Are Tables Really Smart?

There is something wonderful about breaking school social norms--not the norms about keeping kids safe, but the ones that really don't make sense. I've started doing math on my table. Students are a bit taken back by it at first and usually say, "Is that allowed?"

There is nothing magical about doing math on my table, however it does seem to open up possibilities for group work, mistake making, and ultimately reasoning. Who needs a smart table, when the kids sitting around a regular table are smart? Try it. A few markers and a cloth are all that's need.

Almost Resignation of a Fifth Year Teacher

I had a hard year. It doesn't feel that hard right now, with only a week left of school. It was hard for lots of reasons, however after reading back in my journal, I realized just how close I was to calling it quits. Here is an excerpt from my journal:

Why I am Done?

I like metaphors. Here's one: being a teacher is like being in a room full of baby whales. They don't really know what they want, so they flop around on the floor until someone gives them what they "need". The horrible thing is that each day the thing(s) changes--the thing that they need or want changes. So they flop around and break things. They have broken me. I will admit it. I wear pink and they broke me. I am not good at building steal cages to protect myself--well I almost became a welder, so i guess I could. Maybe the thing is I am not willing to spend anymore time placating the beasts. It is not worth it. You know I was willing to wait out the infant stage, until one day I saw it happen. You will never believe it. I saw a new whale being born and it was eaten by the other baby whales. I suppose that by eating the newborn, they somehow stay babies themselves.

I am a bit embarrassed for being so dramatic, but that is how I felt. I remember feeling alone, misunderstood, and angry--my skin is a bit tougher now (love covers all)--the weight of helping kids learn, making everyone happy, getting my master's degree, being a father, being a husband, being a friend, being a being, being a learner....got to me. It felt so heavy. I snapped out of it, I think.

It is funny that without this short journal entry reminder, I would have not stopped to reflect on how good a year it really has been. The way I grew as a teacher/learner...as a human. I contributed to justice making in the world by helping kids access tools and find their voices. The "I" really should be a "we." Our school is changing and I am changing with it

The Prezi Response

I was reading a post on The Number Warrior about tilting number lines. The post asks the question, "is the left-to-right number line the best?" The case is made that some see numbers on lines in different ways.  People with synesthesia are notable examples of the phenomena.  The Number Warrior speculated that maybe alternate positioning of the number line may help students learn.  One commenter suggested that students might have a difficult time with that when they started using planes and Cartesian coordinate systems.  I disagreed with the comment and started typing a response and then I thought, "what if I prezi-ed my response?" So that is what I did.  The number line prezi was fun to make and I think it could be a nice conversation starter. I will post about what happens.

Google Earth and Justice?

I've been using my web cam to reflect on lessons (usally I walk down the hall talking to a computer). It is interesting how google earth could raise issues of justice. I'm wondering if we don't teach students to access/use current tools will that make us complicit in the achievement gaps and learning inequalities. I'm working on make the reflection meaningful for me, but in an effort to share learning and thinking I will post a few of the reflections here.

Google Earth and Access

Dante was Right?

I wrote this poem as a way to test extremes in language.

I live in paradise but work in hell.
Not Dante’s kind of hell--all leveled up
or down. The kind which
rubs dreams raw and ricochets hope.

Maybe hell is too strong? Maybe I work
in pain, like a Van Gogh painting chained to
colored sky lines covering a churches spire.
I'm not cutting anything off, just yet.

However, would I or could I sever
The hell-pain sources or whatever it
is. It would be simple, fierce--like for like.
But, what would I sever? Ideas, dreams, thoughts?

Ah, hell-pain seems to come from me. Flowing
by rivers of ideas which grind the
joints of my brain. Its not so bad, really.
It could be worse. I might be content.

A Tag Cloud

alaska alter become certainty change children create culture determination education exercise feel force formal group history hope human ideas image imagine learning male matter meeting member missionary model norway offer people perceive power practice presupposition problems recognized required room school students studied system teachers things think traveled vocation wonder work

created at TagCrowd.com

First Page of Novel

Here is the first page of a novel draft...it is one of the few things I am working on:)

The Float

Fog hovered over the flat salt water of Heron Bay. Dawn pushed light through the moister as it bounced off the silhouette of a heavy man sitting in a decaying aluminum framed lawn chair. Blood trickled down his hairy neck, soaked into his collar, and bled through his hickory shirt. The excess dripped off of his wrist like misaligned vinyl gutters and pooled around a pyramid of empty Olympia Beer cans. It worked its way through the rough sawn planks of the loading dock into the dark, still salt water. All was quiet.

A tall man stumbled up to the gangway, assessed the angle at which the tide dropped the dock, and lunged for the handrail. He took two steps and tripped over the first rounded anti-trip strip. A raven circled and landed behind the man as he forced himself up. The raven shook its wings and refolded them tightly against its breast. It pointed its beak into the air and called, “Ahhh, ahhh, ah.” The man swung around, swore, and fell down backwards closer to the dock. The raven jumped off of the rail and flew away. He pushed against the ground, stood, and shrugged his left shoulder. One suspender hung off his jeans as he finished his descent. He paused near three buckets of neglected halibut gear. The man pulled a stretch of line from the thrid bucket and a trail of knots and rusted hooks followed. He shook the line and pulled a knife from his pocket, cutting off two arm lengths. He tied a half hitch around the lifeless body’s left ankle. The man stood up and reached his hands into the air with a long yawn. He stepped over the blood and bumped one of the beer cans with his foot. The sound skipped off of the water, away from the dock towards something solid. He stepped down into the hull of a 24-foot work skiff, tied the line to the starboard stern cleat, and started the brand new 4-stroke motor. The skiff quickly pulled away from the loading dock into the fog. The pale body jerked off of the chair and skipped away.