As an educator, trainer, and all around life-long learner, it's hard for me to admit that I make mistakes. It's even harder because I pride myself on being a good teacher and learner. So today, in training I had to take a step back and ask myself (and the person running the training) some tough questions.
We have the great pleasure of having 15 Dell computers (serviced by yours truly) that are all outfitted with Novanet, an educational software used in many public school systems and correctional facilities. It's main use is for assessments of students in the facility. It's secondary use is to help those students in different areas of study based off of a specialized GED curriculum.
We reviewed our uses for the lab (which we've had for almost two years) and took an in depth look at some of the sections, including one of mine, aptly labeled "Pre-GED Mathematics with Ms. L." A huge mistake that I had made was, of course, prominent and a great way for the trainer to talk about some changes that may need to be implimented. The software allows for students to take a pre-test, get assigned a prescription of work based off of the pre-test and then take a post-test (to see if they learned anything). One student received an 87 on the pre-test and was assigned some prescriptive work. However, the trainer thought it would have been better to that students learning to just manually move them on through. Of course, he was right. It was hard for me to admit my mistake.
Instead, I just asked questions, making sure I understood what my priorities were...shifted around in my seat and tried not to look like I was on the defensive.
There are no perfect teachers. We are not designed like Burger King where each student can have their education as they want it (or, more importantly, as they need it). And, although I have my faults, I think the bigger fault would have been if I didn't care to listen, review and try to learn from those around me to be a better teacher.
Nobody is perfect.
Nobody.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A recovering educator
It has been a crazy, stressful week. And, after today, I will be in recovery mode. Today, 18 of my students are taking the GED exam. For those that don't know, the GED exam is really in five main subject areas: math, writing, science, social studies and reading (a.k.a. literature). Although, science, social studies, and reading are pretty straightforward, that does not mean that all the subject areas are that way. The writing portion is broken up into two parts: a 45 minute essay based off of a prompt and then a 50-question, multiple-choice part. In addition, the math area is also broken into two parts: one with a calculator and one where you are S.O.L.
I get a lot of mean looks from my students because I never let them use a calculator. I find that it's a big waste of time, especially when I have yet to meet a person who can't use a calculator for basic math (addition, subtraction, multiplication and division of whole numbers). So we try to spend more time sharpening their mental math skillz and the "how did i get that" information that will, hopefully, help them on their test.
Math, being the first test of the day, is always the hardest for my students. It's usually because they hate math and would rather be reading just about anything than doing anything remotely related to numbers (unless it's counting "paper" - I'll explain that another time.) Usually I get a variety of comments ranging from "that test was hard", "I didn't recognize anything on the test", and "I just guessed on all of them" to "I got the easy test", "I got at least a C on that joint" and (my personal favorite) "that test was easier than anything you ever gave us."
Now as we sink in for the "long haul" where they have already eaten lunch, they've gone to the bathroom, now they're settling down to read and answer 140 questions (pretty much) all in a row. I get to finally sit down and bask in the fact that no one is asking me for stuff. I don't have to pay attention. I can just relax.
...and finally eat my lunch!
I get a lot of mean looks from my students because I never let them use a calculator. I find that it's a big waste of time, especially when I have yet to meet a person who can't use a calculator for basic math (addition, subtraction, multiplication and division of whole numbers). So we try to spend more time sharpening their mental math skillz and the "how did i get that" information that will, hopefully, help them on their test.
Math, being the first test of the day, is always the hardest for my students. It's usually because they hate math and would rather be reading just about anything than doing anything remotely related to numbers (unless it's counting "paper" - I'll explain that another time.) Usually I get a variety of comments ranging from "that test was hard", "I didn't recognize anything on the test", and "I just guessed on all of them" to "I got the easy test", "I got at least a C on that joint" and (my personal favorite) "that test was easier than anything you ever gave us."
Now as we sink in for the "long haul" where they have already eaten lunch, they've gone to the bathroom, now they're settling down to read and answer 140 questions (pretty much) all in a row. I get to finally sit down and bask in the fact that no one is asking me for stuff. I don't have to pay attention. I can just relax.
...and finally eat my lunch!
Friday, March 6, 2009
Handling the tough stuff
It has been two very long weeks. Lately, I haven't felt like talking much, let alone actually typing and writing out any type of thoughts.
Recently, I have had to deal with something that feels quite alien to me: the passing away of a student. Most people would not have a problem with this, or, if they did, would be able to handle it easily.
I am not one of those people.
This is not something that I know how to deal with. Not to mention, it is an area that is shaded gray. I know how to feel when I loved one dies. Sad. Upset. Angry. Glad that they're not in pain anymore. They were close to me and I will look back fondly on our relationship.
Can't do that here.
Joe* was an excellent student. I remember the first day of class, he was so bored after completing a classwork assignment in under five minutes that I had to assign him three people to coach. He was bright, for sure, but also very reserved. He mostly kept to himself and only really interacted with people when it was necessary.
When we got to the more difficult math's (geometry, algebra and linear equations), he became the most attentive person. I would see him taking notes, answering questions, doing extra classwork, and very rarely did he finish an assignment as quickly as he finished that first one. He was a joy to teach. He never pestered me with silly questions, never complained and never turned in incomplete homework.
I saw him the day before he passed away. By then, he had already taken his G.E.D. exam. I was in the stride of a whole new class filled with new problems. He was sitting quietly at a lunch table. I said hello to him and smiled.
That was the last time I got to speak with him.
After recounting the events leading up to his passing, I noticed a couple of little things that were off about him but had written them off as a part of his introverted nature. Perhaps I was wrong. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Part of our jobs as teachers is to notice things that, normally, would go unnoticed.
I am sad to say that this man not only got his G.E.D. but also received the highest score in his class, making him our Valedictorian. I've been wracking my brain, trying to figure out something that we can do for him, to honor him. So far, everything that I've come up with sounds either too cheesy or too impossible to actually do.
In any case, it is just a little bit harder to understand the world when it feels like all the bright, talented and smart people are dying.
*The name has been changed for privacy reasons.
Recently, I have had to deal with something that feels quite alien to me: the passing away of a student. Most people would not have a problem with this, or, if they did, would be able to handle it easily.
I am not one of those people.
This is not something that I know how to deal with. Not to mention, it is an area that is shaded gray. I know how to feel when I loved one dies. Sad. Upset. Angry. Glad that they're not in pain anymore. They were close to me and I will look back fondly on our relationship.
Can't do that here.
Joe* was an excellent student. I remember the first day of class, he was so bored after completing a classwork assignment in under five minutes that I had to assign him three people to coach. He was bright, for sure, but also very reserved. He mostly kept to himself and only really interacted with people when it was necessary.
When we got to the more difficult math's (geometry, algebra and linear equations), he became the most attentive person. I would see him taking notes, answering questions, doing extra classwork, and very rarely did he finish an assignment as quickly as he finished that first one. He was a joy to teach. He never pestered me with silly questions, never complained and never turned in incomplete homework.
I saw him the day before he passed away. By then, he had already taken his G.E.D. exam. I was in the stride of a whole new class filled with new problems. He was sitting quietly at a lunch table. I said hello to him and smiled.
That was the last time I got to speak with him.
After recounting the events leading up to his passing, I noticed a couple of little things that were off about him but had written them off as a part of his introverted nature. Perhaps I was wrong. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Part of our jobs as teachers is to notice things that, normally, would go unnoticed.
I am sad to say that this man not only got his G.E.D. but also received the highest score in his class, making him our Valedictorian. I've been wracking my brain, trying to figure out something that we can do for him, to honor him. So far, everything that I've come up with sounds either too cheesy or too impossible to actually do.
In any case, it is just a little bit harder to understand the world when it feels like all the bright, talented and smart people are dying.
*The name has been changed for privacy reasons.
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