Or, how to provide real-time subtitling of Monty Python and the Holy Grail for your ELL student.
January 19, 2012
Coconuts? Walk same a horse.
Or, how to provide real-time subtitling of Monty Python and the Holy Grail for your ELL student.
January 14, 2012
High-Low-High (week of Jan 13th)
There were times during student teaching when my fellow grad students and I got through to the end of the week by using a game we called "High, Low, High." I would like to say that the purpose of this game was to remind us to focus on the rewarding aspects of teaching while nevertheless holding in tandem the disappointments. In reality, it is more accurate to say that this game forced us to dig through our week to find some positive moments, and then gave us a chance to succintly complain about everything else.
(This is also called the "compliment sandwich," and it is fairly standard practice when emailing parents about why their child who just turned in a really wonderful essay has unfortunately managed to get a detention for using inappropriate language in the classroom, which is a shame because it's clear how hard this student has been working on her/his reading and writing and we're all so impressed with just how far he/she has come since the beginning of the year.)
So for this, the second week back from vacation:
High: To combat the second quarter slump, I allowed my students to negotiate a bargain (now colloquially known as "the deal") in which I would do away with Friday night homeworks if, and only if, every student in their class improved his or her term grade by at least 1% by the end of quarter 2. Inputting grades this week, I was honestly quite impressed to see that 58 of my 83 students are currently in good standing. (There's still one week left to the quarter - and that includes one more literary essay - so don't hold your breath just yet.)
Low: Upon working for the past five months to establish a connection with one of the most troubled students on our team, and having a modicum of success wherein he was actually passing Eng class, albeit no others, I checked my email Thurs morning during homeroom to find out that he had been permanently transferred out of our team. It is possible that he may also, in response to this unannounced schedule change, have stopped coming to school.
High: This week for the first, and hopefully last, time of my life I was able to utter the phrase, "John, I'm going to have to give you a detention if you can't stop Tebowing during your test."
(This is also called the "compliment sandwich," and it is fairly standard practice when emailing parents about why their child who just turned in a really wonderful essay has unfortunately managed to get a detention for using inappropriate language in the classroom, which is a shame because it's clear how hard this student has been working on her/his reading and writing and we're all so impressed with just how far he/she has come since the beginning of the year.)
So for this, the second week back from vacation:
High: To combat the second quarter slump, I allowed my students to negotiate a bargain (now colloquially known as "the deal") in which I would do away with Friday night homeworks if, and only if, every student in their class improved his or her term grade by at least 1% by the end of quarter 2. Inputting grades this week, I was honestly quite impressed to see that 58 of my 83 students are currently in good standing. (There's still one week left to the quarter - and that includes one more literary essay - so don't hold your breath just yet.)
Low: Upon working for the past five months to establish a connection with one of the most troubled students on our team, and having a modicum of success wherein he was actually passing Eng class, albeit no others, I checked my email Thurs morning during homeroom to find out that he had been permanently transferred out of our team. It is possible that he may also, in response to this unannounced schedule change, have stopped coming to school.
High: This week for the first, and hopefully last, time of my life I was able to utter the phrase, "John, I'm going to have to give you a detention if you can't stop Tebowing during your test."
January 13, 2012
For those of you who were wondering why we had a conversation about pickles.
Taylor Mali has been known to say that the 8th grade mind is a beautiful thing. Four and a half months into the job, I have to say I agree. Particularly during those times - in this case, a simple conversation about pickles - when I watch the mysteries of the world unfold in a moment of slow, beautiful awakening. I swear, if you listen closely enough, you can just about hear the petals unfurl.
Student: You make your own vegetable?
Me: Well, I can some vegetables. It's a process where you take fresh vegetables and you put them in glass jars, in very hot water, and you get all the extra air out of the jar so that the vegetables will stay good without being kept in the fridge.
Student: What kind of vegetables do you can?
Me: This year I only did beets, but I've done onions and all kinds of other things before.
Student: What do they taste like?
Me: Well, the easiest way to do it is to pickle them, which is where you put vegetables in vinegar and let them soak up the brine. So they become pickled onions, and pickled beets.
Student: But then ... don't they all taste alike?
Me: No, they keep their original vegetable flavor, but more vinegar-y.
Student: Why don't they all just taste like pickles?
Me: Well, the vinegar changes the taste, but a pickled onion doesn't taste like a pickled beet.
Student: But ... I don't get it.
Me: Ah. Ok. You've eaten a cucumber before, right?
Student: Yeah...
Me: And you've eaten a pickle, right?
Student: Yeah ...
Me: Did they taste the same?
Student: No ... oh. OH. Ohhhhh.
The trick is that you have to be listening, really listening. When I'm thinking about my own train of thought in the conversation, or what I have to teach next period, or all that I have to do after school that day, I miss these conversations. I miss the chance to hear what is not being said. I miss the opportunity to help the mystery unfurl. And then I end up with a conversation that is just about the conversation itself, instead of a conversation about pickles that is really a discovery of wonder in the world.
Student: You make your own vegetable?
Me: Well, I can some vegetables. It's a process where you take fresh vegetables and you put them in glass jars, in very hot water, and you get all the extra air out of the jar so that the vegetables will stay good without being kept in the fridge.
Student: What kind of vegetables do you can?
Me: This year I only did beets, but I've done onions and all kinds of other things before.
Student: What do they taste like?
Me: Well, the easiest way to do it is to pickle them, which is where you put vegetables in vinegar and let them soak up the brine. So they become pickled onions, and pickled beets.
Student: But then ... don't they all taste alike?
Me: No, they keep their original vegetable flavor, but more vinegar-y.
Student: Why don't they all just taste like pickles?
Me: Well, the vinegar changes the taste, but a pickled onion doesn't taste like a pickled beet.
Student: But ... I don't get it.
Me: Ah. Ok. You've eaten a cucumber before, right?
Student: Yeah...
Me: And you've eaten a pickle, right?
Student: Yeah ...
Me: Did they taste the same?
Student: No ... oh. OH. Ohhhhh.
The trick is that you have to be listening, really listening. When I'm thinking about my own train of thought in the conversation, or what I have to teach next period, or all that I have to do after school that day, I miss these conversations. I miss the chance to hear what is not being said. I miss the opportunity to help the mystery unfurl. And then I end up with a conversation that is just about the conversation itself, instead of a conversation about pickles that is really a discovery of wonder in the world.
January 11, 2012
She also wanted to know how pickles are made.
quiet student: What's the high school like?
me: Well, it's a lot like 8th grade, but there's a little less support.
quiet student: How so?
me: Like, if you don't do your homework, no one's going to track you down about it - you just get a 0.
quiet student: Oh. So what's college like?
me: Way better. You have more freedom to choose classes that interest you, and you can go more in depth into questions.
quiet student: Did you go to college?
me: Yes, I went to the kind of college where most of my classes were seminars, not lectures. I think you'd like that kind of college too.
quiet student: What's the difference?
me: A seminar is a discussion, like our "Socratic Seminar" reading groups. You sit around the table and have discussions about what you've read or what you've studied. In a lecture, which I try not to use very often, you sit in the auditorium and take notes while a professor talks about the books you've read or the material you're studying.
quiet student: So they're two different kinds of teaching styles?
me: Yes.
quiet student: So ... in a lecture, you're taking notes on the professor's opinion about the book?
me: Well, yes.
quiet student: But ... ok, but what's the point in that?
And then we talked about pickles.
me: Well, it's a lot like 8th grade, but there's a little less support.
quiet student: How so?
me: Like, if you don't do your homework, no one's going to track you down about it - you just get a 0.
quiet student: Oh. So what's college like?
me: Way better. You have more freedom to choose classes that interest you, and you can go more in depth into questions.
quiet student: Did you go to college?
me: Yes, I went to the kind of college where most of my classes were seminars, not lectures. I think you'd like that kind of college too.
quiet student: What's the difference?
me: A seminar is a discussion, like our "Socratic Seminar" reading groups. You sit around the table and have discussions about what you've read or what you've studied. In a lecture, which I try not to use very often, you sit in the auditorium and take notes while a professor talks about the books you've read or the material you're studying.
quiet student: So they're two different kinds of teaching styles?
me: Yes.
quiet student: So ... in a lecture, you're taking notes on the professor's opinion about the book?
me: Well, yes.
quiet student: But ... ok, but what's the point in that?
And then we talked about pickles.
January 10, 2012
"lionize" is not the same thing as "limousine"
Or what my students now call the "Top Ten Persuasive Essay Spell-Checker FAILS."
10. idea ≠ ID
As in, “Using a fake idea, he bought key ingredients to make bombs.”
9. hat ≠ hate
“Lizzie Borden was aggressive to her step-mother, showing how she must hat her.”
8. trail ≠ trial
“The outcome of the trail was not guilty …”
7. clammed ≠ claimed
“Lizzie Borden clammed she was in the barn.”
6. defiantly ≠ definitely
“Lizzie Borden is defiantly guilty.”
5. lionize ≠ limousine
“OJ Simpson was late for his lionize pick-up.”
4. tying ≠ trying
“Now, as for what the police were all probably tying to say …”
3. persecuted ≠ prosecuted
“Timothy McVeigh was charged and persecuted.”
2. observed ≠ absurd
“The ‘not guilty’ verdict is observed!”
1. hallucinogenic ≠ hallucinating
“The children who accused the women were hallucinogenic.”
10. idea ≠ ID
As in, “Using a fake idea, he bought key ingredients to make bombs.”
9. hat ≠ hate
“Lizzie Borden was aggressive to her step-mother, showing how she must hat her.”
8. trail ≠ trial
“The outcome of the trail was not guilty …”
7. clammed ≠ claimed
“Lizzie Borden clammed she was in the barn.”
6. defiantly ≠ definitely
“Lizzie Borden is defiantly guilty.”
5. lionize ≠ limousine
“OJ Simpson was late for his lionize pick-up.”
4. tying ≠ trying
“Now, as for what the police were all probably tying to say …”
3. persecuted ≠ prosecuted
“Timothy McVeigh was charged and persecuted.”
2. observed ≠ absurd
“The ‘not guilty’ verdict is observed!”
1. hallucinogenic ≠ hallucinating
“The children who accused the women were hallucinogenic.”
December 31, 2011
Francincense and Myrrh
I look up from the computer when Mike pokes his head into my room. “You still here? Should be you go home by now. Everybody else go home already.”
His broom handle points at the clock as he makes his way around the clusters of desks in the room. It is 4:30pm, darker outside now than it was when I came in at 7:30am. I nod and hit print.
“Yeah, I’m leaving.”
“You take care of the rest later,” he nods. “It still be there tomorrow, you know?”
He helps me adjust the desks into rows for tomorrow’s quiz. I leave carefully arranged papers left at the front of the room – the quiz to be photocopied, a freshly-printed worksheet, and now-graded papers to hand back – I follow him out, locking the door behind me.
Tuesday is quiz day. In high school I sat at the back of the room during quizzes, grading those of the period before. Now in 8th grade I am on my feet, on the move. I answer questions from the practical to the absurd, and I open the box for those who have shut it. Again and again and again.
“Do we use all the words from the word bank?” Read the directions again. “Oh.”
“Is this the right answer?” Raised eyebrows, tilted head. “Oh.”
“I’m not taking this quiz.” Okay. Just give me the answers you know. “I don’t know any.” Oh, that’s not true. What about this one? “Ok, but just that one.” Don’t you know this one too? “Oh.”
22 students in the room, 22 different boxes I juggle. At the end of the day I stack my bag with 85 quizzes to correct, 85 worksheets to check off, and 47 minutes of teaching to plan for the next day.
Wednesday’s lesson does not go well. Half the students have not done the homework, and the worksheet doesn’t keep them engaged. I reverse and we recap. Students work on a journal question and I hastily replan. In three minutes I will need to change the homework to diffuse the growing mutiny in the room. My hope is to use those who have got it to work with those who have not. The students’ hope is to not have homework. Somewhere there is a middle ground, but the map to it requires activating student interests, providing enough footholds for them to access the material, and making it relevant to their lives. I have three minutes to draw that map, and 22 students starting to shift restlessly again at the sounds around us – the lecture in the room to the left, the movie in the room to the right, the heating fan jetting hot air into our already warm classroom.
I am at the computer again when Ronny comes in to sweep and help me rearrange the desks into tomorrow’s groupings. He pauses at the reading shelf.
“You don’t see ones like this in the classroom very often.” He is holding up Black Enterprise.
I know what he means, but I am tired. I just nod.
“Do you get these at home?”
“From a friend.”
He goes back to sweeping. “Nice to have around, anyway.”
When he leaves I move over to the shelf and stare at the haphazard pilings that the kids have tossed about, then resort them back under their various headings – animals, celebrities, news, sports, automobiles. There is no average 8th grader; there is no common sensibility among my 85 young minds. Some still dig through the piles to find National Geographic for Kids, others pick up Time to read about developments on the Afghanistan war. Others only want to know why they have to read at all.
The more I leave out for them to peruse, the more I can hope they will discover. 85 minds can cover a lot of knowledge, if enough boxes are left open. It is 4:30 again; I leave the magazines, photocopies for tomorrow, and stacks of student journals to be read in the morning.
At 5pm on Thursday Mike is back on my floor, feigning surprise when he finds me in my darkened classroom.
“Boa tarde,” I say.
“Boa noite,” he answers.
“But it’s only 5pm.”
“But is dark out now – boa noite.”
“Boa noite.”
“You getting better, you keep at it maybe someday you be good. But now you got to go home.”
Mike is originally from Portugal, and he’s helping me learn some basics so I can communicate better with students who are newly arrived from Brazil. They laugh at my accent and the limitations of my phrases, but that is ok – it is the communication under the words that counts. The bridge that laughter builds. The box that opens when I say, “Here, I would like to learn from you as well.”
Friday is a town celebration, the start of the holiday season. The kids are always antsy on Fridays, and even more so in December. I keep Fridays as writing practice, individualized and quiet. There are standardized tests in every grade level now, and beyond the on-going struggle to prepare them with content, we also have to teach them certain skills that our society has deemed important for its citizens to perform. Analytical thinking. Backing up your statement with textual evidence. Sitting at your desk and staying focused for long stretches of time.
The kids leave at 2:45 and I follow soon after, finishing attendance and parent emails and shutting down my computer at 3:30. Later I drive downtown and join the crowds on Main Street, strolling past brightly-lit displays in our still-locally owned shops and restaurants, converging at the Town Green that has been transformed for December into a maze of holiday decorations and seasonal statues.
At the Nativity scene, I am crowded off to one side, staring down the chipped, painted faces of the Three Kings. Perhaps it is my first year of teaching that draws me to them -- a representation of Wisdom meeting the Holy Youth. Perhaps it is how they embody the pathos of the Christmas spirit as they lay the best they have to offer at the feet of him who seemed to deserve it the least. Perhaps it is because no one else cares to notice them. The contemplative Mary will soon pop up at the Dunkin Donuts drive-through window, Joseph will be standing on top of the slide at the school playground, baby Jesus will be found lying in his bed on the police station lawn. The Three Kings will stand here in the hay until New Year’s Eve, staring at the empty spots of the Holy Family and waiting, patiently, for their return.
Sunday night I finish grading and then review and revise the week’s plans. I lay out four folders of graded essays to return. Packets of work to be photocopied. Magazines and young adult novels to add to the reading shelf. Art books to keep in the reference section for research projects. Cards for the games we will play to learn grammatical rules, vocabulary roots, and how to embed textual citations. I turn off the light and go to bed, my frankincense and myrrh laid out on the table waiting for me and the morning and a new week of school.
His broom handle points at the clock as he makes his way around the clusters of desks in the room. It is 4:30pm, darker outside now than it was when I came in at 7:30am. I nod and hit print.
“Yeah, I’m leaving.”
“You take care of the rest later,” he nods. “It still be there tomorrow, you know?”
He helps me adjust the desks into rows for tomorrow’s quiz. I leave carefully arranged papers left at the front of the room – the quiz to be photocopied, a freshly-printed worksheet, and now-graded papers to hand back – I follow him out, locking the door behind me.
Tuesday is quiz day. In high school I sat at the back of the room during quizzes, grading those of the period before. Now in 8th grade I am on my feet, on the move. I answer questions from the practical to the absurd, and I open the box for those who have shut it. Again and again and again.
“Do we use all the words from the word bank?” Read the directions again. “Oh.”
“Is this the right answer?” Raised eyebrows, tilted head. “Oh.”
“I’m not taking this quiz.” Okay. Just give me the answers you know. “I don’t know any.” Oh, that’s not true. What about this one? “Ok, but just that one.” Don’t you know this one too? “Oh.”
22 students in the room, 22 different boxes I juggle. At the end of the day I stack my bag with 85 quizzes to correct, 85 worksheets to check off, and 47 minutes of teaching to plan for the next day.
Wednesday’s lesson does not go well. Half the students have not done the homework, and the worksheet doesn’t keep them engaged. I reverse and we recap. Students work on a journal question and I hastily replan. In three minutes I will need to change the homework to diffuse the growing mutiny in the room. My hope is to use those who have got it to work with those who have not. The students’ hope is to not have homework. Somewhere there is a middle ground, but the map to it requires activating student interests, providing enough footholds for them to access the material, and making it relevant to their lives. I have three minutes to draw that map, and 22 students starting to shift restlessly again at the sounds around us – the lecture in the room to the left, the movie in the room to the right, the heating fan jetting hot air into our already warm classroom.
I am at the computer again when Ronny comes in to sweep and help me rearrange the desks into tomorrow’s groupings. He pauses at the reading shelf.
“You don’t see ones like this in the classroom very often.” He is holding up Black Enterprise.
I know what he means, but I am tired. I just nod.
“Do you get these at home?”
“From a friend.”
He goes back to sweeping. “Nice to have around, anyway.”
When he leaves I move over to the shelf and stare at the haphazard pilings that the kids have tossed about, then resort them back under their various headings – animals, celebrities, news, sports, automobiles. There is no average 8th grader; there is no common sensibility among my 85 young minds. Some still dig through the piles to find National Geographic for Kids, others pick up Time to read about developments on the Afghanistan war. Others only want to know why they have to read at all.
The more I leave out for them to peruse, the more I can hope they will discover. 85 minds can cover a lot of knowledge, if enough boxes are left open. It is 4:30 again; I leave the magazines, photocopies for tomorrow, and stacks of student journals to be read in the morning.
At 5pm on Thursday Mike is back on my floor, feigning surprise when he finds me in my darkened classroom.
“Boa tarde,” I say.
“Boa noite,” he answers.
“But it’s only 5pm.”
“But is dark out now – boa noite.”
“Boa noite.”
“You getting better, you keep at it maybe someday you be good. But now you got to go home.”
Mike is originally from Portugal, and he’s helping me learn some basics so I can communicate better with students who are newly arrived from Brazil. They laugh at my accent and the limitations of my phrases, but that is ok – it is the communication under the words that counts. The bridge that laughter builds. The box that opens when I say, “Here, I would like to learn from you as well.”
Friday is a town celebration, the start of the holiday season. The kids are always antsy on Fridays, and even more so in December. I keep Fridays as writing practice, individualized and quiet. There are standardized tests in every grade level now, and beyond the on-going struggle to prepare them with content, we also have to teach them certain skills that our society has deemed important for its citizens to perform. Analytical thinking. Backing up your statement with textual evidence. Sitting at your desk and staying focused for long stretches of time.
The kids leave at 2:45 and I follow soon after, finishing attendance and parent emails and shutting down my computer at 3:30. Later I drive downtown and join the crowds on Main Street, strolling past brightly-lit displays in our still-locally owned shops and restaurants, converging at the Town Green that has been transformed for December into a maze of holiday decorations and seasonal statues.
At the Nativity scene, I am crowded off to one side, staring down the chipped, painted faces of the Three Kings. Perhaps it is my first year of teaching that draws me to them -- a representation of Wisdom meeting the Holy Youth. Perhaps it is how they embody the pathos of the Christmas spirit as they lay the best they have to offer at the feet of him who seemed to deserve it the least. Perhaps it is because no one else cares to notice them. The contemplative Mary will soon pop up at the Dunkin Donuts drive-through window, Joseph will be standing on top of the slide at the school playground, baby Jesus will be found lying in his bed on the police station lawn. The Three Kings will stand here in the hay until New Year’s Eve, staring at the empty spots of the Holy Family and waiting, patiently, for their return.
Sunday night I finish grading and then review and revise the week’s plans. I lay out four folders of graded essays to return. Packets of work to be photocopied. Magazines and young adult novels to add to the reading shelf. Art books to keep in the reference section for research projects. Cards for the games we will play to learn grammatical rules, vocabulary roots, and how to embed textual citations. I turn off the light and go to bed, my frankincense and myrrh laid out on the table waiting for me and the morning and a new week of school.
How to Become a Teacher While Living in Alaska, in 39 Steps
Step 1: Move to Alaska.
Step 2: Find the school district office and pick up a packet of forms. Attempt to submit name for orientation training; instead, submit name to be notified for when next orientation is scheduled.
Step 3: Fill out I-9 and W-4.
Step 4: Find health records and begin to fill out health questionnaire. Call sister for help matching up vaccination records (DTP, MMR) with disease names (Diptheria, Smallpox, Typhoid, Polio, Tetanus).
Step 5: Discover you were never vaccinated against Smallpox or Typhoid.
Step 6: Check up on the forms for individual health insurance you filed the month before. Begin searching for a walk-in clinic that will fill out your physical/emotional evaluation and, possibly, vaccinate you against diseases you previously thought eradicated from American society.
Step 7: Almost sign the “Oath of Office” form without reading. Upon closer examination, decide to read the Constitution of the State of Alaska before solemnly swearing (or affirming) to support and defend it.
Step 8: Search online for the Alaskan Constitution. Download instead a 255 page “Citizens Guide to the Constitution.”
Step 9: Move on to something else.
Step 10: Begin online application by registering on school district website.
Step 11: Cut and paste name and address from resume into #1 (personal info) and #2 (postal information). Read through vacancies and available positions. Decide that you do not want to apply for the principal, coach, or lifeguard positions. Select “substitute teacher/general.” (Under positions desired, select ELA and confess to having student teaching experience only. Hesitatingly select Theater technician, and admit to having 10 years of experience.)
Step 12: Cut and paste experience and reference sections of resume into #5: experience. Realize with dismay that trading theater for teaching has so far resulted in an 80% pay cut.
Step 13: Cut and paste education section of resume to #8: education. Realize you have no idea what “number of semester hours in major area” even means.
Step 13.5: Email friends from undergrad for help.
Step 14: Save application, and go to undergraduate/graduate school websites to order transcripts.
Step 15: Return to application.
Step 16: Fail to find the MTEL Communication and Literacy test under the drop-down list for #11: Have you completed a Basic Competency Exam? Answer yes anyway, and list it as “other.”
Step 17: Make copy of score results to add to HR packet.
Step 18: Discover, with dismay, that you only meet two of the three the “Highly Qualified” federal standards:
a. Hold a minimum of a Bachelors degree from an Accredited University
b. Hold a current, active, teaching certificate in the state in which you teach
c. Have passed a state-based subject/content area test in the subject(s) in which you teach.
... because your MA teaching certificate, while current, was not activated while teaching as a permanent substitute in Massachusetts during the past year.
Step 19: Describe the skills or attributes necessary for being an outstanding teacher.
Step 20: Describe how to address a wide range of skills in the classroom.
Step 21: Beat head against the wall.
Step 22: Contact three professional references to advise them that an online survey will be heading their way.
Step 23: Read #25: Geographical preference. Call boyfriend to ask what “Small Schools/Fly-in” and “Russian Schools” means.
Step 24: Sign in agreement that the Borough School District may seek to obtain background information on me from third parties, financial sources, employees, State Troopers, and the FBI. Also agree to pay any fees this may incur.
Step 25: Call local non-profit clinic for general physical and discover that the (discounted) cost for the physical is $126.
Step 26: Complete physical: determine emotional stability, accurately hear a word whispered from across the room to prove physical health, pee into a cup to rule out diabetes.
Step 27: Call school nurse to schedule free TB test.
Step 28: Find high school, have TB test shot.
Step 29: Return three days later to have TB test read. (Result: negative.)
Step 30: Spend several hours on the phone trying to track down MA certificate of licensure (first discovering original was lost in the mail 1.5 years ago).
Step 31: Bring packet of documents back to Borough office (W-4, I-9, Health Questionnaire, Physical Examination form, Oath of Office, Cover Letter, Resume, Transcripts, Copy of certificate, copy of MTEL results).
Step 32: Receive phone call about a full-time position opening up in hometown in Massachusetts.
Step 33: Sigh.
Step 34: Attend one-day substitute training seminar to talk about models of education, discipline and classroom management, and why it is inappropriate to hit the children.
Step 35: Narrowly avoid gouging own eyes out with the plastic forks supplied at the lunch break.
Step 36: Begin studying for Praxis exams, to replace rejected MTEL results.
Step 37: Take 4.5 hour Praxis test.
Step 38: Learn from boyfriend that he intends to apply for PhD programs in Texas.
Step 39: Buy a plane ticket home.
Step 2: Find the school district office and pick up a packet of forms. Attempt to submit name for orientation training; instead, submit name to be notified for when next orientation is scheduled.
Step 3: Fill out I-9 and W-4.
Step 4: Find health records and begin to fill out health questionnaire. Call sister for help matching up vaccination records (DTP, MMR) with disease names (Diptheria, Smallpox, Typhoid, Polio, Tetanus).
Step 5: Discover you were never vaccinated against Smallpox or Typhoid.
Step 6: Check up on the forms for individual health insurance you filed the month before. Begin searching for a walk-in clinic that will fill out your physical/emotional evaluation and, possibly, vaccinate you against diseases you previously thought eradicated from American society.
Step 7: Almost sign the “Oath of Office” form without reading. Upon closer examination, decide to read the Constitution of the State of Alaska before solemnly swearing (or affirming) to support and defend it.
Step 8: Search online for the Alaskan Constitution. Download instead a 255 page “Citizens Guide to the Constitution.”
Step 9: Move on to something else.
Step 10: Begin online application by registering on school district website.
Step 11: Cut and paste name and address from resume into #1 (personal info) and #2 (postal information). Read through vacancies and available positions. Decide that you do not want to apply for the principal, coach, or lifeguard positions. Select “substitute teacher/general.” (Under positions desired, select ELA and confess to having student teaching experience only. Hesitatingly select Theater technician, and admit to having 10 years of experience.)
Step 12: Cut and paste experience and reference sections of resume into #5: experience. Realize with dismay that trading theater for teaching has so far resulted in an 80% pay cut.
Step 13: Cut and paste education section of resume to #8: education. Realize you have no idea what “number of semester hours in major area” even means.
Step 13.5: Email friends from undergrad for help.
Step 14: Save application, and go to undergraduate/graduate school websites to order transcripts.
Step 15: Return to application.
Step 16: Fail to find the MTEL Communication and Literacy test under the drop-down list for #11: Have you completed a Basic Competency Exam? Answer yes anyway, and list it as “other.”
Step 17: Make copy of score results to add to HR packet.
Step 18: Discover, with dismay, that you only meet two of the three the “Highly Qualified” federal standards:
a. Hold a minimum of a Bachelors degree from an Accredited University
b. Hold a current, active, teaching certificate in the state in which you teach
c. Have passed a state-based subject/content area test in the subject(s) in which you teach.
... because your MA teaching certificate, while current, was not activated while teaching as a permanent substitute in Massachusetts during the past year.
Step 19: Describe the skills or attributes necessary for being an outstanding teacher.
Step 20: Describe how to address a wide range of skills in the classroom.
Step 21: Beat head against the wall.
Step 22: Contact three professional references to advise them that an online survey will be heading their way.
Step 23: Read #25: Geographical preference. Call boyfriend to ask what “Small Schools/Fly-in” and “Russian Schools” means.
Step 24: Sign in agreement that the Borough School District may seek to obtain background information on me from third parties, financial sources, employees, State Troopers, and the FBI. Also agree to pay any fees this may incur.
Step 25: Call local non-profit clinic for general physical and discover that the (discounted) cost for the physical is $126.
Step 26: Complete physical: determine emotional stability, accurately hear a word whispered from across the room to prove physical health, pee into a cup to rule out diabetes.
Step 27: Call school nurse to schedule free TB test.
Step 28: Find high school, have TB test shot.
Step 29: Return three days later to have TB test read. (Result: negative.)
Step 30: Spend several hours on the phone trying to track down MA certificate of licensure (first discovering original was lost in the mail 1.5 years ago).
Step 31: Bring packet of documents back to Borough office (W-4, I-9, Health Questionnaire, Physical Examination form, Oath of Office, Cover Letter, Resume, Transcripts, Copy of certificate, copy of MTEL results).
Step 32: Receive phone call about a full-time position opening up in hometown in Massachusetts.
Step 33: Sigh.
Step 34: Attend one-day substitute training seminar to talk about models of education, discipline and classroom management, and why it is inappropriate to hit the children.
Step 35: Narrowly avoid gouging own eyes out with the plastic forks supplied at the lunch break.
Step 36: Begin studying for Praxis exams, to replace rejected MTEL results.
Step 37: Take 4.5 hour Praxis test.
Step 38: Learn from boyfriend that he intends to apply for PhD programs in Texas.
Step 39: Buy a plane ticket home.
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