Lesson Planner's Block

Less than 40 hours left of this wonderful vacation, and that feeling of dread is creeping in. It's time to get ready to go back to school, but the vacation-mode kid inside me is whining, "I don't wanna...!" I've already mapped out a plan for the three days we have this week, but I can't seem to get over this mental block and start planning all my lessons. There's a Law and Order: Criminal Intent calling my name from the DVR, it's a beautiful day for a run, I finally finished A Confederacy of Dunces, and I'm anxious to jump into a new book... Or I could sit in front of my computer for an hour or two, and get my work done. I hope my students are more mentally prepared to return to school than their teacher...

The Four Children of the Haggadah in My Classroom

One of my favorite parts of the Passover seder has always been the discussion of the Four Children. The traditional seder discusses four children – The Wise Son, The Wicked Son, The Simple One, and The One Who Doesn’t Know How to Ask. Each of these sons has their own question, and the haggadah explains the appropriate response for each one. Since entering the classroom, I’ve had my own thoughts about each of these children, and their manifestations in my own classroom.

The Wise Son asks, “What are the laws and statutes by which to fulfill the commandments of Passover?” This son is exalted, because he seeks to learn more about the rituals of the Passover. Furthermore, this question is considered wise, because it shows understanding of the story of Passover, and seeks deeper meaning from the seder.

A wise child in the classroom hopefully offers the same sort of questioning for the teacher. A wise child is not content with the cursory understanding of a topic or a strategy, but asks for more information. While too many children are willing to absorb knowledge passively without further elucidation, a wise child asks for more.

More often in my classroom however, it has been the “wicked” child who challenges me as a teacher. The response to The Wicked Son’s question, “What does this ritual mean to you?” has always bothered me. The haggadah instructs us to “set his teeth on edge.” Had this child been alive during the time of the exodus, the haggadah explains, he would not have been redeemed. Harsh.

The haggadah’s interpretation that this child has excluded himself from the community, and rejects the tradition of Passover only partially explains the reaction to The Wicked Son’s question. I know the frustration and anger all too well of a child who scoffs at the rules and routines of the classroom community I’ve created. However, a child who refuses to include his or herself in a classroom community is also one of the sadder experiences I’ve felt. Is a violent rebuke really the best response?

I’ve also felt that this child’s questioning is also equally valuable as the wise child’s. What does this mean to you? Whether it’s the story of the exodus, or reading, writing and math strategies in a classroom, we all should feel obligated to understand and explain our own connection to a community. This isn’t to absolve the Wicked Son of his disrespect, but all rituals, whether religious or pedagogical, are ultimately strengthened when they are challenged and questioned.

The third child, the Simple Son, is perhaps the most prevalent in the high-needs classroom. But, while the Simple Son of the haggadah is implied to be too young for rebellion or wisdom, the “simple” children of our classrooms are not the youngest. Rather, these students populate our classrooms because of a number of factors that yield huge gaps in reading, writing and mathematical skills.

When presented with tasks that require higher-order thinking, their response echoes that of the simple child, “What is the meaning of all this?” These children require more than the equivalent of the haggadah’s instruction to explain the core meaning of Passover. We as teachers are challenged to create scaffolds and tiered lessons that allow these children to engage in critical thinking consistently until they too are challenging us in the same ways as the wicked and wise children.

Finally, we have the children who do not know how to ask. These are the children in our classrooms who suffer most needlessly. Without the means to attract attention via rebellion like the wicked child, or loquaciousness like the wise child, these children fall through the cracks. Too often, the quietness of these children is lauded as good behavior. They may be partly or completely lost, but they’re scared or unable to verbalize this confusion. As a result they become practically invisible.

The essential challenge of a teacher is to recognize and help all of these children learn in their classroom. The haggadah offers some ideas for how each child demands a different response, but the reality of our classrooms is very different than that of a Passover seder. There are no one-sentence answers for these children. Rather, our classrooms require a sophisticated, diligent approach that makes all children feel welcome and able to learn. I’m not sure it’s possible to create a classroom that erases these sorts of differences in one year, but I’m reminded of the words of another figure from the seder, Rabbi Hillel, who said, “You are not obligated to complete the task, but nor are you free to desist from it.”

"It's Not a Great Friday for Me"

I was picking up my students on Friday with a big smile on my face. I recently recommitted myself to keeping an overwhelmingly positive attitude.

"Good morning! Are you ready for a great Friday?" I said with as much enthusiasm as I can muster at 8:15 am.

"Mr. Brosbe, it's not a great Friday for me," said the little girl at the front of the line.

"Why not?"

"Because-because..." before she could explain, huge tears starting rolling down her cheeks.

Upstairs, she was finally able to tell me why it would not be a great Friday for her. The night before there was a fight outside her apartment. Two people, including the son of her mom's friend, were killed.

I was in shock as she recounted the story. Tears rolling down her face, my test prep lesson forgotten, I couldn't stop tears from coming to my eyes too.

There are days when my classroom could be any classroom, anywhere in New York City. Then there days like Friday when I'm shocked to my senses, reminded of where I am, and who my students are.

In my fourth year, I've developed a bit of a wall compared to my first year where the challenges of my school's community felt like a constant weight on my shoulders. In some ways it may make me a better teacher. But in others I worry that I've become desensitized. Friday morning was an instant cure for that condition.

How Teachers See the World

I was walking out the door of a meeting with a parent when I mentioned I had to go run out and buy some balloons. "Oh, who's birthday is it?"

"Oh, no, they're actually for a science experiment," I explained. Later, walking up the stairs and blowing balloons at the same time, our conflict resolution teacher saw me and remarked, "Nice, science experiment?"

The immediacy of his reaction contrasted with the response of the parent struck me. You spend time inside a school, and you see the world through an entirely different lens.

Most people see balloons and think a party, teachers see balloons and think a science experiment. Most people see a cardboard box and think trash, teachers think art materials. Most people see an adorable eight-year-old, we see a challenge. Whether defiant or compliant, each of our kids represents a unique puzzle that needs to be solved within ten months.

These are just a few of the thousand differences in the few from inside the classroom and outside it. It's the difference in this view that makes teaching magical. It's a way of seeing things that lends itself to creativity and inspired thinking.

This different view is also the reason why teachers are wary of change imposed by outsiders who have never set foot in a classroom, and why Cathie Black's chancellorship was doomed from day one. How could we work together to fix a problem, if we were not even seeing the same things?

Happy National Poetry Month!

One of the changes I implemented in my classroom this year that I'm happiest with is our Poem of the Week. The kids love it, and it can serve almost any purpose I need it to. This week I'll be trying to kick our poetry up to the next level in honor of National Poetry Month. I'll be sharing some of the poems we're reading, a lot of them are some of my all-time favorites of all time:

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops Let the rain sing you a lullaby The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk The rain makes running pools in the gutter The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night And I love the rain. Langston Hughes