Day One: We Need To Talk
Why didn't I start this way before?
It's my second run in the Acceleration Academy at International High School, and it already feels different. I'm not panicking. I'm not on edge. I have a plan for all five days that I know works. I know how to get where I'm going in the building, and people there recognize me. The Lawrence police officer who works at the reception desk. The principal at International High. The teacher across the hall who taught here last year. They all know me. That means something else is in the air that I can't describe, and on the van ride, I figured out precisely what it is.
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It didn't quite occur to me that I was teaching in Lawrence again this year. I got the big ceremony and professional development day last year, and the jacket I wear when I attended that award ceremony has become part of my normal dress during the colder months. The plaque I got is on my desk where I work in Bangor, Maine. Last year happened, and I was aware of it from the day I got the email to the moment I left.
But even with all that proof around me, it just didn't hit me until last night that this was my second year in Lawrence, and that I had a chance to do things better, to do things differently than I had done them before. And there was one thing I knew I had to change above all else.
There needed to be a contract.
I did not like the feeling of uncertainty that came with last year. I did not like wondering if I had really done my best work. I did not like wondering if those kids had graduated or not, and I certainly didn't like feeling like I needed to turn the clock back and change things. Last year was an eye-opener, but it certainly wasn't my best teaching in hindsight. I also didn't like the chaos and lack of focus that came with teaching last year. I see that now. So, the instant we started this year, I told my kids we needed to talk.
I showed them a picture of Meredith on my phone. I told them that I was giving up a week of my vacation time, and doing something that took a great deal of courage and risk, to come and help them learn the math they need to graduate. I also let them know that I knew they were sacrificing the same thing. All education is a sacrifice in some way; we sacrifice our viewpoints for the chance to change them, and we sacrifice time and energy into leaving our current selves behind for better ones. But this time, it was giving up time and space with people and things we love in order to earn tangible rewards put immediately in front of us.
For them, it is their diploma. A sheet of paper that could radically alter their future in the United States.
What do we need to do to get this done? I asked them.
I wrote two things on the paper that I insisted upon: focus on the goal, and no distractions.
I told my students I needed to hear from them what no distractions meant. It meant no talking out of turn, and no talking about anything but math. It meant helping each other out when they could. It meant not giving up on problems, and always seeking help when needed.
It meant no phones.
I told them that I could spend all day on my phone if I was allowed. I'd be surfing the Internet and Snapchatting and all that other stuff. I put my phone in my shirt pocket and said, "if I can't do it, neither can you." I got head nods. They understood. They got it. And when the contract was written after a bunch of other things got added to it, they signed it.
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I only dealt with three student phone issues today. All three of them were selfie issues, with students who were done with whatever task I asked them to take care of at that moment. And part of me just thought, dammit, Mike, let it go. They're done measuring the height of the building. They're smart kids. They've earned it. Let it go.
But that's just it. They haven't. The goal is not reached yet. We aren't done yet, not by a long shot. And I needed my class to know that we are in it for the long haul. So I insisted they put the phones away. I let them know there would be another time, another place, another break. And when we got back into the classroom, I pointed at the 'no phone' clause, and asked if it really happened, if the contract they committed to had really been upheld.
I didn't have to say "no." The kids said it for me.
It's my second run in the Acceleration Academy at International High School, and it already feels different. I'm not panicking. I'm not on edge. I have a plan for all five days that I know works. I know how to get where I'm going in the building, and people there recognize me. The Lawrence police officer who works at the reception desk. The principal at International High. The teacher across the hall who taught here last year. They all know me. That means something else is in the air that I can't describe, and on the van ride, I figured out precisely what it is.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
It didn't quite occur to me that I was teaching in Lawrence again this year. I got the big ceremony and professional development day last year, and the jacket I wear when I attended that award ceremony has become part of my normal dress during the colder months. The plaque I got is on my desk where I work in Bangor, Maine. Last year happened, and I was aware of it from the day I got the email to the moment I left.
But even with all that proof around me, it just didn't hit me until last night that this was my second year in Lawrence, and that I had a chance to do things better, to do things differently than I had done them before. And there was one thing I knew I had to change above all else.
There needed to be a contract.
I did not like the feeling of uncertainty that came with last year. I did not like wondering if I had really done my best work. I did not like wondering if those kids had graduated or not, and I certainly didn't like feeling like I needed to turn the clock back and change things. Last year was an eye-opener, but it certainly wasn't my best teaching in hindsight. I also didn't like the chaos and lack of focus that came with teaching last year. I see that now. So, the instant we started this year, I told my kids we needed to talk.
I showed them a picture of Meredith on my phone. I told them that I was giving up a week of my vacation time, and doing something that took a great deal of courage and risk, to come and help them learn the math they need to graduate. I also let them know that I knew they were sacrificing the same thing. All education is a sacrifice in some way; we sacrifice our viewpoints for the chance to change them, and we sacrifice time and energy into leaving our current selves behind for better ones. But this time, it was giving up time and space with people and things we love in order to earn tangible rewards put immediately in front of us.
For them, it is their diploma. A sheet of paper that could radically alter their future in the United States.
What do we need to do to get this done? I asked them.
I wrote two things on the paper that I insisted upon: focus on the goal, and no distractions.
I told my students I needed to hear from them what no distractions meant. It meant no talking out of turn, and no talking about anything but math. It meant helping each other out when they could. It meant not giving up on problems, and always seeking help when needed.
It meant no phones.
I told them that I could spend all day on my phone if I was allowed. I'd be surfing the Internet and Snapchatting and all that other stuff. I put my phone in my shirt pocket and said, "if I can't do it, neither can you." I got head nods. They understood. They got it. And when the contract was written after a bunch of other things got added to it, they signed it.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I only dealt with three student phone issues today. All three of them were selfie issues, with students who were done with whatever task I asked them to take care of at that moment. And part of me just thought, dammit, Mike, let it go. They're done measuring the height of the building. They're smart kids. They've earned it. Let it go.
But that's just it. They haven't. The goal is not reached yet. We aren't done yet, not by a long shot. And I needed my class to know that we are in it for the long haul. So I insisted they put the phones away. I let them know there would be another time, another place, another break. And when we got back into the classroom, I pointed at the 'no phone' clause, and asked if it really happened, if the contract they committed to had really been upheld.
I didn't have to say "no." The kids said it for me.
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