Educators and others who think about social issues--I can use some help: I got into a conversation with students in English class today about sexism, brought up by a pattern (out of the classroom, but among our students) of MS boys making critical comments about girls' bodies. In the course of an energized, basically positive conversation, some boys brought up that girls can be sexist, too. In a moment that I could have handled better, I argued against this, instead of probing further.


One factor in our students' reading abilities that often gets glossed over is their past experience with reading--those experiences that drew them toward reading and those that have repelled them. Teachers know that our work with readers depends as much on their reading attitudes as their reading skills, and that these two pieces are intertwined. I think of my own daughter, who is not yet two. Each night I read to her before bed, in an enjoyable and loving ritual that many young children experience. I get to see her relationship with books, words and stories develop right before my ...


One of the most fundamental routines in an English or any literacy-based classroom is the practice of reading. So what do we do when we give students a reading task, but we see that real reading is not happening? I'm talking about those moments when it seems like we're stuck repeating directions, redirecting off task behavior, and even struggling to stay focused ourselves. Maybe it's just a wonky moment--or maybe it's time to step back, evaluate what's really going on, and change course.


Meaningful conversations and content in class mean a little more right now. Any break from school, but especially the holidays, bring more than the usual amount of chaos in students' lives--both at school and at home. While anxiety can build and emotions can run high, our words can be reassuring and inspiring. Whatever we leave students to think about is going to sit with them a little longer and differently than on any normal school day or week.


It's the start of class, and the opening task is to read quietly. "Can I go to my locker to get my book?" a student asks. I give a disapproving look, because she should have her book with her, but I say yes. I have no extra copy to offer, and I don't want her to spend the period unproductive. Another student asks to get her book from her locker. I'm irritated, but I say yes.


"If both of your parents are immigrants, do they deport you too, or do you get put into a foster home?" one of my middle school students asked yesterday afternoon. "I've asked this to some other teachers, but I still don't know the answer," she added. It had been on her mind all day. I've taught through four presidential elections. This one feels in no way normal.


Teaching adolescents requires constantly evolving our skill sets for responding to conflict. This is a long term, often deeply personal process, since conflicts can often involve us directly. What can we do to move forward in the moment when our agenda and a student's agenda seem to clash?


How exactly do we help students to be able to read complex texts on their own? Do we give them texts that are well above their reading levels and apply as much scaffolding as we need to get students through it? Or do we meet readers where they are with more accessible text selections first and build their independent reading skills?


In the launch of her new blog, Ariel Sacks explains what she means by teaching for the whole story and why she's doing it.


The opinions expressed in Teaching for the Whole Story are strictly those of the author(s) and do not reflect the opinions or endorsement of Editorial Projects in Education, or any of its publications.

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