Reflective Teaching: Day 21, Hobbies/Interests in the Classroom

Day 21--Do you have other hobbies/interests that you bring into your classroom teaching? Explain.

I have a few hobbies, but crocheting and making cards are not part of my content area. I do like singing, and I often incorporate it into my classroom as participation. The kids enjoy the random songs we burst into almost as much as they enjoy the extra points they can earn when they do.  I'm also a bit of a fangirl, so I enjoy using examples from my favorite shows and movies in my teaching.  The kids find it amusing, too, when I geek out about some of the same shows they like.

One of my interests is writing, and that I do indeed incorporate into my classroom teaching. I like it when the kids and I share our thoughts about writing. In my creative writing class I do the same prompts that they do and share them to show that it's a process. If I'm not afraid to share my rough drafts, they feel more comfortable in sharing theirs.

Another interest is reading, and I enjoy bringing that to the classroom.  So many of my students claim to not like reading (heartbreaking, I admit), but when we start talking about our literature, most of them begin to realize that the reason they didn't like it was that they hadn't taken the time to really understand it.  We talk about reading strategies and the tricks that good readers use to help them understand what they're reading.  We practice those strategies until they, too, see that maybe reading is not as bad as they thought.

"First Line Poetry" on a Wintery Day

           One assignment that I routinely give my Creative Writing students is "First Line Poetry."  In this assignment the students pick a first line from a long list of first lines from famous poems.  Usually, though, the students have not read enough poetry on their own to recognize more than a couple of them. (That's sad... and the subject for another posting when I am feeling the need to vent.)  At any rate, I always like to do the same assignment as the students, as I've mentioned before, because I want to 1) show the students it is possible, and 2) keep my own writing sharp.  I usually pick one of the lines that the students leave on the list.  Their loss. Big grin.

            Today's skies were grey and cloud-filled: a bit of winter lingering in the encroaching spring.  A fellow teacher and I were on our way into the building to do our daily "Tardy Sweep" duty when she commented with a sigh that it had been so pretty earlier (when the sun was shining).  While I can acknowledge the beauty of a sunny day--all yellow and blue warmth--I must admit the preference for a wintery grey day where the clouds are hazy and look like felted shadows and wool sweaters piled on the floor of the sky.  Thus, while I didn't write this poem today, it popped into my mind because of the "cloudy and grey days" and the way they make me smile and want to share.

“Half-full”

“Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright”—

I concur with Herbert: that is the life.

No pacing back and forth all the night;

Immune to the terrors of trials and strife.

Even cloudy and grey days make me smile

And shrug my shoulders at a weary world;

Living life to its fullest is just my style;

The King’s in this castle, the flag is unfurled.

Troubles and heartaches may come and go,

But I keep my head up and face to the wind.

Instead of keeping my spirits or thoughts low,

On my future all my best hopes are pinned.

A smile on my lips, a twinkle in my eyes—

I look toward a future of no sad goodbyes.

(with thanks to George Herbert for the first line)

Living in a house of glass

Life in houses made of glass would be quite interesting.

Drapery and curtain wholesalers’ businesses would boom

And car window tinting agencies would expand to do everything

From walls to floors and windows in every single room.

That is, of course, unless whole neighborhoods became nudist camps

And people, old and young, bared their all to all and sundry:

Then glass homes would show off everyone from baby to gramps,

And mom would never, ever, again have to do the laundry.

If we lived in glass houses, people would see into our lives

And be able to judge and gossip about what they saw there;

But then, we could do the same, and save all our best sighs

For when we saw the neighbors in their old underwear.

Throwing stones at other’s lives would become quite mundane,

For we’d all be exposed, and we’d have no room to complain.

Homecoming Dance

The homecoming dance for my high school occurred this past Friday night.  The dance was a "black light and neon" format, so kids were coming in white or neon colors so that they showed up brilliantly in the black light.   I had fun checking outfits for school-appropriateness and embarrassing students when I told them they couldn't pass me until they'd proven they knew how to dance by showing me their signature dance moves.  I was doing this job as a chaperone when one of my Creative Writing students "assigned" me some homework: "Write a poem about the dance by Monday, Miss Schneider," said Aaron T.

Challenge accepted.

Since the dance had been going on for a while, and I was just standing in the doorway as the "bouncer and self-proclaimed dance-move checker" anyway, I decided to write the poem then and there.  I grabbed a notebook from my purse and the pen from the lanyard around my neck and began to compose my poem.  The principal and several students came by to check on my progress, and one even gave me the idea for the title.  Before the end of the dance, my poem was finished.  Here it is...

"A Handful of Dances"
(thanks for the title to Seth R.)

Students glowing with neon fire
Stand in groups of three or five
While beats pound unmercifully dire
Upon my ears, and, lands alive!

The smell of nerves, of dance, of sweat--
Not unlike that of an old, wet dog--
Assaults my lungs with odor, and yet,
Fills the air with a pluming fog.

Lights blaze and strobe and blind the eyes
With pink and green and orange and blue;
The black lights give us quite a surprise
When they turn all things white a ghostly hue.

The students jump and spin and whirl
Or stand like stones against the wall.
The boys dare each other to ask the girl
Whom they've only seen out in the hall.

The songs progress from slow to fast
And back again from fast to slow;
The dancers beg the DJ to make it last,
For alas, too soon, it's time to go.