"What's a solid?"

                When adulthood enters into its third decade, we can lead ourselves to believe that the wisdom acquired through past successes and failures will help us move closer to the unobtainable goal of knowing it all.  Almost inevitably; however, an experience arrives that forces us to retreat into the reanalysis of what we know and, more importantly, what we don't know.  Although experiences such as these occur daily, a couple of weeks ago I visited a second grade classroom at Pennsauken's Delair Elementary School and was figuratively knocked down by an eight-year-old child who, during a geometry lesson, asked me a question that I could not answer.

                "What's a solid?"

                There I was . . . age 35 . . . a teacher with ten years experience (in high school English) . . . yet I could not help a student answer the most basic of questions.  I didn't know what a solid was. 

                Don't panic. . .

                Try to repress the F that you received in the fourth grade math. . .

                Think happy thoughts. . .

                Smile. . .

                And pray that the student figures it out on her own. . .

               

                At that moment, my respect for elementary teachers grew tenfold.  Although they'll never admit to it, the case could be made that elementary teachers do know it all in the sense that they must grasp all school subjects equally well in order to effectively instruct students in each.  I only know one subject -- English -- and I admit that, at times, I'm not very effective when I teach it. . .

                Although the students before me in Miss Brenda Mason's second grade classroom were small in stature, I was the one who felt small.  As the 22 students worked on their "Problem of the Day," I reached a conclusion that had never occurred to me before:

                Although we are both teachers in the same school district, Miss Mason and I have very different jobs.  High school and elementary school teachers require vastly different skill sets -- more different than I had ever imagined. 

                The more that I thought about it, the more I realized that I don't have the skill set necessary to do Miss Mason's job.  After all, I couldn’t even define a solid. . .

               

                In writing the passage above, I may have inadvertently revealed another difference between Miss Mason and me (and I intentionally tried not to do this, too).  You can probably tell that I am writing this part as I revise before posting. 

                Anyway, I mentioned above that I teach "English." 

                If you ask Miss Mason what she teaches, she would say, "second grade." 

                Interesting. . .  Do I believe that I teach the students . . . or do I teach the subject?  I wonder: is this like seeing the cup as half empty or half full?  Hmmnn. . .

                I have a feeling that it's going to be a long night at the computer. . .  Now where did I put my Philosophy textbook from college? 

                So . . . what can a high school teacher learn from an elementary school teacher?  After all, that was what I told Miss Mason's students that I was there to find out.

                First of all, I saw something in Miss Mason's classroom that I had forgotten.  There was an element present in the room that seemed to arc through the air.  Students shifted in their seats, concentrated their eyes on the Smartboard, balanced pencils in their hands, and developed their answers on their papers.  As the scene played out before me, I remembered what I had forgotten.

                All children love to learn. 

                When Miss Mason asked for volunteers, it seemed that every student raised a hand in response.  They shared answers, handed out papers, and stated their guesses to their partners (by whispering).  Students tried practice problems at the board.  Sometimes a different student came up to erase others' work by fulfilling the classroom role of the "Board Eraser."  Two students were given the highly prized role of "Checker" and verified their classmates' answers upon completion (these Checkers took their roles very seriously, by the way.  Neither let a classmate slide if he or she had a wrong answer written down). 

                It seemed to me that every student was excited -- even proud -- to be there . . . in that room . . . learning about solids.  In fact, when Miss Mason informed her class that it was time for students to try a problem on their own, one girl in the back of the room clutched her hand into a fist, and with a swift forward punch and backward pull, exclaimed, "YES!" 

                I'm not kidding.  She said, "YES!"

                I teach high school English on the "Explorations" Level.  My students are not college preparatory and often struggle with their work.  At times, they can be apathetic.  About half of my students are classified as special education students, which denotes that a colleague co-teach the classes with me.  These classes fall within the "inclusion" model. 

                I honestly believe that all of my students are great kids who just need a little extra push in order to achieve success. 

                 I've learned that my ability to motivate my students can determine the success or failure of a particular lesson.  If I don't properly "sell" a new unit or project, all hope of a decent class average can quickly be lost. 

                What I learned by observing Miss Mason's class is that, for a variety of reasons, time can have an adverse affect upon students' desire to be in school learning new things.  I don't yet understand the reasons for this, so maybe I'll save that topic for another blog entry. 

                I want my students to love my school and love my class.  Sometimes, they do.  Sometimes; however, they don't. 

                This is a reality that I am not happy to admit. 

                As I reflect upon my visit to Delair Elementary School, I realize that Miss Mason's students want to learn for learning's sake; my students sometimes want to learn only because I've motivated them to do so. 

                Of course, this statement isn't exactly fair to Miss Mason, for I'm sure that over the course of the school year she has overcome many challenges in order to reach this level with her students: a level where they feel comfortable in the classroom and are not afraid to make mistakes.  Honestly though -- she made her work seem so effortless that it was as if the students were on autopilot, which is the signature of an effective teacher. 

                Now, let me clarify that I do not believe that Miss Mason has an easier job than I do.  Anyone who can make something extremely challenging, like teaching a class of 22 second-graders, look effortless has a real gift.  Still, do you think elementary teachers have it easy?  Consider these particulars:

                Elementary teachers must complete lesson plans for each of the subjects that they teach each day.  Although you can tell by now that math is not my strong suit, this means that elementary teachers write about thirty-five different lesson plans every week.

                During report card time, elementary teachers must assign a grade to each of their students for each of the five core subjects that they are taught.  Don't think that sounds like a lot of work?  Well, elementary teachers must also compose comments and narratives that describe each student's individual strengths and weaknesses.  These comments are printed on the report cards, which themselves can run upwards of seven pages per student. 

                What's more, Miss Mason spends dozens of hours writing and revising her special education students’ Individualized Education Programs (or IEPs), which are legal documents that identify the services that special education students are to receive. 

                And with that, we’re back to special education. . .

                I mentioned above that I teach inclusion classes, and special education law denotes that a colleague assist me.  Half of the time I assist him, and the classes have become our classes.  Well, eight of Miss Mason's 22 students are classified as special education students.  The model that my school district has adopted stipulates that Miss Mason is not entitled to a co-teacher because her special education numbers are slightly lower than mine.  Slightly is the key word here. 

                That . . . and Miss Mason also happens to be certified in elementary education AND special education.  Essentially, she is one teacher performing the job of two. 

               

                I said before that my students just need a little extra push to get where they need to be.  My students' co-teacher helps to ensure that each of them get that push because, with two of us in the classroom, more time can be devoted to individual needs.   

                Without help, it becomes harder to give that push.  Without help, Miss Mason must do it all on her own.  Well, Miss Mason is not exactly alone. . .

                Here is where I need to tell you about Miss Swirsky.

                About a half hour into my visit, Miss Swirsky appeared in the doorway pushing a metal cart.  The cart seemed to wheel itself into a position by the door as if it had found its home.  But Miss Swirsky doesn’t have a “home” – a classroom of her own, which is why she has a cart. 

                The cart contains everything that a traveling teacher might need: paper, pencils, art supplies, straws, whiteboards, dry erase markers, magnetic money, dice, fraction slips, mini clocks, "base ten blocks," connecting cubes, math manipulatives, etc.  Of course, Miss Swirsky never travels without the most prized item in any elementary teacher’s school supply arsenal:

                Glue sticks!

                If you don’t believe me, try telling elementary teachers that their order of glue sticks is late.  Consider yourself lucky if you make it out of the room alive.

                Anyway, Miss. Swirsky is what’s known as a basic skills teacher.  However, there is nothing basic about Miss Swirsky.  She does a very important job.

                Miss Swirsky visits every classroom in the school twice each week in order to provide the students with a co-teacher for at least a couple of lessons.  She helps to give students that little extra push that some need in order to achieve success. 

                Although you could say that she works in the field, there is no downtime for Miss Swirsky. 

                Even before her cart had reached a complete stop, Miss Swirsky was engaged in the lesson.  Within seconds, she had sized-up where every student was in the individual practice activity.  Excitement was in the air.  Students looked at their papers as if to say, “Game On!”

                Mrs. Swirsky addressed each student by his or her name.  I couldn’t get over that.  Here she is -- every day working in a series of different classrooms and every week coming into contact with each of Delair Elementary School’s 400 students -- and she remembered students’ names.  For someone like me who could be called the Absent-Minded Professor, this is unreal. 

                During my visit, the closest thing that could be considered a dramatic event occurred as students were packing up their math supplies.  During the lesson, each student received a set of individual wooden shapes (or SOLIDS) that they were combining with others in order to form bigger sha . . . solids.  Well, one student (let's call him "the Collector") took it upon himself to collect the solids (stored in Ziplock bags), and another (let's call him "Martin") became upset with this.   The Collector had his hand hurt by Martin because the Collector had attempted to gather the supplies a little too readily. 

                The Collector was about to start crying.  Uh oh. 

                But Mrs. Swirsky arrived to save the day.

                “Do we need to cry about this?” Mrs. Swirsky began.

                The Collector looked like he would start howling any second.  He said, “But he crushed my hand.”

                Mrs. Swirsky took control.  “Take a deep breath.” 

                The Collector obeyed but still seemed intent on crying up a storm.

                “Take another one,” Mrs. Swirsky continued.  “Take another one,” she added.

                The Collector was now quiet and calm.  I couldn’t help but smile.  A student’s dignity had been preserved for another day.  

                It is highly effective educators like Miss Mason and Miss Swirsky, who work in less than ideal circumstances, that make our district a special place.  All teachers, regardless of grade level, invest a daunting amount of time and energy into preparation, planning, and paperwork, but this is only half of the story.  To see them in their element -- teaching their students -- is magic. 

                However, I worry about them.  Everyone has a limit, and I fear that their cup will soon overflow from its fill of new duties, the latest fads in educational programs, standardized testing responsibilities, increasing paperwork, and rising class sizes.  Miss Swirsky and Miss Mason are keeping their heads above water . . . for now. 

                Through my visit to Miss Mason’s classroom, I now see more clearly the fact that elementary teachers have huge demands on their time -- just like I do.  Just like ALL teachers do.  Miss Mason and Miss Swirsky’s students may be small, but their responsibilities to them are enormous. 

                Remember, no teacher has a cushion for a job.  If you ever think that they do . . .

                Try making a student say “YES!” after you tell them that it's time to do math.

                Try making a second grader stop crying.

                Try pushing a cart in Miss Swirsky’s shoes.

                It’s all not as easy as it sounds, and not everyone can do it.