I'm working with a small group of second graders doing reading work for a half-hour. This week was my first week.
I have six second-graders in my group, two boys, four girls. One boy shows definite signs of wanting to be the small group clown. On Wednesday, I tried channeling his energy into more positive areas; I had him lead the group in some exercises in reading expressively. We also talked a bit about enunciation and pacing (one girl tends to rush). With all that in mind, I decided to bring in something special on Thursday.
I'd hinted about doing something cool, so when everybody saw the sheets of paper I passed out, they said, "Is that the fun thing?" But I instructed them to keep the pages turned to the back until we finished other activities.
Our small group clown dallied. I let everyone else who had finished turn the pages over while he continued to work. "If we don't get to the fun stuff because of you, the group's gonna be mad at you!" I warned. He picked up the pace.
At last he was done. I explained to the group that when I was just a little older than they are, I had discovered this poem and committed it to memory. I told them to pay attention to what happened as I recited it. They all had copies; I didn't, but our small group clown still thought I was cheating and looking at a page until I looked him dead in the eye as I rattled off my lines.
The poem was Crossing, by Philip Booth, and it goes like this:
"Stop Look Listen/as gate stripes swing down/count the cars hauling distance/upgrade through town:/warning whistle, bellclang,/engine eating steam/engineer waving/a fast freight dream:/B&M boxcar/boxcar again,/Frisco gondola/eight-nine-ten/Erie and Wabash,/Seabord, U.P.,/Pennsy tankcar,/twenty-two,three,/Phoebe Snow, B&O,/thirty-four,five,/Santa Fe cattle/ shipped alive/red cars yellow cars,/orange cars, black,/Youngstown steel/down to Mobile/on Rock Island track,/fifty-nine,sixty,/hoppers of coke,/Anaconda copper,/hotbox smoke,/eighty-eight,/red-ball freight,/Rio Grande,/Nickel Plate,/Hiawatha,/Lackawanna,/rolling fast/and loose,/ninety-seven,/coal car,/boxcar,/caboose!"
What happened, of course, was the poem sped up as the train sped up. "Do that again!" they said. This time I suggested they try reading along with me as I recited it. I asked them to guess how many cars were on the train; what was the last number and how many cars came after that?
They all took their copies with them. One little girl said, her eyes shining, "I'm going to take it home and memorize it this weekend and then I'll say it to you on Monday!"
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
My impressions of U2 in Chicago.
(Spoiler alert: this post mentions songs U2 are performing on their 360 Tour. If you are trying to avoid hearing about the setlist, you might want to skip the last few paragraphs.)
I had made plans months back to see this show, the opening night of the North American leg of U2's 360 Tour, but sold my ticket once I started thinking about all of my travel obligations this fall (which include going to see U2 in Raleigh, so it's not like I would miss them entirely). Then about a week before the show, I heard the ticket was up for grabs again. I thought, well, if it's going to go to all of that trouble to find its way back to me, who am I to stand in the way of Destiny? So I made some hotel reservations, talked to a Chicago-based friend about meeting her for dinner, and trundled up the highway.
Once I arrived--my first driving experience in Chicago, by the way, though it hardly counts because I basically exited Lake Shore Drive into a parking lot--I could see the top of the Claw, U2's massive stage set, peeking out over the stands of Soldier Field. I could also see the folks in the general admission line starting to go in. One friend had gotten there early that morning and reported 500 people in line at 6:15 am. (U2 hit the stage about fifteen hours after that.)
My Chicago friend and I had dinner at Valencia. We'd been searching for a place to eat and took the recommendation of a passing Chicagoan--she did not steer us wrong. We had gazpacho, I had sea bass with crabmeat and saffron butter, she had mussels drizzled with yumminess. Valencia also served pomegranate martinis, but I figured it wouldn't be smart to indulge in one of those. All in all, a lovely way to celebrate making it to Chicago.
We said our goodbyes, I joined the throng streaming into the stadium, and then I was in. I had a general admission ticket, but my first look at the Claw in all its glory was from up in the stands. I've heard folks say that you have to see it in person to appreciate the scale of this setup, and it's true. I'd seen lots of pictures but I was still well and truly gobsmacked. The legs stretched from one of the field to the other--a football field!
I'm gonna go off on a tangent here for a sec but stay with me. I've got a recording of a fake folk song, a parody of the genre, about the custom of hunting the wren. In the course of it one singer asks why anyone would hunt such a small bird: "It won't need much stuffing/I don't see the sense."
"Of course it's not big though," the other singer responds. "It's one of the salient features of wrens."
I bring this up because this week the Washington Post had a piece about this tour which basically criticized U2 for being ambitious. Reading it I found myself singing, "It's one of the salient features..." I mean, come on. Has the Post been paying any attention over the last 33 years?
One thing I will say for the article, however--the writer did manage to capture the Claw's unique presence: "When the band performs beneath this hulking piece of technology, it appears as if planet Earth has decided to sacrifice its highest-grossing Irish rock troupe to our new alien overlords."
As for the concert itself--I was near the "back" of the field (with a setup like this, it's hard to talk seriously about back or front) both because I wasn't on the field until opening act Snow Patrol were gone and because I wasn't interested in being in the crush of bodies at the "front."
When U2 took the stage and the screen high above us flickered to life, I was disoriented in a way I haven't heard anyone comment on as yet. Remember--I was in a football stadium, a filled football stadium, three-quarters of the way down the field or more, several thousand people in front of me, sky overhead. But the sound was crisp and clear and perfect, like I was in Sheldon Concert Hall, except way way louder.
I had known on an intellectual level that the whole point of designing the Claw was to get the speakers out of the way of everyone's sightlines. Now I took a good look at them. I counted eighteen speakers in a column, six columns across, two arrays like that (one on each side) between each leg. And the screen in the middle. The very convincing illusion provided by this mustered woofing and tweeting power is that it's the 50 foot tall Bono, Edge, Adam and Larry making all the noise, not their tiny counterparts far beneath. This messed with my head.
There's a very high percentage of songs performed from the three most recent albums. Once I realized this, I also realized that none of them have been played in a US stadium before--or indeed in a show specifically designed as a stadium show. And speaking of hearing things in a new way--I also realized I hadn't seen U2 live since moving to Cincinnati. My life is so, so different now; the connections I'm making to the songs are different. Not better or worse, just different. It was not something I consciously realized until I had put the "U2 concert" marker down on this part of my life.
It was an enthusiastic crowd--hey, it's Chicago, one of the top two places in the US to see U2, in my opinion--but it was still fun to watch the waves of "Huh?" roll through it when the band launched into a dance remix of "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight." People were dancing by the end, though.
During "Ultraviolet," I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, expecting maybe one of the folks I knew who were attending the show. No--it was a guy I didn't know. "I love this song!" he said. I have him a thumbs up. There are worse encounters one can have with a random drunk guy.
There is much more I can talk about, but there is also being home, and sleep.
I had made plans months back to see this show, the opening night of the North American leg of U2's 360 Tour, but sold my ticket once I started thinking about all of my travel obligations this fall (which include going to see U2 in Raleigh, so it's not like I would miss them entirely). Then about a week before the show, I heard the ticket was up for grabs again. I thought, well, if it's going to go to all of that trouble to find its way back to me, who am I to stand in the way of Destiny? So I made some hotel reservations, talked to a Chicago-based friend about meeting her for dinner, and trundled up the highway.
Once I arrived--my first driving experience in Chicago, by the way, though it hardly counts because I basically exited Lake Shore Drive into a parking lot--I could see the top of the Claw, U2's massive stage set, peeking out over the stands of Soldier Field. I could also see the folks in the general admission line starting to go in. One friend had gotten there early that morning and reported 500 people in line at 6:15 am. (U2 hit the stage about fifteen hours after that.)
My Chicago friend and I had dinner at Valencia. We'd been searching for a place to eat and took the recommendation of a passing Chicagoan--she did not steer us wrong. We had gazpacho, I had sea bass with crabmeat and saffron butter, she had mussels drizzled with yumminess. Valencia also served pomegranate martinis, but I figured it wouldn't be smart to indulge in one of those. All in all, a lovely way to celebrate making it to Chicago.
We said our goodbyes, I joined the throng streaming into the stadium, and then I was in. I had a general admission ticket, but my first look at the Claw in all its glory was from up in the stands. I've heard folks say that you have to see it in person to appreciate the scale of this setup, and it's true. I'd seen lots of pictures but I was still well and truly gobsmacked. The legs stretched from one of the field to the other--a football field!
I'm gonna go off on a tangent here for a sec but stay with me. I've got a recording of a fake folk song, a parody of the genre, about the custom of hunting the wren. In the course of it one singer asks why anyone would hunt such a small bird: "It won't need much stuffing/I don't see the sense."
"Of course it's not big though," the other singer responds. "It's one of the salient features of wrens."
I bring this up because this week the Washington Post had a piece about this tour which basically criticized U2 for being ambitious. Reading it I found myself singing, "It's one of the salient features..." I mean, come on. Has the Post been paying any attention over the last 33 years?
One thing I will say for the article, however--the writer did manage to capture the Claw's unique presence: "When the band performs beneath this hulking piece of technology, it appears as if planet Earth has decided to sacrifice its highest-grossing Irish rock troupe to our new alien overlords."
As for the concert itself--I was near the "back" of the field (with a setup like this, it's hard to talk seriously about back or front) both because I wasn't on the field until opening act Snow Patrol were gone and because I wasn't interested in being in the crush of bodies at the "front."
When U2 took the stage and the screen high above us flickered to life, I was disoriented in a way I haven't heard anyone comment on as yet. Remember--I was in a football stadium, a filled football stadium, three-quarters of the way down the field or more, several thousand people in front of me, sky overhead. But the sound was crisp and clear and perfect, like I was in Sheldon Concert Hall, except way way louder.
I had known on an intellectual level that the whole point of designing the Claw was to get the speakers out of the way of everyone's sightlines. Now I took a good look at them. I counted eighteen speakers in a column, six columns across, two arrays like that (one on each side) between each leg. And the screen in the middle. The very convincing illusion provided by this mustered woofing and tweeting power is that it's the 50 foot tall Bono, Edge, Adam and Larry making all the noise, not their tiny counterparts far beneath. This messed with my head.
There's a very high percentage of songs performed from the three most recent albums. Once I realized this, I also realized that none of them have been played in a US stadium before--or indeed in a show specifically designed as a stadium show. And speaking of hearing things in a new way--I also realized I hadn't seen U2 live since moving to Cincinnati. My life is so, so different now; the connections I'm making to the songs are different. Not better or worse, just different. It was not something I consciously realized until I had put the "U2 concert" marker down on this part of my life.
It was an enthusiastic crowd--hey, it's Chicago, one of the top two places in the US to see U2, in my opinion--but it was still fun to watch the waves of "Huh?" roll through it when the band launched into a dance remix of "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight." People were dancing by the end, though.
During "Ultraviolet," I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, expecting maybe one of the folks I knew who were attending the show. No--it was a guy I didn't know. "I love this song!" he said. I have him a thumbs up. There are worse encounters one can have with a random drunk guy.
There is much more I can talk about, but there is also being home, and sleep.
Monday, September 7, 2009
My first report card, as it were.
I have a Dr Pepper within reach, I've gotten my assignments completed for tomorrow and the day after, and in a little while I should begin my reading assignments for the rest of the week. It's the best possible time to catch you up on what the last couple of weeks have been like.
Our story so far: at the beginning of summer I enrolled in the College of Mount St. Joseph's Accelerated Master's Degree program for Inclusive Early Childhood, which will certify me to teach young'uns from 3 years old to 3rd grade, with an option to tack on an endorsement at the end to teach 4th and 5th grade as well. Two weeks ago, local public grade schools went into session. Part of our program is a period of observation in grade school classrooms, so my classmates and I fanned out across Cincinnati to kindergarten, first grade, second grade, third grade...
I haven't been in a grade school classroom since St. Thomas of Aquin closed its doors after my eighth grade graduation. Happily, I was paired with a mentor teacher with thirty years' experience (she taught one of the people teaching at her school now when she was in second grade!), and she has made me feel right at home. I'm in a second grade classroom with twenty-one children, with books and dry erase boards and math manipulatives and reward stickers and much, much more. At the start of the day one student is in charge of changing the calendar date to the correct one, and another gives us a weather report. We say the Pledge of Allegiance and try to follow proper protocol when we line up to go from one room to the next.
The first day was really, really tough--long and disorienting, and it didn't help that I knew I'd have my own graduate-level class to attend at the end of it. (I'm in the grade school from 7:30 in the morning until 2:45 in the afternoon, then I have class from 4 to 6:30. That's my Monday to Thursday schedule; on Fridays I have one 5 1/2 hour class and no observation time in the second grade room.) On my way to my own class I impulsively pulled in to a nature preserve and took about a half-hour walk through the woods; that helped. Also, my professor that night talked about how teachers should be in the "ministry of presence" business; "You're adults," he told us, "so you can act like you want to be there even if you're having the kind of day when you don't feel like it! Just get across to your children, 'I am here for you.'" It was a timely message.
One more thing. There is an incredible range of proficiencies in the classroom I'm observing--both in terms of academics and behavior/social skills. If it hadn't been for this program, I wouldn't have had the chance to see how a dedicated teacher can work with each child, meeting each child where he or she is, and coaxing him or her to take many more steps forward. Just in the short time I have been in the classroom, I've come to a new appreciation of the patience, the perseverance, the commitment it takes for teachers to do what they do all day. It has been a tremendous privilege.
Our story so far: at the beginning of summer I enrolled in the College of Mount St. Joseph's Accelerated Master's Degree program for Inclusive Early Childhood, which will certify me to teach young'uns from 3 years old to 3rd grade, with an option to tack on an endorsement at the end to teach 4th and 5th grade as well. Two weeks ago, local public grade schools went into session. Part of our program is a period of observation in grade school classrooms, so my classmates and I fanned out across Cincinnati to kindergarten, first grade, second grade, third grade...
I haven't been in a grade school classroom since St. Thomas of Aquin closed its doors after my eighth grade graduation. Happily, I was paired with a mentor teacher with thirty years' experience (she taught one of the people teaching at her school now when she was in second grade!), and she has made me feel right at home. I'm in a second grade classroom with twenty-one children, with books and dry erase boards and math manipulatives and reward stickers and much, much more. At the start of the day one student is in charge of changing the calendar date to the correct one, and another gives us a weather report. We say the Pledge of Allegiance and try to follow proper protocol when we line up to go from one room to the next.
The first day was really, really tough--long and disorienting, and it didn't help that I knew I'd have my own graduate-level class to attend at the end of it. (I'm in the grade school from 7:30 in the morning until 2:45 in the afternoon, then I have class from 4 to 6:30. That's my Monday to Thursday schedule; on Fridays I have one 5 1/2 hour class and no observation time in the second grade room.) On my way to my own class I impulsively pulled in to a nature preserve and took about a half-hour walk through the woods; that helped. Also, my professor that night talked about how teachers should be in the "ministry of presence" business; "You're adults," he told us, "so you can act like you want to be there even if you're having the kind of day when you don't feel like it! Just get across to your children, 'I am here for you.'" It was a timely message.
One more thing. There is an incredible range of proficiencies in the classroom I'm observing--both in terms of academics and behavior/social skills. If it hadn't been for this program, I wouldn't have had the chance to see how a dedicated teacher can work with each child, meeting each child where he or she is, and coaxing him or her to take many more steps forward. Just in the short time I have been in the classroom, I've come to a new appreciation of the patience, the perseverance, the commitment it takes for teachers to do what they do all day. It has been a tremendous privilege.
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