions have been taken out ofthe individual domain of the teacher and thatcurriculum is being planned by district, state,and testing needs. In some of the schools, I see all the teachers teaching the same letterand sound and math concepts on the sameday. The individual teachers mediate howthat is done, but there is not much leeway oncontent. The choice of program is not basedin constructivist theory. All the childrenare to learn the same things at the sametime. In fact, all the children in a par-ticular grade in all the schools in thedistrict are supposed to learn the samething. There are hundreds of work-sheets involved with these programs.

The programs do not provide many hands-onlearning experiences.

So what happens when a recently graduatedteacher is hired? What happens to all the constructivist theory taught during the sophomore year? When the principal comesin to observe the classroom, what does thatfirst-year teacher do?

Without the strength of truly understandingthe meaning of learning theory and theopportunities to apply it—to test its strength,the novice teacher may succumb to the

numbingcurriculumchosen bythose whoare onlylooking attest scores

and not tested learning theory.

Somewhere along the way, the theory behind

learning disconnects from the practice ofteaching. My teacher friends tell me that theydon’t even remember learning theory fromtheir college days. This learning has becomecompletely separate from what they find

works for them in their schools. They learnteaching by doing—by looking at models of teaching—especially from their studentteaching experience. Those models may beteaching excellence or teaching mediocrity.Their reference to learning theory is insignificant.

So, who actually cares whether or not studentsare learning if it appears that they are learning?

Have we become more involved with thosetest scores, the appearance of learning thanthe actual learning itself? If the activity looks

good, is it producing the desired results? Byjust going through the motions, have we disengaged and what does that mean for ourlearners?

They don’t have a place in their experience to hook the theory thatthey are learning, those everyday experiences of the day-to-day teacher.

By just going through the motions,have we disengaged and what does

that mean for our learners?

continued on page 4

continued from page 2

It is very obvious that curriculum decisions have been taken out of the individual domain of the teacher...

My bored, brown-haired senior transformedin a few weeks. When queried, my noncha-lant student at the beginning of the semester

responded, “You know, when you sit in class,you learn. But when you teach students, thenyou apply everything that you have everlearned. It is a true hands-on experience. I really like it.” Her transformation came inthe active role she had to play, the thinkingand planning and enactment of her teachingprocess. In developing her plans, she harkenedback to her learning theory and applied activelearning strategies to her students.

Will she be able to continuegiven the outside pressures?

A colleague of mine complained about ateacher who had gone through our programjust a few years ago. She said, “That teacherknows how to put on a show. When our

students come to observe her, she has won-derful centers and activities. But my studentstell me that on a day-to-day basis, she doesworksheets. She just puts on a show when she needs to.” She simply did the curriculum

as given to her by the scripted texts andworksheets. She knew how to do all the rightthings; she just didn’t do them.

To give strength and understanding to buddingteachers, giving them more developmentalopportunities to test the theory and to makeit part of their teaching seems natural. Thepracticum experience models what teachingshould be. It just isn’t enough. Those actualteaching experiences should begin right whenthe theory is taught. Having the hook tohang the theory on, those experiences ofteaching will strengthen teaching practice.Teaching based on theory is powerful andlasting.

Cherry Watts teaches a variety of courses for pre-service teachers at the University of Tennessee at Martin.

The Sound of MusicHelen New

“Mom, I’m not goingto take piano lessons

this year.”

“Yes, you are. You havea gift. You need todevelop it.”

This was the conversation at myhouse every August as I was growing up. Years went by, and I continued with my piano lessons.I discovered that music would fit my every emotion. Playing the piano became an extension of myself, and something that is now a daily part of my life. Angry? I search for a Bartok piecewith driving rhythms and dissonant chords. Happy? Haydn, Mozart, or Gershwin become mycompanions. If I want to escape to another world, I take my Frenchman, Debussy, with me. And if I want to whine? Chopin, always Chopin.

Sometimes the music is difficult, sometimes not. I can choose to share what I’ve learned withothers or keep it just for my own enjoyment. I always face the challenge of finding the inter-pretation that balances what the composer intended with my own experiences and emotions. I plan, practice, and want to succeed, but what if I lose my place or miss an important cue?What if I make mistake after mistake until the entire melody is lost?

After over a decade of teaching piano privately, I returned to college and completed a degree

to teach middle school students reading comprehension. Now, every August, I ponder thethought, “I’m not going to teach this year,” and then I hear this inner voice, “Yes, you are. You have a gift. You need to develop it.” I’m beginning to realize how closely my two careers,these two passions, align.

Now I’m listening for music in my classroom. I’m understanding that what is planned, practiced,and performed is an expression of my students and me. We work together to interpret what we read, searching for the balance of what the author intended and our own experiences andemotions.

I love the days when we create happy sounds. We find humor and surprise in what we read. We discover the hidden lines that we’ve not heard before, the small motives that bring depthand richness to what at first seemed just a simple melody. We catch the rhythm and move synchronously. Literature circles in the room actively discuss their stories and then ask when we can group again. Dustin writes in his reading response journal, “I finished my book today,and I would recommend it to almost anyone. It’s my favorite book ever.” Jeremy writes,“Franklin Dixon is a very good writer in my opinion because he leaves you hanging in suspense the whole time.” Erica says as she leaves class, “Thank you for letting us do thattoday. It was fun!”

The Other Side of the Deskcontinued from page 3

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Other days are filled with dissonant chordsand bizarre rhythms-days when we come in ill-prepared and unmotivated. We create a cacophony, “Why are we learning this?...What difference does it make if I can find the

main idea?...How is it going to help me to be able to analyze a character’s personality?”

Some days we can find no rhythm at all.

“I need a pencil… We were supposed to dowhat?…This is boring…I don’t like thisstory…I want out of this class…”

I am reminded from my piano music thatdissonance and harmony serve unique pur-poses. Dissonance creates an emotional desirewithin the listener to move towards harmony.Dissonance demands change and brings energy

into a piece. Harmony, on the other hand, ispleasing to the ear and restful, but too muchof it and the composer and audience arequickly bored. The right balance of dissonanceand harmony make a great work.

So on those days in my classroom when mystudents and I lose our place, miss every

important cue, and make far too many mis-takes, I remember what I have learned withplaying the piano. We’re practicing, and we’regoing to make mistakes. Nevertheless, wemust play to the end because I know thatother days we will discover our rhythms andcreate our music. On those days, when wefind the sound of music in what we do, wewill have a performance that leaves us amazedand desiring to play an encore.

Helen New teaches seventh grade reading atTigrett Middle School in Jackson, Tennessee.

Nobody in the real world worriesabout grammar as much asEnglish teachers. We teach ourstudents that if they don’t speakcorrectly, people out there in the real world will think they’reuneducated. Have Englishteachers ever set foot “out therein the real world?” Most of whatI’ve seen and heard “out there in the real world” is straightfrom grammar hell.

The most interesting signs are splattered withrandom punctuation marks. A sign that says,“Neighborhood ‘Yard’ Sale,” hails people overfor some real deals on sod, apparently. I also

see incorrect spelling. A bright yellow postertaped to a fire hydrant says,

“Wall-Mark can’t even beet

these prices,” making mewonder if “Wal-Mark” canbeat their spelling. And badproof-reading skills are ram-pant. A giant wooden signin the yard of a tiny run-down house screams, “Thisis the big on!” Not “big on”careful editing, are we?

Signs like these are awful,and they make us wonderwhy the lackadaisical grammarians of theworld are so drawn to create large publicsigns to profess their shortcomings. I lovethese signs for their enthusiastic expression; I hate them for obvious reasons. They drawme in and force me to understand theirmeanings. They frustrate me to the point of fascination. I say “fascination” because Ifind myself going along my way repeating theoffensive phrases again and again until I amin a hazy-eyed zombie-like state. I almostdrove into a ditch once because of a blinkingmarquee advertising “duck cauls and fish lers”

While we English teachers see ourselves as thesaviors of English expression, are we missingthe real messages that are out there? Howoften do I “miss the message” when I’m talkingto someone because I’m busy mentally bleed-ing on his words? How often do I let grammargoof-ups blur the point someone is making?Has my need for correct grammar handi-capped my ability to comprehend things people say to me?

I once heard a student who was walking intomy classroom say, “I just seen a fight.” Did Iask where the fight was? Did I want to knowwho was fighting? Did I rush into the hall-way to put a stop to it? No. I said, “Saw. Yousaw a fight.” A student potentially got a blackeye while I defended the King’s English.

At a banquet a few weeks ago, the generalmanager of the company my husband works

for was giving a speechto announce the recipi-ent of the company’smost prestigious award.

He didn’t want to give

away any clues aboutwho won the awarduntil the end, so heused the plural pro-nouns they and themto tell us about the

person. “They get towork before the suncomes up. They work

until the sun sets. I’ve never seen them with-out a smile.” I still have no idea who receivedthe honor because I quit listening.

My fear is that one day my husband will leaveme a “Dear Jane” note, and I’ll be so hung

up on his grammar and spelling that I won’tnotice he’s left me.

This year I teach four honors English III

classes and a freshman English class. MyEnglish I students are among the worst gram-marians I’ve seen in a while, but I find theirpapers the most interesting to read. Every

The right balance of dissonance and harmony

makes a great work.

Lana Warren

continued on page 6

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time I stare, unmotivated, at the tall stack of papers I have to grade, I decide to grade my English I stu-dents’ papers first. My English I students never fail to entertain me with their powerful expression, imagination, and interjections.

My freshman English papers are so expressive and funthat I almost overlook the “gonnas” and “wannas” as I fall face forward into their worlds. No matter what

topic I assign, my ninth graders are sure to excite me.A topic for Halloween, “A time when you werescared,” earned me Chris’s story about a snake thatgot into his truck, Jon’s story about an alligator attack

when he lived in the everglades of East Florida, and

Mandy’s haunting story about a ghost man who frequently appears to her from out of nowhere.

I can’t prove these tales are true, butthey are certainly intriguing.

The stories my English I students write are so engagingthat I overlook Samantha’s random capitalization and

Brandon’s misspelling. I find myself catching the mis-

takes as an afterthought and hesitating even to markthem. This brings up tough questions: How do I gradethem? How do I figure in their wonderful expressive-ness and get across to them that their grammar hasgot to improve? How do I teach them grammar

without squelching their imaginations?

Three weeks ago, I asked the class to help me write alist on the board. I said, “Tell me all the things we’renot supposed to do when we write.” They gave me agood list. The things I wanted them to know were on

it: avoid a lot, avoid you, don’t use ain’t, use correctspelling, use correct pronoun/antecedent agreement,use correct subject/verb agreement. We later practicedediting incorrect sentences on the overhead projector.My students wanted to correct a few things thatweren’t wrong, but they generally knew what to do.

My hope is that improvement will come when theylearn to slow down and check their work. I pray that they’ll continue to write things that are interest-ing when they get the other stuff right. I guess mymain wish is that they will not grow up to becomelackadaisical grammarians turned sign makers.

Lana Warren teaches English I, English III, and journalism at Obion County Central High School inTroy, Tennessee.

The Pan Would Have Been a Great TeacherMark Yoder

Peter Pan would have made a great teacher. You see,all great teachers know how to fly, don't they? Wellin my case, I haven't learned how to fly yet. I know how to get carried away, though. Doesthat count? In the words of Woody from ToyStory, "That's not flying; that's falling with style."If you've spent much time in the classroom,you've probably learned how to "fall with style."

Content vs. Grammar continued from page 5

Peter allows himself to be carried away

with the lost boys. He doesn't design an adventure for the boys and then say,"Have it for me when you come to class

tomorrow." He is part of the adventure,and loves the adventure even more thanthe lost boys. That's what they love

about him. He gets carried away—

he knows how to fly.

My own children, Lindsey and Nathan,love to play with me for the very samereason that the lost boys love to adven-ture with Peter Pan. I allow myself to

be carried away with them. In fact, mymother-in-law tells my wife, "How canyou leave the kids with him: he's just

like one of them."

She's right. Just the other day, we spentan hour learning to climb the 300 year-

old oak in the front yard. While up in

the oak, we decided to build a tree fort.We shimmied down in search of theperfect tree for a fort. We found a hugesweet gum tree a few hundred yards

from the house overlookinga soybean field.

The next morning, I wokeNathan, and we carried

wood, nails, hammers,and saws. Jumping on the four-wheeler,

we jockeyed our way overa couple of terraces to thetree and started building.

"How are we gonna do it?"

I asked Nathan.

"I don't know," he said shrugging his

shoulders. It was almost dark by thetime I finished tying in the plywoodplatform. Nathan had long since left

me alone in the tree. I got carried away.Nathan came flying back, "You're thebest, Daddy!" he said swinging from the

herculean branch suspended above the

fort.

"Isn't it cool?"

"Yeah!" he growls. "Maybe we can campout up here."

"Let's do it!" I growl back.

This is the kind of flying I'd like to doin my classroom. I haven't learned tofly yet, but during our journal writing

sessions in my English II class, I'm stillwriting when my students have longsince left me in the fork of the star-leaved sweet gum tree, still hammering

away. I look up and find a room ofsophomores watching me. I stop. I'm

not finished, but I must abandon it fora minute.

"OK," I say, "who wants to read

theirs?"

"Read yours," they sing all at once butin different keys. So I read. It's a tinny

sound to my own ears.

"Who's next?" I query.

Kevin begins to read, "I hate it when Iinterested in someone, and they ain'tinterested in me. They ain't interested

continued on page 7

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Falling with stylebecause they don't say nothin' back to you.You just know when they always lookin' awaywhen they talkin' to ya. Kinda over your

shoulder, behind you at someone else."

My first response is, "His subject-verb agree-ment is terrible!" I stop myself. He's readinghis writing to real critics, a room full of them.I squint and focus on his voice, and then Ihear it. I hear the tears on the leaves of hisnotebook, not watery tears but real nonethe-less. He's just shown us a snapshot of aneveryday reminder that he's not good enough,that he's invisible, that no one is interested.

I don't want to draw attention to his pain forfear he might escape like a turtle when herealizes he's being watched. "Thanks, Kevin,"I say, "write some more on this; I like yourvoice." He looks down at his paper and thenback up at the other students to his left andthen down again. It would be great to fly,

but I'll settle for "falling with style" once in a while.

It is Peter's natural ability to get carried awaythat makes him one of the lost boys. Hisbecoming one of them gives him credibility

and trust. He is a child who plays the gamesthey invent on their own. Invention, you

know, is the kind of magic we lose when

someone invents for us.

I wish I could invent the magic for my stu-dents, and that's the paradox; the moment I invent it for them, unless I'm lost in it withthem, there is no magic. They don't fullytrust me. So I bring in a topic; "How manyof you have a scar?" Every hand goes upexcept one.

"Does it have to be a scar on my body?"Jennifer sheepishly asks.

"No, it can be anything that has marked you in some way." I think instantly of howintimate this activity could get, and I almostwince. "We don't have to read these aloud,"

I add. Everyone is already spilling ink on theleaves like the blood trails of wounded deerspotting the autumn leaves on the forest

floor. After fifteen minutes, I'm lost withthem writing about my scars. When we finish,every hand is up, including Jennifer's.

She begins, "I thought he loved me. He said he did, that God had made us for eachother." She limps on, "He accused me the

other day of cheating on him, and I saw himflirting with another girl. I have a scar, but no one can see it … until I try to smile."

Again I listen and can almost hear the bloodspattering the leaves as she stumbles, search-ing for a cold stream to cool the arrows hanging from her heart.

I allow myself to become one of the lost boys, to be carriedaway because I knowthe adventure will beworth it.

Peter would have been a great

teacher. He even loves problems.They are nothing more than win-dows, places to take flight, places tochase shadows. "Always leave the windowopen," he says.

"But what about Captain Hook?" Wendy asks.

"Who, that ol' pirate; I ain't scared of him,Wendy!"

Peter has the kind of sense common toNeverland, not too wordy or highfalutin."Just get the point across," he says. "Alright,settle down!" Peter challenges the lost boys togrow up but not too much. "Wendy's gonnaread us a story." Wendy is Peter's overachieverand often grows frustrated with Peter's teach-ing style. She needs more structure but loveshis lostness. He's "a traveler with no fixedplan, no intentions on arriving."

"How do you test that?" you ask.

Peter answers, "Let's try; come on, I got anidea. It might not work, but it will lead to

another adventure."

The great thing about Peter's lessons is thathe knows where happy thoughts come from.

They come from that placecalled Neverland, where imagi-nation is pixy dust, that place

just before waking, where your

dreams come true, and everyproblem is a window, and inyour lostness, you find whereyou belong.

Mark Yoder teacheseleventh-grade English and yearbook atBrighton High School in Brighton, Tennessee.

UT Martin is an Equal Opportunity Institution. The University of Tennessee at Martindoes not discriminate on the basis of race, gender, color, religion, national origin, age, dis-ability or Vietnam veteran status in provision of educational opportunities or employmentopportunities and benefits. UT Martin does not discriminate on the basis of gender or dis-ability in the education programs and activities which it operates, pursuant to requirementsof Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 as codified in 42 U.S.C. 2000D; Title IX of theEducational Amendments of 1972, Public Law 92-318; Section 504 of the RehabilitationAct of 1973, Public Law 93-112; the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, Public Law101-336; and the Age Discrimination in Employment Act. This policy extends to bothemployment by and admission to the university. Inquiries concerning Title VI, Title IX,Section 504, the Americans with Disabilities Act, and the Age Discrimination inEmployment Act should be directed to the Office of Equity and Diversity, 240 GoochHall, UT Martin, Martin, TN 38238-5002, 731-881-7202. Charges of violation of theabove policy also should be directed to the Equity and Diversity Officer. R05-4529-003-001-07

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Not As Easy As It LooksMolly Coffman

When people talk about me, I would like to think that theywould describe me as being"nice." Since I was a little girl,my mother has taught me to benice. The golden rule has been a guiding principle in my life. I received citizenship awards in elementary school and was a "goody two shoes" in highschool. But being a nice girl has always been a good thing ...until I started teaching.

One of the first pieces of advice I was given

by a veteran teacher was the familiar "Don'tsmile until Christmas" adage. However,telling me not to smile is like telling a gossipto keep a secret; it goes against my verynature. In my early years of teaching, I wouldoften vow to be meaner, to show the students

that I meant business, to be hard. I figured

if students think I'm "hard," then I must bedoing my job.

Nevertheless, my vows were always broken. Iam the nice teacher. I'm not bragging when I

say this. In fact, being the nice teacher some-times feels like a curse. It's something that Ihave often tried to keep secret from the otherteachers, but I know that they know. I worryabout what they say about me, if they thinkthat I'm too nice, if they think I should betougher, if they think I'm not pulling myown weight.

Recently a former student of mine told me of one of my junior's lamenting that I washard. Momentarily, I felt a sense of pride billowing inside me like a marshmallow in amicrowave. This feeling soon deflated, how-ever, when the student went on to tell me her response. "Mrs. Coffman? She's not hard;her class was fun." In fact, I've had many

students tell me after leaving my class that Iwas easy. I translate this in my mind as beinga failure.

Commonly, students will tell me, "Before Icame into your class, all my English teachers

hated my writing. I had never gotten a 90 on anything." Once again, doubts begin torace through my mind: Maybe I'm not pickyenough. Maybe I need to give lower grades.

Maybe I need to grade their writing“tougher” and mark all of their mistakes. Iwonder, "Why? Why do people say I am the

nice teacher?"

I've looked at the standards to make sure thatI am doing what is expected of me. I monitorstudent understanding and achievement, andI know that students' writing ability and theirconfidence as writers increase throughout thecourse. I see students' responses to literature

become more detailed and deeper. My students' standardized test scores are high,

and they have reported gains in their English

ACT scores after being in my class. So whyam I the "nice" or "easy" teacher? I trulybelieve the answer lies in the environment of my classroom.

At the beginning of each semester, I start myclasses with a personal essay, which we call aliterate life history, about their developmentas readers and writers. I guide the class inabout 20-30 minutes of prewriting, allowingthem unknowingly to generate pages of seedideas for their essays. I read to them a sampleliterate life history and ask them to readthrough their prewriting, looking for a common thread that they could develop orfor an idea that they would like to write more about.

As I travel around the room conferencing, I hear several students who have alreadyfocused their ideas and who excitedly tell meabout the direction they're moving. Some

students are wavering or are unsure aboutwhat they should write about. "Is it okay towrite about stuff from outside of school?"

they might ask.

"Sure, it is," I tell them. "Anything thatrelates with who you are as a reader or a writer."

And every year, I encounter several studentswho tell me with certainty that, even thoughthey have several pages of prewriting notes,they have nothing to write about. These arethe students I'm really excited about . . . the

ones who before long will realize that, yes,they do have much to write. Yes, their per-sonal lives are valuable in writing for school,

and yes, they can

write a two- to three-page, typed essaywithout suffering toomuch trauma.

Kneeling beside onestudent's desk, I ask him to tell me aboutwhat he wrote during the prewriting time.

"Oh, nothing really. I just started talkingabout how my mom would read thoseBerenstain Bear books to me when I was little."

"Oh, yeah! I like those book, too," I reply."Did your mom read to you every night?"

"Well, when I was real little she did, but thenwhen I got older, she just sorta quit."

"And what did you like best about thosetimes?"

"Um. I don't know. I guess how she would

use different voices for the different bears,like a deep voice for the daddy bear and stuff."

"Yeah, I do that with my kids now. So how

old were you when she stopped reading toyou at night?"

"Good teaching is an act of hospitality toward the young, and hospitality isalways an act that benefits the host even more than the guest" (Palmer 50).

I've had many students tell me after leaving my class that I was easy. I translate this in

my mind as being a failure.

continued on page 9

9

"I don'tknow. Iguessabout six 'causeI was in school,but I was real little."

"Why do you think she stopped?"

"I guess cause I just got older and had otherstuff to do, for school and stuff. Plus I just

didn't like it as much anymore."

After the conversation continues a littlelonger, I look at him and say, "Wow, it

sounds like you've got a really great idea."

"Huh?" He stares at me, confused.

"Yeah, I think that would be really interesting

to hear about how you liked reading whenyou were young, but then school got in the

way, and soon reading wasn't fun anymore.You can tell me about how you just readwhat you had to to get by in school, how youget away with that, and about how you'drather play video games. That's fun. How arereading Berenstain Bears and playing videogames alike?"

"Well, I guess they're both fun. I mean, when I was little, Berenstain Bear books wereentertainment like video games are now."

"Okay, that's good. Think about that a littlemore, maybe write a little more on that andsee what else you might come up with. Whatdo you think will happen in the future, Imean as far as your reading or entertainmentactivities go?"

He formulates a hypothesis, and I tell him,"Good. Now, you've got a beginning, a middle, and an end—Berenstain Bears, videogames, and then what you think will happen inthe future. Try that out and see how it goes."

"Okay." He leans over his notebook and poises his pencil to begin writing again.

This is how each semester begins. We startoff with writing, conferencing, responsegroups, and mini-lessons to establish a classroom community from day one. Some students are excited by the writing,some fearful, some shocked.

"I thought this was an English class, not a writing class," one student mused.

"I write more in here than I ever havebefore," others explain. I hear the murmuring

in the halls about how much writing Mrs.Coffman wants us to do, but soon, thosemurmurings change. About two weeks into

the semester, we sit in a circle and read

excerpts from our literate life histories.Students laugh appreciatively. Students smilewith a sense of accomplishment. Everyoneturns in a two-page (or sometimes more),typed literate life history. It's a marvelous day in the life of an English teacher.

A community of writers has been born, and I try to maintain and foster this communitythroughout the rest of the semester. I laugh

with students. Though I have a plan for theday, I still believe there is time for laughter.

I appreciate students' senses of humor. I use

myself as an examplemany times telling sto-

ries from my childhood

to connect with a poem

or a character in a novelor to relate to a frustra-tion they're probablyfeeling. It's modeling. I model for my students how to write anessay or how to respond to a poem. In thesame way, I model how I work throughwriter's block or how I don't always knowthe answers to questions and how I deal withthat. I tell them about my embarrassingmoments, and I share with them my not-so-polished writing. I ask questions that I don'tknow the answer to, and I invite them to

share their questions, stories, embarrassingmoments, and frustrations as well. In short, I want to model what learning is and myprocess for learning.

Of course, there are bumps in the road.

Students become frustrated, and occasionallythey make comments that are inappropriate.Recently, the part of the inscription in a bookgiven to me by a student for Christmas read,

"I pushed and you pushed back. I tried toskate by, but you wouldn't let me. I still hatereading and writing, but I still love you." Not

all students are converted to lovers of readingand writing, but I'd like to think that at leastfor a few months my students will experience

reading and writing in a supportive, non-threatening environment. One mom told me

that her son really liked my class, something I would not have guessed from his commentsabout writing and English class in general.Noticing my surprise, the mom told me the reason he liked my class was that I was"human." Comments like these lead me tobelieve that I may not realize what effect Ihave on my students. I also believe studentsdo not realize how much they have developed

in my class until they have moved on.

Frequently, the same students who term my

class "easy" also confirm that they learned agreat deal. "I sure am glad you taught usabout literary criticism," one senior told me.

"It's really coming in handy this year, and if

you hadn'tshown me,

I'd be lost."

Even now,I some-timesstrugglewith being

the "nice" teacher, but as I reflect on my

pedagogy and on my students' growth, Idecide that when people talk about me I stillwant them to describe me as "nice." It's whoI am, and it is what works for me in myclassroom.

Parker Palmer wrote in his book, The Courageto Teach, "To become a better teacher, I must

I use myself as an example many timestelling stories from my childhood to

connect with a poem or a character ina novel or to relate to a frustration

they're probably feeling.

continued on page 12

continued frompage 8

Neatly printed inside the coverof my teaching journal is thequestion, “What does today sayabout my teaching, about mystudents, and about learning?”

Each time I take up my journal to write, I reflect for a moment on this, the single

hardest question I’ve ever asked myself. Thisthreefold question looms ominous because it holds me accountable for myself and my

classroom. Lately I have been agonizing over“What does today say about my teaching?”This area concerns me greatly because I wantto be authentic with both my students andmyself. I want my quirky, off-beat personalityto shine through. I want to share my love ofliterature and learning and my enthusiasm forwriting with my students. Most of all I wantto know where my quest for me-ness fitswith my students and my role as a teacher.

With regard to the question of authenticityof myself in my teaching, I find that I amnot alone in my struggle. In The CourageTo Teach, Parker Palmer devotes the entirefirst chapter, “The Heart of a Teacher,” toexploring the concept and oftentimes conflictof teaching and the true self. Here he boldlystates, “good teaching cannot be reduced totechnique; good teaching comes from the

identity and integrity of the teacher” (10).

Palmer then goes on to explain that his

effectiveness as a teacher is directly related to

his ability to know and trust his selfhood and

to expose the vulnerability that comes with

sharing the true self with others. Through his research he uncovers what we as formerstudents all know: the most mesmerizing andeffective teachers are those for whom teachingserves not so much as a career but as anextension of their personalities. When I lookback on my most dynamicteachers, as Palmer

requests of his students, I see in my mindteachers who not only knew and loved thesubject matter, but passed that love along totheir students. How I want to be that teacher!

My greatest stumbling block to true authen-ticity comes in exposing the vulnerability thatleaves one open to the criticism of others.However, my students are proving themselves

worthy teachers as they open up and sharetheir vulnerability with me.

During the first six weeks, we cover thefamiliar, friendly letter. In an attempt to get

my students thinking as well as writing, I hadthem write to me. I held an open invitationfor them to talk about seventh grade by asking,“What are some things that are going well?What are some things that aren’t going well?What would you like to see done differently?”

While the scope of the letter was to covertheir experiences as seventh graders thus far,the invitation was open for them to discussmy class in particular. After collecting the

letters, I excitedly sat down to read them,curious to see what my students had to say.

The third letter into my first period stackfinds Clint writing, “I don’t know what’sgoing on, but it seems like ever since we gotback from horseshow break, all the teachershave turned against me. I want to do good inschool. I want to make good grades. I don’twant to be like my brother who failed the 7thgrade twice and is locked up. I want to go tocollege. I want to see the look on my parents’faces when I do it. Miss Warden, please helpme.” After reading Clint’s letter, I felt a sinking

feeling in my stomach because all I couldhear was my voice reprimanding Clint whatfelt like incessantly for things like talking tooloudly, tapping his pencil, and fidgeting in

his desk. All I could think was, “I am notgoing to have this child thinking we are allagainst him.”

When responding to the letters, I thankedClint for his honesty and for sharing his fears

and opinions and promised to help him. Atthe end of the week, I wrote a note to hismom, complimenting his improvements and

noting that we had gotten off on the wrongfoot. His mother responded with a full page

letter thanking me for my note and for caring.She stated that she’d seen him excel in classeswhere he liked the teacher, as he said he likedme, and fail when he didn’t because he feltshe just didn’t care about him. Aside fromthe feel-good warm fuzzies it gave me, thoseletters touched me because at last I felt like I had made a difference. While this storysounds like sunshine and butterflies, don’t

become disillusioned. Clint is still a normalthirteen year-old, an average student with aD in my class last six weeks. He does well onhomework and classwork but struggles on

tests, and writing will prove another challenge.

He still gets scolded for talking too loudly oracting silly in the halls on the way back from

lunch, but he’s trying. In the classroom, he’sengaged, raising his hand five to ten timeseach class period to ask and answer questions.

He tells me things, sharing fragments of hislife with me. We have made a connection.

Palmer points out that less than spectacularteachers have made themselves so by distanc-ing themselves from their students. As I entermy second year of teaching, I feel grateful

each day that I have been afforded thisopportunity to start over. Unfortunately, last

year I felt unable to be

my true self, based

Searching For the Authentic Self: Where Do I Fit in My Teaching?Nancy Warden

...less than spectacular teachers havemade themselves so by distancingthemselves from their students.

continued on page 1110

11

upon the personalities and behaviors of mystudents. Rather than passing on my love of writing, many days I felt like a glorifiedbabysitter as I struggled to manage disciplinewhile throwing in a bit of grammar and writ-ing here and there. In the midst of it all, Iwas miserable because I was not enjoyingmyself, and I was not enjoying myself becauseI was not being my true self. Before school

resumed in the fall, I promised myself that Iwas not going to repeat last year by moldingmyself into someone I am not. However, in

spite of my best intentions, I find myself at a distance from some of my students, stu-dents who in all honesty need an authenticadult in their lives.

Tyler sits in the first seat of the first row over

by the computers, an optimal place for learn-ing, no craning to see the boards or reach the

trashcan or the cup of pencils sitting on my

desk. However, Tyler slouches in his seat, his

hand supporting the seemingly unbearable

weight of his head, eyes often closed or drawn

into mere slits through which he evaluates the

room with sleepy disinterest. When asked to

sit up or even worse when the sanctity of hispre-lunch slumber is broken, he tends tobecome not so much angry as irritated. Hisactions convey irritation at having been dis-turbed and irritation at the fact that weexpect something from him. Interestingly, in the halls, at dances, and especially on thefootball field, Tyler comes alive. The slouch isgone, replaced with a confident stride and aborderline arrogant swagger. The eyes are

open wide and bright. He’s talking,laughing, playing, and being a typicalseventh grader. However, sit Tyler in aseat with a book in front of him, and ametamorphosis takes place, turning himinto a lackadaisical, less-than-averagestudent. One, who after football season

has ended, suddenly decided that gradesdon’t matter and that in essence theschool year is over.

I can’t help but wonder what is it thathas made my experiences here so differ-ent? Why is it that I have developed a

solid working relationship with one student,while the other maintains his impenetrablefortress of stoicism? Is it because Clint simplyneeds more? Is it because he possesses agreater need or desire for adult approval,while Tyler’s needs for approval and accept-ance are met by his strong social standing

with his peers? The one question that keepsresurfacing in my weary brain is, “Is it me?” I can’t help but wonder if I was able to make

that connection with Clint based upon myability to be myself as I reacted instinctively

to his cry for help, giving his feelings consid-eration and merit; something I’ve come to

realize not all teachers do. I didn’t have to

change modes or think or plan how to

respond. I just did it. Even though Clint is not

immune to my rules or chiding, he doesn’t

react negatively. Tyler, on the other hand,

automatically forces me to unconsciouslyswitch into aggressive teacher mode throughhis reaction to the expectations I place uponhim as a student in my classroom. My dilem-ma is how do I reach out to him, too? Howdo I share my authentic self with this studentwhose actions invoke the desire to remove allevidence of vulnerability?

Much of my difficulty at beingmyself in my teaching comes

from the vulnerability that Palmer discusses.This fear goes back to my childhood, highschool, and even college days where I strug-gled with issues of confidence in myself, myabilities, and my worth. Even now it is hardto break down these barriers that I erectedover all those years to keep myself safe andshare myself with my students; because theymay see that I don’t know it all, that I don’t

have it all together. In fact, I’ve so perfected myskills of deception that last year, a co-workermarveled at the fact that I seemed so confi-

dent and laid back. In actuality, I was muchless than confident because on the inside Iwas struggling with issues of inadequacy as aprofessional. Thankfully, I have found solacein Palmer’s comments that as teachers we allmust address this never-ending struggle as

each year we again open ourselves up to those

feelings of vulnerability with each new groupof students who grace our doorways. Fromthe beginning of this essay to its completionsome weeks later, I have taken great comfortin the fact that I now know I am not alone in

my quest for selfness in the classroom. FromPalmer’s text to conversations with my mosttrusted colleagues, I have come to the under-

standing that, at the end of the day, I mustrefer back to that question in my teachingjournal and submit myself to its incessantprobing. By inwardly addressing my difficulty

with vulnerability, I can outwardly strive toportray myself as the authentic me in myclassroom. It is only when I push the nagging

voice that screams, “Be yourself!”to the back of my mind that Idisservice not only myself but

also my students.

Palmer, Parker J. The Courageto Teach. Jossey-Bass: SanFrancisco, 1998.

Nancy Warden teaches seventhgrade English at HarrisMiddle School in Shelbyville,Tennessee.

His actions convey irritation athaving been disturbed and irrita-

tion at the fact that we expectsomething from him.

continued from page 10

West Tennessee Writing ProjectDepartment of English131 Humanities BuildingCollege of Humanities and Fine ArtsUniversity of Tennessee at MartinMartin, TN 38238Phone: 731.881.7300Fax: 731.881.7276wtwp@utm.eduwww.utm.edu/wtwp

About WTWPThe West Tennessee Writing Project is a program of professional development for K-12 teachersthat seeks to improve writing and writing instruction in our schools. WTWP became one ofthe now 190 sites of the National Writing Project with the initial grant award in 1993.

WTWP is housed in the Department of English in the College of Humanities and Fine Arts at

the University of Tennessee at Martin.

WTWP’s guiding principles:

• Student writing will improve as writing instruction improves.• Writing teachers should be writers themselves.• The best teacher of a teacher is another teacher.

Teachers of WTWP–Writing Teachers/Writing People–believe everyone can write; create classrooms as safe places for students to read, write, and learn; respect standards as inherent in pedagogy; value assessment in many forms; honor students, colleagues, parents and administrators as partners in school success.

The heart of WTWP is its annual invitational summer institute for K-12 teachers held at UT Martin. Teachers who participate in a summer invitational institute become TeacherConsultants of WTWP. Their students write often during school and in a wide variety of genres.Students become better readers of their own writing, able to think more critically about whatto say, how to say it, and who to say it to. With more opportunities to write and to write in avariety of ways, students become more fluent readers and writers in school and for their ownpersonal growth.

WTWP is supported by grants from the National Writing Project with matching funds from

the University of Tennessee at Martin and additional support for particular programs from area schools and systems.

To learn more about the West Tennessee Writing Project and its programs of professional development for educators contact:

West Tennessee Writing ProjectDepartment of English

131 Humanities BuildingCollege of Humanities and Fine Arts

University of Tennessee at MartinMartin, TN 38238

Phone: 731.881.7300Fax: 731.881.7276

wtwp@utm.eduwww.utm.edu/wtwp

nurture a sense of self that both does anddoes not depend on the responses of others—and that is a true paradox" (73). Balancingthe two sides of this paradox is at the heart of my dilemma, but as Palmer says, thereflection that results from this dilemmamakes me a better teacher, and this benefitsus all.

Palmer, Parker J. The Courage to Teach.Jossey-Bass: San Francisco, 1998.

Author's Note: Thanks to MargretheAhlschwede, Mary Beth Dean, Beth Halbert,Lee Hudson, and Lana Warren for theirresponses to drafts of my writing.

Molly Coffman teaches eleventh grade Englishand yearbook at Madison Academic MagnetHigh School in Jackson, Tennessee.

Not As Easy As It Lookscontinued from page 9

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