On the Reservation

After the Virginia Tech shootings, the whole world mourned, including our world on the Navajo Nation. But when you’re perched on top of a mesa in the middle of a desert, hours from high-rises more than 3- or 4-stories high, it’s easy to feel very far away, no matter how tragic the event.

So while I heard my students express their horror and sadness over the massacre, I knew that some of them didn’t quite comprehend its tragedy. I knew that because I overheard quiet chuckling from several students after one made a crude and completely inappropriate comment about the attack. I was disgusted and angry (and I wrote him up), but luckily my teacher-composure kicked in. I didn’t yell at them. I tried to teach them something instead.

After emphasizing the inappropriateness of the comment, I gathered them all around in a circle. We talked about the shooting, what happened, and how sad it was. But then I told them that I grew up a mere 4-hours away from the city where it happened. And that I knew people who attended the university. And worst of all, my best friend had a close friend who was shot by the gunman. Twice. Once in the stomach and once in the leg.

They were stunned and couldn’t believe me at first. It hit closer to home now that this bad event happened to someone their own teacher had a connection with. They stopped commenting on our discussion and just sat quietly to think. Simply through association, they now knew someone who was shot. Simply through association, they moved closer to Blacksburg.

Now they wanted to know what they could do. They could write condolence cards. They could pray for the families that were affected. But most importantly, they could have empathy and care. This simple task took some students by surprise. But it wasn’t so simple, I pointed out. By having empathy, you’re recognizing that bad things can happen anywhere. So be nice. Show respect. Put yourself in other people's situations. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Explain this to others who may not understand. And remember that being on top of a mesa in the middle of a desert is never too far away.

Posted by Jessica Shyu at 1:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Fifty-percent of new teachers leave the classroom after just five years. Sometimes it’s burn-out. Sometimes it’s realizing you don’t really like teaching. Sometimes it’s moving on to your next calling.

I’ve already completed my struggling-blindly-treading-water-help-me first year, and in mere weeks, I’m about to conclude my still-struggling-but-thank-goodness-I’m-so-much-better-at-this second year. I have had my share of highlights, lowlights and lessons taught to me (and hopefully a couple learned by the students). Like every other passionate teacher, I work to close the achievement gap. But as a new teacher with almost 2 years of experience, I find myself at the crossroads of my classroom career. My 2-year commitment with Teach for America to my school is about to end. I must seriously consider, “Do I want to keep teaching?”

Yes. And no.

I never expected to really like teaching. When I joined Teach for America, I figured I would work my butt off for two years and teach as well as I could, but soon return to the journalism industry. I was even ashamed to introduce myself as a teacher (For months, I prefaced it by saying I used to be a journalist for USATODAY.com.)

So it took me by as much surprise as it did my family when I began looking into graduate schools of education on the East Coast. Even though I am already enrolled in a graduate program at Western New Mexico University, it would be years before I graduated, and I was already envisioning myself teaching in an urban school on the East Coast where I would be closer to my family. I pictured myself working my way up to becoming a reading specialist and then, one day, an administrator at a public or charter school.

Barely realizing it, I was planning my career around the classroom. It wouldn’t be in the school or community I have grown to love over the past two years, but it would be in a school and in someone else’s high-need community. As guilt-stricken as I feel about leaving all my beloved students, I was a bit relieved knowing that I would be teaching (and learning to teach) other students that needed plenty of nurturing (and high-frequency word drills).

But then, the not-so-expected happened. On the last day that applications were due, I applied to be a program director for Teach for America. Last month, I was offered a position in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. This job wouldn’t give me my own classroom, nor would it give me a set of elementary or secondary students to instruct. This time, I would be teaching first- and second-year TFA teachers, as well as supporting them, problem solving with them, and guiding them in every, and any, respect to the classroom. This was not part of my original vision for life after School Year 2006-2007.

But after serious consideration, I realized that this was an opportunity I couldn’t refuse—much like the chance I scored two years ago to teach on the Navajo Nation. With this job, I may not be able to influence 300-some lives at the level of depth I have been able to as a school teacher, but I will be able to influence countless lives by supporting their teachers.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying every joyful, tearful, frustrating and awkward moment of teaching.

(And there are many… like last week when my English class couldn't stop marveling (or giggling, or asking questions about, or drawing pictures of) my huge zit. And yesterday, when I made my big, burly middle schoolers march down the hall silently in a single-file line five times until they were able to walk and not talk at the same time. As one behavior specialist who happened to observe us approvingly said, “That’s repetition until submission.”)

Posted by Jessica Shyu at 1:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Monday afternoon. Sitting in graduate school class. Reading Chapter 8 of Vicki Spandel's "Creating Writers Through 6-Trait Writing Assessment and Instruction." Feeling slightly queasy from the assignment.

Do you write?
Why, of course I do. In fact, I’m quite good at it, I think.

When you first thought about being a writing teacher, did you picture yourself writing? I didn’t.
You mean writing on my own or with my students?

I pictured myself handing out assignments, being the one with the power (and the red pen) for a change.
Yes, I am very good at that.

At last, I would be the one to decide how long the papers must be, how many days students would have to write, whether rough drafts would have to be turned in with the final copy, whether spelling would count.
Oh… that sounds like this afternoon…

I had not yet learned yet to teach writing, only to assign writing.
Oh boy…

… Teachers of writing, if they wish to be effective, must themselves write (Graves, 1983; Murray, 1985; Atwell, 1987). Almost everyone now accepts this. It’s only logical. Yet, many teachers continue to resist writing with or in front of students—for a variety of reasons.
This is not good…

As I read the first two pages from the text on "Being a Writer", I began feeling slightly ill. By the time my graduate school classmates and I regrouped to discuss our thoughts on this literacy chapter, I was rather nauseous. Here I am, a former journalist, a current blogger and a self-professed lover of the written word… and I suck at teaching writing.

I never liked to teach writing. I’ve always loved teaching math. I’ve grown to adore instructing reading. But I’ve never been able to wrap my mind or heart around teaching written language. My common sense tells me that language arts isn’t all about grammar and textbook work; rather it’s about getting them to write.

My students in the resource room write constantly. From the first day of the school year, they’ve learned to plan with graphic organizers, write drafts, revise and make final drafts. They respond to inspiring prompts like “Who is your hero and why?” and “If you had $1 million, what would you do with it?” It’s a miserable existence for all of us. To them, it's painfully hard, boring and practically pointless. As a result, they agonize my life in noisy and unproductive ways.

My failure to expose my students to the joys of writing for fun, for expression, for a purpose, is a failure of me as a teacher, and as a writer. I remember being 13 and realizing that not only could I concoct a nice-sounding sentence, but I could eloquently express my true, sophisticated self on paper in ways I failed to in real life. (This remains true to this day.)

So this the long version of why I now have a new blog titled, Miz Shyu Writes. This is the reason why I decided to write alongside my students.

We began with them assigning me a writing prompt ("If I Came from Terror Mountain..."). Next, I modeled how I, a seasoned writer, need to think, ask questions and do research while planning. I demonstrated how I write. I demonstrated how I cross out. I demonstrated how I scrapped a whole section, messed up on my spelling and had to reread sentences out loud to myself to determine whether they made sense.

Along with a new Big Goal for the last six weeks of school (Students will score an average of 80% or better on all writing assignments!!!), we are revving ourselves up to not only be able to plan, draft, revise and draft again. My students are going to learn to write for fun and publish on their own personal blogs that we’ll set up. They’re going to learn to write for a purpose. And they’re going to learn to write for themselves.

Posted by Jessica Shyu at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Dear Readers,
I am a slacker. I haven't been teaching. I haven't been lesson planning. I haven't even been in New Mexico. And as evidenced by the date of this entry, I haven't been blogging. It's spring break and I'm back East visiting family. I will update the blog this weekend.

EDIT: I am finally writing my lesson plans for the next week right now and they're just pouring out of me. Spring break (and not doing anything) has reenergized and inspired me. It is comforting to be able to justify sloth.

Posted by Jessica Shyu at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)