A very touchy subject.

Immigration, somehow I don't think that in the cloistered world that George W. lives in that he really, I mean really gets how our country is changing. I think he is surrounded largely by white people and I have noticed that it seems like anyone with any racial diversity around him seems to get stuck with some pretty lousy work. Gonzales for example. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if W put him up as a sacrificial lamb to do dirty work in the partisan way. Colin Powell, an amazing man, also trod over (not listened to), it seemed pretty continuously. Connie Rice, a woman who amazes me, I am waiting for her slam dunk.

And as a teacher who works with kids whose parents are getting hauled away on raids...kids who I love (no I am not afraid to say that) because I know how hard they work and the tough spots they are in at times.

My kids were going to the rallies for immigration this year. It was very good for them to organize, to participate in the political process. I know they are subject to racial attacks regularly, we live in a poor area where drugs and gangs are very real to them. And so is ignorance from everyone who is not with their same skin color. It would be better for them to empower themselves through visibility than to fall into rebellion via gangs/crime.

Immigration. The whole process, every step of it is pretty astonishing to me. To risk ones family, ones babies, marraige to push into another country. To leave their communities, their churches, schools and families. The streets they know, the language. And then to come here, with a new language, get jobs in the lowest most taken advantage sector, where the work is more akin to a kind of benevolent slavery. I know they do it out of hope for a better future, for their kids and their grandkids. Ten percent of the entire population of Mexico has done it for that reason.

Immigration, particularly illegal immigration, seems like a violence to families. I am against it. It is so hard on families. They put themselves in a state of total dependence. It is a risk that I cannot comprehend.

I will not be the one to deny bread to a mom who needs to breastfeed her child. It would be inhuman to deny care to people who are hurt, food to the hungry, or education to their children based on political status. To rub people's noses in their own difficulties or turn a blind eye because of political status. I don't comprehend who would do that either.

My kids tell me they march with the flag of Mexico draped on their shoulders. I think they are confused. I know they want to not be ashamed of their heritage, indeed, they should be proud. But in the face of people making the laws of the country of America, people wearing Mexican flags have no voice among the lawmakers of America. There is a confusion of identity. America is not Mexico, it is not for the legislators to make laws endorsing the desires of people of another country.

My students tell me that if a person is against immigration they are racist. And the conversation ends right there. There can be no dialogue if there is no listening. They tell me that their life is hard, and I know. I know they are stuck, and for that very reason, immigration is not a good thing any longer.

I believe that America, in its wealth, has a responsibility to be generous. And we should be. But when I hear people chant that they are going to take back California because it is theirs..., or call me a racist because I don't want to hear anymore stories about people perishing in the backs of semi trucks attempting to cross...

I want my students to stand up. But wisely. Not to shoot themselves in their own feet. I want them to have access to all I have access to-college and health care and jobs and legal status. But I don't want them to demand this in ways that create a wider divide. And I want everyone to have enough food for their families, and I want even to help them. But I think immigration, especially this mass movement must end until there is some way to make the transition less desperate for families.

And I don't think anyone should be called a racist because they think immigration is something that needs to be addressed.

Hay que practicar.

La habilidad de hablar espanol bien no se puede separar del tiempo que esta usado para comunicar. Como los musculos, hay que usarlos si no los quiere perder.

Ya se que mi espanol tiene fallas, equivocaciones y todas variaciones de cosas no bien dicho, pero les pido la cortesia de ser simpaticos al iluminar las fallas.

Hoy no tengo acentos. Quizas buscare como hacer los acentos. Pero quizas no. El proposito de esta practica es para hablar mejor, para ser entendido en las entrevistas que voy a tener para ser maestra de espanol.

Krashen dice en su teoria de aprender idioma que la ansiedad mientras hablar idioma extrano causa una persona de hablar peor, olvidar detalles gramaticales, perder la facildad que antes pudiera haber tenido. Vi esto al olvidar, en una manera que me da pena acordarlo, como se usa el verbo gustar en una entrevista. Fue increible. Me ha pasado mas que una vez, tambien paso en una prueba oral para conseguir la certificacion de ser maestra de espanol: se me olvido la palabra "correo". Queria morir. En el carro despues de la prueba grite CORREO! CORREO! CORREO! PORQUE????!!!

Pague 125 dolares para fracasar la prueba y olvidar correo. Empece a llorar calladamente. (esto es broma)

Pues, quizas piensas "Pues, quizas la realidad es que no hablas espanol muy bien?". No la acepto esta idea.

El problema es mas con mi ansiedad, mis pensamientos que son complicados y el deseo de comunicar mis pensamientos complicadas con un idioma que no, pues, no tengo la oportunidad para usarlo. Se que mi espanol es bueno porque si no, mis amigos no me hubieron pedido pelear con los taxistas para mejor precios o negociar con los empleos del hotel cuando habian pelitos negros en las camas de nuestros cuartos.

Pues, basta ya.

Decidi hacer esto porque el hombre me llamo del colegio donde tuve entrevista y me dijo que me esta recomiendo para un trabajo de maestra de ESL medio tiempo en vez de el trabajo para que tuve la entrevista...maestro de espanol full time. Al oir esto se que tenia que practicar mas y asegurar que nunca, pero nunca, dije nada de ser part time. Asi es mi plan para conseguir un trabajo como maestra de espanol. Ademas, seria una buena idea si no dije nada de la edad de las personas... soy el peor con "small talk" en espanol. No tengo idea en que decir, y si no digo nada piensan que no puedo hablar espanol. Gar!

Hasta pronto mis amigos.

No, dear, life doesn't make sense sometimes

Nor is it fair, right or otherwise logical sometimes. I say sometimes because there are those moments when all is good and right and as it should be.

But not today. And not in the year 2000.

In the year 2000 I closed a bad chapter of my life at an Internet startup where with my skills of speaking Spanish and Russian, I served as an office manager. My life was breaking up into little pieces and floating away like the polar permafrost ice sheet. My job was really frustrating because I was doing something that in no way met with my rather bizarre skill set, my living situation was poor...and in result, I felt angry sort of most of the time.

So I turned that new leaf and went back to school at Good Public University, who offered me a fellowship to get my MAT in Spanish.

The program was administrated by a new, very enthusiastic new professor who was really quite wonderful. The problem was there simply were not enough places for us to go and watch classes be taught that were nearby. We were put with whoever was available, regardless as to whether they would be a good mentor teacher or not.

I was put with OMW (old mean woman). She was a top notch, highly effective teacher who somehow elicited total control over her class and her students all but walked in at attention to her room. I was intimidated. She was on par with a drill Sergeant. But man could she teach Spanish. But would her students speak to her? No. Did she EVER make even the MOST MINUTE grammatical error in Spanish? No. Not even a tiny one. Did she mix it up with great projects that she seemed to pull off effortlessly? Yes. Did she grade papers and hand them back in about 15 minutes after they were turned in? Yes. Her armor gleamed. She was feckless. ALl of her overheads were in 18 point font to be read clearly, her drills were effective, the students were engaged. She was just amazing.

I am a very different sort of person. I tend to learn by trial and error. I am pretty laissez faire, or at least I was. I didn't want to be psychotically exacting and I didn't want to have my students march at a military cadence, I wanted Spanish to be fun.

From the moment I walked into her door, I was trying to see how to get along with her. I worked very, very hard. My day started at 530 AM and ended when I got home from work at 11 at night. They way I saw it, her recommendation was going to make or break my ability to gain employment after the MAT was over.

My first assignment that she gave me was to make a sign for her door that informed the students of something. I no longer remember what, so I took a piece of paper and neatly wrote with a marker the message. When I gave it to her she looked like I just handed her a turd. She put it up, but over the next couple weeks as I saw her style of teaching (she seemed to never do any preparation, she only was mysteriously prepared)...everything was perfectly color coded for the levels...purple was Spanish 2 and Blue was Spanish 1. All overheads were always organized in baskets, all papers corrected immediately. There were no "piles" in her room. I started to see that this order was not just a casual thing. It was a mandated "way to be". My sign probably should have been computer generated, laser printed and plasticized, then maybe it would have been more acceptable.

I tried not to worry about the discrepancy between what she expected of me and the seeming perpetual disappointment she had with me. But as time went on, the fear metastasized and I put on my coat of "Que Sera Sera" and did my best. Though when evaluation time came, she ripped me a new one. I only seemed to disappoint her, perpetually. Down to the most minute detail she had me in a sling. I started to congratulate myself for things I did right to not feel like such a loser. But in front of my professor she lambasted me. I did what was natural, I cried.

I was resigned to deal with my lot, but my anxiety grew and one day in speaking with my professor at the University a colleague overheard and was surprised to hear what I was dealing with. Thankfully, she immediately reported it to her own mentor teacher who then sent a nasty email to my mentor teacher. Naturally, this made things much better. After that I was removed from her room. She didn't trust me anymore.

What I was dealing with was a palpable distaste that she had for me. The students knew it. When I wrote in Spanish on the board, my handwriting was never neat enough, if I forgot a question mark at the beginning of the sentence, it was more proof of my total unfitness. If I erased a misplaced accent with my finger she got mad because I was gumming up her board. If I pronounced Octubre incorrectly she let me know. I became as nervous and as twitchy as a cat and began sabotaging my own success, I began to doubt my ability to do a job that was totally within my reach.

In Russian there is a word to describe teachers like this, I found out. They are called вредно. Vrednie. It means "harmful".

One day in the parking lot, the final bit came. Another person in the MAT program, though not studying to be a Spanish teacher was walking out to her car at the same time as I. She said she felt bad for my with the teacher I got. I knew it was rough, but I was wondering how she knew, so I asked why? She told me she had heard my mentor teacher bragging about having flunked 5 student teachers before me and that she had no qualms about it again. She was a nice person the girl who told me this, she wasn't one to undermine or speak false. She looked at me carefully and asked if there was a way I could get out.

My heart sunk.

I went to professor and I did the only thing I had left. I wigged out.

I was moved to a different school with a different sort of teacher. Again, he was very knowlegeable, but he was totally disorganized. He would spend ten minutes of class setting up the VCR to show cartoons. I picked my jaw off the floor enough so I thought only of the fact that this guy was going to get me a job. This teacher was organized on one level, with semester calendars and Oral Proficiency Tests, but told jokes the whole class period about his fat brother...the students LOVED him. They all came to hang out with him. And he was so good to them, and for them. Though admittedly, he was teaching to one of the poorer white populations in the state and OMW was teaching to the richest. All this makes a difference too I know.

This week, OMW won teacher of the year. And I suppose she deserves it, she is very effective. But for my part, it is hard to imagine.

One of the harder parts to all this was that the student teacher that was with her before I was with her was beloved by OMW. Ironically, this student teacher had an abysmal first year. My first year on the other hand, my students bought me 2 dozen red long stemmed roses at the end of the year. I hardly felt I deserved it, but all the same.

During Spring Break there was a training at OMW's school, with her friends in charge. I was to go. I went. When other teachers asked me how my first year was going, I think OMW nearly gave herself whiplash when she heard me say how well my first year was going.

So that this woman who honestly did more to crush my spirit than any other teacher I ever met won teacher of the year is hard to comprehend.

But ultimately the last laugh is all mine. I was trained by an amazingly effective teacher. I took a treasure trove from her classroom. I survived her fascist methods and went on to some of the best years of teaching I have ever had. Honestly, I think some people just need someone to see their potential, rather than what they are. I love teaching. I am good at it too, though I still am learning day by day.

best laid plans

Our school, I mean, our state, Oregon, satisfies NCLB requirements with an online test called TESA.

If the kids go to TESA, as of last week, this is what they found.

There is a message:

On January 23, 2007, Vantage Learning terminated its contract with the Oregon Department of Education (ODE) because of ODE's failure to pay for past and continued TESA service. Since then, Vantage has continued the TESA service - administering more than 250,000 assessments over and above the contracted amount - in a good-faith effort to help the teachers and students of Oregon...

Go there and read this yourself, they even put a link to a DHL delivery confirmation of termination notice.

Here is the OPB story which aired on Monday March 12 wherein ODE discusses what has happened.

Last week I forwarded J the email from Oregon Department of Education that said there were "vendor issues" and the online tests would end for this year and resume when pencil and paper tests could be gotten out by May.

What is happening is of course the case of "two sides to every story".

The vendor, Vantage Learning, who has created the system that we have been using for the past several years, said there was a contractual issue once they found out that the project would have to go out for Request for Proposal and that they wouldn't automatically be granted the contract renewal. This is a State of Oregon thing that is done to make sure taxpayer dollars are spent in a way that looks closely for the most competitive bidder.

Once Vantage learned they would have to bid again for the same job, the state received invoices in the 7 figures. After that the TESA system began to falter all over the state. When ODE called them about this, they mentioned there were also contractual issues that needed to be resolved.

And when ODE didn't pay up the crazy invoices , TESA limped along in a faulty manner for a month and last week crashed for good. Now the place where all kids used to go to take tests says in so many words "Oregon didn't pay so there are no tests".

So what is at stake here is our compliance with NCLB, a whole LOT of classtime that has been lost, and a huge precedent--here we farmed this out to a private technology vendor and it has resulted rather poorly. Can Vantage do this? I am curious to see how this resolves.

Our school, which covers about 5 blocks square (its enormous) reorganized our whole campus in order to comply with TESA testing. From where I stand, the testing is a burden, though it is necessary. It has been frustrating because getting the technology to test 3000 students in several different areas and still be able to use our computers for learning has been a rather complex knot. Getting absent kids tested, makeups, computer glitches all conspire to make the process less than easy.

My students, recently arrived from other countries, are so overwhelmed by the reading test that even the "A" students click through it and are done with the 70 some odd questions in 15 minutes. This is NCLB.

I wonder about a lawsuit regarding the details of the contract and I predict doom for Vantage Learning, I seriously doubt a judge would rule in favor of the action they took. I think Vantage thought they had Oregon by the short hairs and could pull this off, but it just doesn't work that way. Vantage Learning can't have done anything good to their reputation in this move--what educational facility would want to farm work out to a company that thinks blackmail is a suitable business model?

Woe, WOE to Vantage.

In other news I have an interview at a tiny little school. I visited the place where A will do daycare today and it depressed me to put her in daycare (only 12 times she will have to go between now and summer, but still, every kid had some malady--facial rash, snotty nose, coughing everywhere...) .

I am adjusting all over the place. I never say no to adjusting, but I call it quits when things don't work out. After this daycare thing today I think that maybe part time would be just fine...only problem is there are precious few part time jobs out there...

Madness

It is that time here. Standardized tests.

I teach second year ESL kids. Some of them are in an American school for the first time. They are required to take the same reading test as kids who have been in the US all their lives. This isn't really even amazing to anyone anymore. The chance that they will pass the state score at this level is 0.

So it is little to no surprise that (shhhh!) most kids just click through the test and say "I'm done!"in 15 minutes. They have learned the secret. Never mind that they read at a first grade level (at best), and the test is for 10th graders, and many 10th graders cannot pass. Never mind the nearly 50 questions with intense reading. Never mind that they don't usually know the word for "scroll bar" before the test but our monitors are so small that they have to scroll all over the place in 2 different windows to take this test. Just never mind.

I only heard this anecdotally, but another teacher, understandably shrill and about to go crazy, complained about putting having to administer a 70 question computer test to kindergartners, with headphones. Can anyone even imagine this?

It is just confirmation to me that those who make education policy (read: NCLB) just have no idea what kids are like, what schools are like or what will really work.

And by way of qualification, I am all about high standards, and I can even get behind some standardized testing. But agreed with a coworker this year, who when we saw the testing schedule said "Phew! With all this I won't have to write more than 3 lesson plans this year!"

It is true, our ESL kids have to take 3 and a half standardized tests just for their english proficiency annually to comply with state and federal standards. They are not short tests.

In other news, Addy said for the first time tonight "I love you!" over and over and clapped each time. It was awesome. I know she will be pulling it out of her pocket now when she gets in trouble. I can see it now:

"No Addy, you cannot hula dance on broken glass on top of the chair with bare feet while you reach across to pick up a knife on the kitchen counter. Naughty."

Addy continues reaching only now she is looking at me saying "I love you mommy!" thinking that if she is cute enough she may be able to avoid the inevitable impending repercussions of her decisions to do the opposite of what I ask.

Jeff got the tile in the laundry room down, and we will sleep for a second night with no door on the laundry room because we will just have to take it off again tommorrow for the washing machine delivery (I begged him to put it on, every bump in the night makes me wake up with a door off, I wonder why). I was rebuffed firmly. I have heard that robbers don't come when there are people in the house, but if they do come, I just might say "I told ya so", though I have sworn I would never say it. Still J wins the official stud award, he was not excited neither about tiling nor about the washing machine, but it is all over now, and he even painted the laundry room. It was a room we were both pretending it didn't exist. But now it looks decent, new trim, new paint and new tile. No fancy tile though, just cheapest of cheap since this was his first go at tile, though now he is kind of getting into it, looking at fancy tile jobs and making plans.

Fight Valentines Day

Every now and then, there are fights in high schools. (a huge understatement)

Today there was one right outside my classroom door.

A latino boy who got popped in the nose. Blood was everywhere. Other teachers said that the kids who assaulted him were huge. Other kids said that one kid was down and another kid was just wailing on him, kicking him in the stomach, then walked off.

I didn't see any of it.

What I saw was a kid in the hall who I pulled into my classroom. I loaded him up with tissue to abate his nose (this is all after I called security), had him sit down. Waited for security. The principal came and ushered him off.

I took a Clorox wipe and used my shoe to take blood off the floor, then kicked the wipe in the corner. Bloodborne pathogens training. Still the custodian was irritated that I used "the wrong thing" to clean up the blood.

Security hung in the halls. The nose popped had a blue spiral notebook left in my class. A gang color. I furtively read his entries. They were short, like a person being sort of required to do something that did not come naturally. His last entry, for Valentines Day, was about marrying his girlfriend, who I know he has dated this school year.

Many thoughts. Fighting is an inevitable part of school, especially for boys. They will be suspended, without exception. Gang problems in our community.

Since I started teaching I have changed alot. I remember the first time a kid told me to F*** off. I was really surprised! I did a ride along with my brother the policeman once, I hate going into places where bad things are happening. I hate rubberneckers at traffic accidents. I don't want to be at the scene of the crime. I am not a first responder by nature. But sometimes life puts us here.

I have improved. It doesn't make me nervous, like it used to. I am still not "good" at it.

So what about you? Have you ever been put on the spot to help someone? Ever had to break up a fight? Ever responded to an emergency? Ever had to be in that tense situation and make those fast decisions and hope you weren't going to get mowed down in the process?

In our household, we have a sick toddler who has hurled all over hersheets and our washing machine, of course, as you know, is dead waiting for pick up and drop off of the newbie which will not happen till Monday. She has messedup both of her sheets, and all her blankets. Oh well.

Teach

NEA Today magazine ran a special about teacher blogs.

This is sort of a teacher blog except for the fact that I rarely talk about my teaching.

Which is strange because it is really a huge part of my life. When I come home, stopping thinking about school is my first item of business. Sometimes I have a hard time with it.

I teach ESL. The majority of my students speak either Russian or Ukrainian or Spanish.

I teach Health. Am I a health major? No, but I am a bit of a post graduate student of paying attention to the decisions related to health that I make. I used to never think about this and wonder why anyone would. This is where my students are now, so I feel some level of success at having reached them because so many respond positively to the class.

Because I have taught this subject for five years now I have actually had the chance to improve the curriculum and come to know what is reasonable to expect, what will bore them to tears, what they will do, what they will do if I teach it right, and of course, what they won't do because either they aren't capable of it, or they just don't see the point, or they flat out don't get it. I can't say I have had as much success in my reading class, though it does get better and better.

This semester I have a student named Steven. He is the brother of another kid I had who was a sparkling standout. So, it is hard for me to not feel some level of comprehension of Steven and his family, I know his dad, his mom, his uncle and two of his brothers. They are sincere, smart, fun and funny as a family.

Steven however, though he is 18 and should probably have graduated last year, has really low written and speaking skills in English and often just sits more than he gets down to work. This finals I think was hard on him, though he won't say it. I can tell when he writes the vocabulary sentences, they all revolve around other people's opinions of his intelligence and work ethic and his refuting of their judgement of him as lazy or not very smart.

I know Steven is smart. I know he is a good person. And because I know his whole family, I actually think about what I could say to him to drive home the fact that his future is at stake here. Something inside me is seeking these perfect golden words that will change his life. If only, I think.

And another, larger part of me knows that like how I was at that age, Steven has his own choices to make. But I remember wishing that someone could have spoken to my heart to keep me from making the wrong choices. But who would that have been?

I think, in my soliloquoy (you spell it, then) to Steven I would tell him this, and pretend I had his ear.

I know you feel like you cannot see how these little things we do all day long connect to the bigger picture that is your future. But your future, which only you will live, depends on seeing that connection. It depends on it because your education, your english, will direct what kind of work you have. What kind of work you have will be how much money you have each month. To survive, to put food down for a girl you love, or whether she will support you. Whether or not you will be able to afford that winter coat for the child you will have some day. What food you eat, where you live, whether you can afford to have vacations, or even enjoy your work...all that will depend on your job. And your job will depend on your education, and that will depend on what you do now, every hour you spend in these doors.

I know that high school isn't for everyone. Maybe you should go take some classes at the community college and see how that works for you. Will you understand enough? You're smart, will you pick it up over time? Possibly. But if you aren't working here, what will motivate your passion enough to work? If this isn't the place for you, then go find where it is that you feel is a useful way to spend your time.

Basically I want to say poop or get off the pot. I feel for Steven, I have been in his shoes. I think alot of young men are where he is. Making a connection between learning cancer vocabulary and why it is important enough to actually work on it, well that might as well be the Grand Canyon.

In the end, I lose no sleep over Steven. I have had enough Stevens, I know it is his life, and I don't need to be a savior. I guess sometimes I just challenge myself with a mind game of "what could I say to get them to change." It is a futile game, but alas. It makes me a better listener, actually, if you can believe it.

Finals over, in my fifth year I am so glad because I stress about 5% what I used to in my first year. I was perpetually in fear of being canned then. Not that I did anything wrong, but because I was so happy with my job I just figured that it would only stand to reason I would get canned. So much for my optimism, there. The longer I teach the more I know where I will be lenient and where I won't budge. The less I worry about everything because I know that every day is a new chance to forget stupid little mistakes, or really stupid big ones.

I recently had a former student come back and interview me for a final project. The interview went horribly. I was in the middle of administering test makeups, and there was a club meeting also happening in my room at the time. Plus I had to prepare for the next class, and it was lunch and I was starving. Her questions were very, very good. My answers were mostly me rambling thinking about too many things at once and trying to find something that wouldn't get me in trouble and still rang a little true. I wished I could have seen the questions beforehand, I respect the girl and her family alot, I have had two of her brothers as well in my class. Good people. I was disappointed in the quality of the interview. I had no pearls.

So teaching. I suppose it isn't for everyone, but I do love it. I guess my greatest aspiration would be to have an answer to all of those really hard situations...I know there is alot that is up to the students and how they feel about the teacher. So I guess it is being the teacher that they won't mess with, not out of fear, but out of respect.