WHEN YOU SPEAK, YOUR WORDS WEAVE STRANDS OF LIGHT
INTO 'BEING' SHAPES…

in my classroom             I listen for the message
concentrate on breathing
just breath
…
children work building
paper
scissors
tape glue

sailing ships fill the room
amazed             [again]

at the simplicity           [complexity]
of their learning…

She is alone, standing with her arms crossed over her skinny chest watching the other children playing on the adventure playground. Her face betrays no emotion as she stands in her long A-line dress and matching pantaloons…I notice her as I return from my lunch time walk because of her solitariness and because she is beautiful, her dark hair, cut bluntly, curling under slightly, frames a well-shaped face. Who are you little girl? Where are you from? Are you new here like me? Why such silence? Can you speak English? I was a child like you once, in a world that I didn't understand. Don't worry it won't take long and you'll know how it all works and how to join in.

Thursday morning.

My classroom is full of light.

This time I announce to my students: "We will CREATE our own, totally new play where OUR words will be said by US. Not somebody else's words and somebody else's life, but OUR life."

I was only trying to write.

No one screamed.
No one accused.

quiet words of understanding
terror averted…for now.

The student teacher circulates around the class and monitors the students' work.
She provides support where needed and offers feedback to various individuals.

"Yes, you can draw that."
        "That is where you write the words."
                "Look on the chart."
                        "Colour the pictures."
                                "Write your name."

Some of the students require specific directions
in their roles in this performance of learning.

                        How does one address the individual needs of diverse learners?
                        Can we meet all the needs of our students? Is it possible?

Come and take a walk with me through the hallways and classrooms of an urban school in Canada…

…You will find students whose first language is not English; students who span the ability level above and below the grade in which they are registered; students who come to school hungry; students who are classified as gifted or learning disabled; students whose families are on social assistance; students who are on medication, students who come from broken homes; students who have been (or are being) abused.

I hate school!
It makes me feel sometimes grumpy
Its very cumfturbull

How come I was feeling so self-conscious, so inadequate?
And so It had begun. Not pleasantly. Not necessarily unpleasantly. Sort of reminiscent of puberty, without me being in control. Growing in ways that I wasn't prepared for. Growing without a set pattern or plan. Growing, stretching, meandering, thinking, wandering, wondering, slamming into…

Doors
a metaphor for teaching and learning.
O p e n i n g     f e e l i n g     f r e e.
Closingsealingup

today was a really good day
I just thot evrebudy cood reed
Make shur now wone is sad or mad

Suddenly silence.

Sometimes we go in the woods
And learn about stuff there
School is inportint

It is early November. In the reading group Tamara's lips move as we practice a unison reading of the story. When she reads to me individually she is tentative, she reads the words she knows, but falls silent when there is an unfamiliar word. She waits until I tell her the word before she carries on. We practise the little stories over and over and eventually she learns a story very well. I am effusive in my praise, she listens with downcast eyes.

And the other question in February, often wondered about, sometimes
Asked and rarely answered:
Why does February have 29 days every four years?
And does it really make sense to a 7 year-old to say that we have 365
And a quarter days each year and have to make up that quarter with one
day every four years?
How can you have a quarter day?
You just told us that a day always has 24 hours.
Sometimes teachers just don't talk any sense.

The bell rings.
Papers are gathered.
The student teacher dismisses the class for recess.

Children rush to the coat room and move outdoors to
where the sun is beckoning them to play.

Cinderella dressed in yella went upstairs to kiss a fella,
By mistake she kissed a snake,
How many doctors did it take?
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8…

children call & invite me to skip
            both a wink & a dare

I throw down my sweatshirt
prepare myself
knees bent slightly
weight on my right foot
lean forward
watch the rope
rock slightly
long rope arches high after the familiar click
one quick leap & I am in
rope over       now under       then over

              Strawberry shortcake, huckleberry pie,
              Who will be your lucky guy?
              A,B,C,D,E,F,G…

Faster! Turn faster!

The instructions for becoming an urban teacher are not written in books or journals, there are no workshops and no courses. You learn how to teach from your children. And there are many lessons…

I check the bean bag carefully expecting the beans to be falling out. "There is nothing wrong with this one, Geoffrey."

… I realize that I am looking at this teaching performance through a small lens which pushes me to reflect upon my teaching perspective. Watching this act of teaching, I compare what I observed with what I do. I think about my practice and beliefs about teaching, learning, and children.

            I remember student teaching
            Being told the hardest job was
            Knowing myself
            Being myself
            Standing up for myself
            Living my philosophy
            Living and being my philosophy
            Understanding feeling believing
            Standing strong

            gating tritid with Respakt

But who is caring for the teachers?…Glancing at the closed door of the administrators we wonder what does the administration do?

What's wrong? What did I do?
[What the fuck does he want?]

Come on into my office and have a seat…
So Ivan, what can you tell me about
what happened earlier today?

        I dunno.
                        [Who fuckin ratted?]

Come on Ivan, what happened today in the front hall?

            Oh, that. Nothin. We worked it out.
                        [I'm going to kill that kid.]

What did you do Ivan?
…
I punched him in the head

Why did you do that?

            Because he jacked my friend's cologne
                        [Yeh, he fuckin deserves to be beat on.]

…Did Dragon give it back, before or after you punched him?

            Before.
                        [before, so what?]

                              [What??? He gives it back and you rock him?…Shades
                              of last year. So much for my intervention and behavior modification.
                              This little bugger doesn't get it….Stay calm and help him to understand
                              that this is not okay behavior.]
Why did you do that?

          Because I felt like it.
                [Because, he deserves it! He stole the fuckin
                cologne, remember?!]

    Fragility! My web hangs on a weak frame. The support strands have been cut. No more home school workers, fewer psychologists, area counselors, speech pathologists, staff assistance. Puffs of political hot air rock my web. Still I cling and spin.

…
Then darkness began flowing from your pencil
A darkness that had no right in a girl of nine years.
            You tried to tell us that you were in danger.
            A predator was circling
            But you would not name it.
            Trusting your ability to run,
            You wanted no fences.
            Fences work both ways.

I am only a plain brown spider…trapped in a web not of my own making. A web of lies woven into a happy ending that I am not sure I can deliver. Twenty-one grade one children, eight girls, fourteen boys, and one officially numbered Special Needs Child. Spider eyes can not change the view enough to disguise the fact that there are ten challenging children in my room. Gamely I continue to invite them to,
                "Come and follow me on a line"
only to watch as they bump, jostle and fall unable to see the line. Unable to keep up with their line, I rush to the top of the stairs to hold the hand of a student who has begun to fall, only to have a fist fight break out at the bottom. Can I keep them safe enough to educate them? Or can I only keep them safe?

Still I sit

and

still I spin.

Holding my breath I contemplate the unthinkable and form the question

Who will take my place when my spinning stops?

we get noleg and want to leren
learn to be smart so I can Get a Job
We haf to go to koLig

…
Faster! Faster! Faster!
          H,I,J,K,L,M,         N…

Sports Day…Tamara's teacher is chief organizer of the primary sports day, so I am in charge of her class today. Tamara's excitement is infectious, she is dancing in delighted anticipation. She still wears the long A-line dress and pantaloons, today with running shoes. She has grown over the course of this year, she is one of the taller children in the class and her dress doesn't quite disguise her coltish legginess. She participates with abandon in every event, her energy unflagging. I can see that she is fast, athletic. She is not deterred by the fact that I still can't understand everything that she says to me, she keeps working at it until I do. Her teacher has started to complain, mostly in jest, and entirely with pride, that she is talking too much in class.

The world of learning begins before the first words spoken.
Choices are made.

Early morning daydreams.

The bell rings.

Arlene Blond
Grade 1 teacher
from "Urban Webs/A Teacher's Morphin(g)e"

John Cortens
Grade 5 teacher
from "paper ships sail"

Richard Gyurkovits
Grade 6/7 teacher
from "Who Care? Listening Behind School Doors"

Nina Hooker
Grade 1/2/3 teacher
from "Reflection and Shadow Teaching and Motherhood"

Brenda Kvist
Technology consultant
from "you can't say I hated it" and "(un)consciousness")

Kevin Land
Vice-principal
from "Maybe I'm not very good at this job"

MJ Moran
Grade 7 teacher
from "I was only trying to write."

Trish Musselle and her students
Grade 1/2/3 teacher
from "Even in Silence"

Katerina Pogrebinsky
French teacher
from "Etudier le Français Performing the Language"

Jean Redpath
Resource teacher
from "A Bully in Our Midst: Raven Steals the Light" and "Moving Target."

Claire Rushton
Grade 2 teacher
from "School Years"

Christina Schut
Resource teacher
from "Tamara"

Monica Turner
Resource teacher
from "Special Children in an Ordinary World"

Gina Wong
Grade 2 teacher
from "student (teach you, teach me) teacher"