Weekly Update 5.29.09
May 31st, 2009MRHS Lacrosse has done phenomenally well, if you weren’t paying attention. After an undefeated season, they defeated Lebanon yesterday 18–3 to move into the finals.
The rain kept many people away, but I appreciate the fact that they took the time to recognize the seniors—and their parents—who played so long and worked so hard. It was a nice touch to the game.
Their next game is 5pm on June 3, at the MRHS football field.
Is it just me, or does this time of year—when the archery unit comes out—always bring back that scene from 10 Things I hate About You?
The scene’s on YouTube (of course) at the 7:22 mark. I always cringe—Physical Education teachers are braaaave people.
So one of my students invited me to a steel drum recital this week, and as I wasn’t quick enough on my feet, I accidently said “Sure.”
That will learn me.
Anyway, Fitzwilliam’s Emerson Elementary was the host. All very well and good, but as I sat there in the front row (mocking the child in question with the parents) I kept glancing at the conductor. I knew I knew her from somewhere, and I had a vague hunch.
“The conductor… Mrs. Merrifield?”
“Yeah, it is. Why?”
I couldn’t help but grin. Mrs. Merrifield taught for forty years, and about twenty of them ago, I was one of her students in class. Talk about a small world—and talk about a life dedicated to others, to adding value to the community, to giving so much back.
That’s a compelling teacher.
Lunch for me usually consists of walking into the building, quickly scanning around for any issues, touching base with my kids (who ran in ahead of me… Lord knows it would be horrible to miss a half-second of free time) and then touching base with the other adults in the room. “Hey so-and-so, how’s the day been? Good afternoon, so-and-so. You’re quiet. What’s up?”
From there, I usually grab lunch and eat with my kids—unless I get distracted along the way by another student. There are about 10-20 I keep an eye out for—that one at the table who always sits alone (but is usually reading something by Tolkien) those two working on math (who get bothered by the group behind them) or anyone that wave me down to ask a question.
The last bit of lunch I usually head outside and help supervise the hacky-sack/football/chatting/running/relaxing crowd. Most of the time I’m finishing up coffee #2, and I watch Mr. Miller teach.
Mr. Miller (officially) teaches Spanish, and he’s good at it. His kids love him, and he “gets” them—he should, since he’s an MRHS graduate himself. But Spanish is only one of a half-dozen things he’s teaching, and the other day, he was teaching senior projects.
The senior project has gotten a great deal of attention in the last few years, and it’s getting a great deal more—and there’s a reason: We believe strongly in the power it has to drive student learning. The more rigorous, the more challenging, and the more school-wide we make it, the more it pushes everything that a kid needs to do in school.
And that’s a good thing. If it’s to be the culmination of graduation, then it ought to be what every teacher is making sure that a student can do and is ready for.
But in this case, Mr. Miller was coaching a kid through their project. It was fun to watch, since it involved a great deal of nodding as the kid talked about something they were passionate about, and then the sudden leap—
“You know, that would make a great senior project.”
There was this moment of silence. “You’re interested in bio-desiel, right? Why not build a generator here at the school? Talk to the folks in the kitchen and take all that excess oil that they throw away and make it something good for the environment. That would be amazing.”
And this little light went off in their eyes, and for the first time, the kid realized that the senior project could be something to get passionate over, to have fun with, to really delve deeply into. It abruptly became something to look forward to, and to really deeply invest in.
Mr. Miller does that kind of thing all the time—eyes always open for a chance to point someone in the right direction. Really, it’s something that we all could do.¹
The other suggestion? “The first hour of every kid’s senior project ought to be showing up at the senior project presentations. It would help so much if every kid got to see someone else’s presentation—then they would have an idea of what they are to do.”
It’s something to be considered.
1 I’d love to see a notebook or portfolio kept from year to year that has about 3-4 suggestions or ideas for the senior project each quarter. So many kids get to their senior year, walk in September, and just have no idea. Thirty days later, they’re stumped and decide something in a hurry. How much better to have a list of ideas to build on that they create, rather than rushing at the last moment? ↺
June 6th, 2009 at 8:58 am
Why oh why oh why isn’t MRHS not an Essential School? The faculty are doing so much right- it would be amazing for them to discover that there’s a whole community of folks nationwide who agree with them!
June 7th, 2009 at 4:22 pm
Hi Laura,
Honestly? I think there’s been too much going on. In the last three years, there have been fights about the contract, there has been the NEASC evaluation, the ongoing fights about the building, about the budget, and then two new administrations.
I think MRSD teachers are exhausted. I think every one of us is trying so very hard and doing our very best, but the pressure of the daily schedule—I hate the period schedule—and the need to focus on so many things just has us all looking at the ground, and not at the horizon.
I think we’re not sure what to focus on—and if we decided that this would be a focus, how would we lift our eyes off what seems so immediate?
*sigh* A night school program. An SAT prep program. New classes—and that’s just my plate. Others are far more busy. There’s always so very much… where do we find space and time to think about it?
I know everyone in the building is trying. I’ve never seen a team of administrators that works as well together as the three we have now—and we’ve had good administrators! But there’s only so much they can do—especially when some of what needs to change is the way we (as teachers) look at our job as well.
Best,
RJH