In School Suspension of disbelief

(the pictures are from Kate Eric's collection, Stories for Bad Children)

As luck would have it, I got me a gig. It seems my willingness to take on the most bizarre and inhumane of jobs (refrigerator factory worker, nuclear power plant janitor, waitress, gas station cashier, middle school teacher) and my networking skills have paid off. Instead of sleeping too late and goofing around for the next two weeks, I'll be an ISS monitor at a middle school down the street, where a friend is an AP. Cush, I thought--read a book and babysit the bad kids. I kinda like the bad kids, as frustrating as they can be. Thank God, cause I have $17 in my checking account.

Yesterday a boy said angrily, "you're a bad teacher" when I wouldn't let him turn in half-done homework. My pulse quickened and I replied quickly, "yeah, well, I hear you're not the greatest student." The other kids laughed, and I felt ashamed. I had shamed him, reinforced the label put on him for years. I don't even know these kids, I'm a sub, there's no established rapport to fall back on in order to excuse sarcasm. These are kids who are here for getting busted with pot, who had been in fights or threatened to kill their teachers. They swear, a lot, and talk about hip-hop, sex, and gangs. I'm no angel, but I worry about them. A lot of them have learning disabilities, and have learned to hide their embarrassment behind a billy badass attitude. I'd be an asshole to assume I knew them, knew what they were all about, what their parents are like, their home, their experiences, their history.

The ISS routine in place was to copy down definitions of 50 words, such as "integrity" and "honor," then do homework. (If you knew why I'm a long-term sub, i.e. where the old guy went, you'd find that very ironic, but mum's the word. Watch the news.) Screw that noise. Determined they would learn something before they continued down the path to the ALC and eventually TYC, I decided to promise them extra credit in Language Arts if they would write about what they wanted to be when they grew up, or about who they look up to. I thought if I could make them think about things for themselves, not for their peers or their pride, wisom would somehow ensue. So far this week no one has taken me up on it. I procured books from the library, thinking a good read would make their day of sitting silently go faster. This was difficult, as the library would only give me the throwaway books, concerned the kids might rip up good books. I offered them the option of drawing or reading the newspaper, in addition to their classwork. No sleeping allowed. As the AP described, they were not supposed to have a good time in ISS--they were not supposed to want to come back again. That means I have to be bad cop all the time.I'm not really a confrontational person by nature--I don't go looking to start shit but I don't take it either. Shit, that is. And when you are the one in charge of making 8-10 juvenile delinquents who have not been taught manners, don't know how to play nice with others, and wouldn't read a book for free food and video games, you are doomed to be unpopular. I can deal, I thought. I've got a good teacher voice. I can be intimidating, stretched out to my full 5'11''. I can verbally demolish these kids, whose best burn is "shut up," or "you're gay." After a day or two though, I realized my approach must change.

I forced a softness into my voice, made myself think of them as just emotionally-confused and immature kids who are trying to find themselves, and offered help upon help when what I really wanted to give them was a sharp kick to the side of the head. Graduate school and ivory tower-type jobs make education seem easily student-centered. In real life, some students don't want your help, don't want to write, don't want to read, don't want to be here. I don't blame them, hearing the way some teachers (including myself at times) talk to them, pulling power plays over things like gum, talking, whatever. They're kids, they will break rules, they will push buttons. The bottom line is, it does matter what you say and how you say it. I'll be damned if I turn out like Principal Vernon:


I realize I'm not a savior or a martyr. I can't turn a kid around in a few days of ISS. I'll be disappointed a lot. It's a tough job that someone's gotta do, someone that isn't going to make things worse. So I focus on small victories. Larissa will be with me until Christmas. I'm not sure exactly what she did, but it must have been pretty bad. She is 14 but could pass for 26, her clothes too revealing for 8th grade, her makeup caked on. She worked hard all day but around 2pm she got very grumpy with me and refused to do anything else. After engaging in a brief and pointless power struggle, I dared her to read a book. It's 3:14, and she's still reading it. Danielle is also a frequent flyer, with the worst mouth I've seen in a while. Despite the fact that she has dropped the F bomb 6 times and hit another kid in the head, she has worked on her assignment all day, talking to herself, writing, reading. Kenny has brought his science worksheets up to me four times, each time returning poutily to his desk after I point out that he has not answered all the questions. This last time, he kicked a chair and threw down his book as I explained how in real life, you can't half-ass things, that you see them through to the end like a man. Only nicer. He told me to shut up, defeated and frustrated. Several zingers bubbled up in my mouth, but I said nothing. A few minutes later when he looked at me, I mimicked his big lower lip, and after a few seconds' standoff, he cracked a smile. The two sixth grade girls, imprisoned for fighting (each other), admitted they didn't know what the fight was really about, just that some other kids had said one was badmouthing the other.

What doesn't bend, breaks. TJ is sleeping at the corner desk, but oh well. I just caught Larissa's eye as she glanced up from her book. She smiled back at me, and kept reading.

tell me do you feel it?

As I started to read Rosenblatt's The RTP, I was initially worried, as I wasn't getting into it as much as her other work. But I think that's between the first two chapters are essentially fluently rewritten ways to describe the interdependent triad of reader, text, and poem of meaning making. Chapter 3 was where I started to become more involved, particularly with her analysis of efferent and aesthetic reading. Beginning with one of my new favorite ideas of "burning through" a reading, living through it, she delineates the kinds of approach we take to reading between reading to remember or apply (more typically found in scientific reading) and the pure art, affective stance, like Keats writes about in "On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again." In addition to the combined stance needed to read and make sense by use of referents or imagination, "different aesthetic transactions with the same text may also produce different or levels of experience, depending on the nature, state of mind, or past experience of the reader." So, not only can someone not read a poem for you, you can't read it the same way twice. This makes me wonder if the question of what classics are universal even matters.

Efferent-dominant reading is what we're teaching kids to do. Read for details, read to answer the questions right. There's no way to test on affect, on aesthetic, as it's particular to each person. I felt a pang of guilt, remembering my first year of teaching at HSA, first year with my own room, with no real supervison as it was a charter school, copying out worksheets from suggested workbooks that invited the kids to classify poem tones by their titles. Extracting democratic messages from decontextualized political speeches. No wonder my kids got great TAKS scores. But now I'm not so proud of it. Luckily they had enough experience and enough academic confidence to read for pleasure as well. But what if we could get kids to feel like this:

only slightly more intelligently.

Thought on the transformative power of the narrative--I've read the Bible, been to Sunday school and church all through my youth, and have taken classes in religion, yet what leads me to know/believe that there is a heaven is a story about a young man who was killed in a hunting accident, and as he bled to death, he looked around him and said, "it's so beautiful," before dying. This story might have left me somewhat nonplussed had I seen in a movie or novel, except that this was a truth story, and happened to my great uncle. Experience and culture does make a difference.

Adolesense

I've found that if I stop to post on every interesting chunk of Rosenblatt I will have no time for any other classes. Nevertheless,

In the 3rd and 4th chapters, she begins to address concerns as an English educator--schools are too often failing to provide contexts for students to experience a vital personal reaction to art in the form of text. Schools make a frame with no picture--students regurgitate what they think the teacher thinks of a story, and fail to give a real response. Things don't change because teachers uphold certain expectations (as do parents and everyone raised in traditional mainstream public schools) of what school should do and look like: writing traditional essays and answering multiple choice questions about who the main character was. Teachers have to value true literature experiences themselves, liberate pupils from self-defeating practices, give them freedom to wrestle with ideas and emotions, and not place so much value on a particular form of response.

"The study of literature should give the student the form of emotional release that all art offers and, at the same time, without strain or pressure, should help him gain ever more complex satisfactions from literature." (71)

"A poem or a novel should provide fresh insight. Readers, therefore, must be helped to develop flexibility of mind, a freedom from rigid emotional habits, if they are to enter the aesthetic experiences the artist has made possible." (98)

Rosenblatt does a decent job of capturing the upheaval of the adolescent mind--changing body images and obsessive self-consciousness, a desire to reflect what's "normal (and here I suggest more attention to media awareness in our curriculum is needed)," struggling to find independence and emancipation from familial structures. They need links to their experiences to be present in the books they read. They need to be emotionally and intellectually ready to reevaluate assumptions and cultural suggestions, and to adjust accordingly. This is how readers live in the world.

Easy to see why fundies are so scared.

I return to my question about whether or not some books may be universally accessible. I feel like Rosenblatt's saying yes. But not without a lot of trickiness.

the no-title post

"Sensuous details will acquire significance as they lead him to glimpse the emotional undercurrents that flow so swiftly beneath the surface of everyday life."

Rosenblatt's Ch. 2, "The Literary Experience," posits that the reader makes the text into something more than words on a page, that the individual experience to the poem or story gives it meaning, and that it's our task as teachers to foster fruitful interactions. I was thinking about this in regards to our conversation about classics--are there books that everyone should read, texts that hold universal meaning. The IRD had a defined list of classics (and even "near-classics"), texts which they had determined were irreplaceable and held potential to develop values and a larger social perspective for emergent readers, for every grade level, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. It even attempted to include marginalized voices and multicultural texts, so good for them, not bad for a corporate organization. It stressed the value of absorption, getting lost in a book, the way I did in second grade when I didn't hear the bell ring while reading in the library and consequently being late for class. Did the books I read make me examine my views on humanity? I dunno. Maybe subconsciously, yes.

"There are many experiences that we all have in common--birth, growth, love, death. We can communicate because of a common core of experience, even though there may be infinite personal variations." So maybe it's not that bad to suggest there are a few really great books that can speak to a lot of people. I'm not going to say everyone, but a lot.

Then I got to thinking about why we respond to the pieces we respond to, that tenuous hold that certain authors or themes or stories have on us, and why. My favorite books--Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (really anything by Hunter S. Thompson), The Virgin Suicides (really anything by Jeffrey Eugenides), Still Life with Woodpecker (really anything by Tom Robbins), Jazz (really anything by Toni Morrison), The Shining (anything by Stephen King). You get the picture. Clearly these authors' styles and the subject matter strike some kind of chord with me that when I read them, I have an intense emotional response. Their words and phrasing, their rythym, the broken conventions and violated textual norms all speak to me, as do the plots and settings and subject matter of these stories. That said, I assume these works were out of my emotional range when I was 8, or even 12, and I wouldn't have appreciated them the way I do now. When I was young, I was a big fan of Nancy Drew and other stories that I see now as more or less moral homilies that Rosenblatt warns about. Well, not really warns, but she draws attention to the difference between reading as pure art and reading in order to extrapolate social implications, and I imagine most pleasure reading necessarily falls somewhere in between, hopefully closer to the aesthetic side.

In regards to classroom practice, I was also disappointed when we'd take a trip to the library, and my students would either not show any enthusiasm or any clue about how to find a book they'd like. Some assumed no books held any kind of enjoyment for them. Some would check out the same books every time, usually about (for the boys, anyway) drugs, low riders, or rappers. Seriously. Those were self-selected books, and I didn't want to dissuade them from picking out their own books, but I constantly tried to develop an inquisitive mind--find something you don't much about and learn. Of course, part of the problem with no real grasp on the search process, part was a pervasive belief that books were boring, although some did find themselves following a particular series or author and got real pleasure from it. I liked Rosenblatt's quote on 39 about the escape value of literature--"anything that offers refreshment and a lessening of tension may have its value in helpng us to resume our practical lives with renewed vigor..." (I don't want to rewrite the whole paragraph, but it's a good one. For the troubled kiddos that I taught, the escape principle was definitely valid, as was the opportunity to sympathize/learn from other peoples in conflict--as I look back on the more successful lessons I had, the ones that spoke to and broke through to my kids, they were stories like The Diary of Anne Frank, The Monsters are Due on Maple Street, To Kill a Mockingbird, poems about love and family and heartbreak. They were texts that had within them a theme or emotion that the kids could relate to in some way as a basis for discussion. "Knowledge of literary forms is empty without an accompanying humanity."

No one can read a poem for us.

So this post is kind of scatter-brained, I realize, but I'm wondering at this point:
What stories do you feel strongly about, that you would encourage students to read, and why?
What kind of schema or game plan should we set up for "responsible reading," or should we send them out into the story on their own and let them make what they will of it?
What kind of questions and discussions will extend their meaning-making (keeping in mind the role of imaginative writing in response to text)?

One last thought--I liked how Rosenblatt suggests that the experience of reading produces some ultimately undefineable results and emotions, that there is something almost magical about the event that is different for every person. Also that to really get something from reading, the reader has to be imaginative and searching--how can we develop that creativity in our kids (especially when we hold them to such rigid standards and classroom structures)?