Should they all get A's?

I recently turned in grades for the quarter and was shocked to discover one of my sections of English had earned almost exclusively A's. Great Scott! I thought to myself: How can this be? Am I that easy peezy teacher that hands out good grades like breath mints?

What caused this drastic disturbance to the rigor of academia?
The largest single factor in student grades so far was a project in response to The Catcher in the Rye. Because I use moodle (an online class-organization tool) to organize class, I asked students to turn in many mini-assignments along the way. Browsing through their rough drafts on the computer I noticed they lacked meaningful introductions, so we spent a day on that. I noticed they struggled to wrap things up—we covered conclusions too. I asked a series of questions that applied to all of their projects to help narrow the focus and improve the textual references.
Surprise! Many of the final products were great. Some were even (gasp*) a little brilliant.

Technology appears to improve the communication between teacher and student. It allows me to peer in on their thinking process. I see where they need help; they do everything I ask of them on their self-directed projects. I almost felt, grading those projects, as if I had no choice but to give them A's because they completed every task I set out before them.

Or was I simply wowed by how quickly they mastered comic life and voicethread?

Clearly, as we ask students to take on more creative projects, we will need to find more creative ways to grade them. But on the other hand, as we set students up for success by providing the time, opportunity, and feedback to pursue their ideas fully, shouldn't we hand over the gold star when they emerge victorious? In an ideal classroom, wouldn't every student earn an A?

The silent kid

I have a Holden Caulfield wanna-bee in my class. He refuses to turn in anything. He goes mute. He lost his book. He has no homework. In small groups he avoids talking. When asked about his work he just covers his face with his hands and pretends he is invisible. His football coach said Holden responds well to discipline so I tried taking a hard line (getting angry takes a bit of work for me but I tried calling him into the hall for a stern talk, threatening him with an F etc.). No dice.

Then I had lunch with Dr. Ruth Fletcher, one of the deans at our school who specializes in learning differences. She role-played with me over vegetarian lasagna. I was Holden incarnate. She was me.

Ruth: "We are going to write down some themes about the book."
Me: "…"
R: "Do you know what a theme is?"
M: "Yeah…"
R: "Ok, what is it?"
M: "It's like, what the book is about."
R: "But not the whole book, just some parts of it. What is one thing that The Catcher in the Rye is about?"
M: "I don't know."
R: "Remember the first chapter about Pencey Prep? What was that chapter about."
M: "School"
R: "Good, write that down. Now, what about school?"

Baby steps. It's all about the breakdown in to questions that they can answer. He is scared. He has "always sucked at English." He doesn't want to complete assignments that will just further prove that he "can't do English." I told Ruth I never would have thought of those questions. I didn't know what to do with him. She said, "You have to be a teacher."

You have to coax him into understanding that he can succeed.

Today in class our activities moved away from sonnet analysis toward some improvisation to get ready for A Midsummer Night's Dream. Holden didn't need encouragement; he read a steamy love sonnet aloud to the whole class and leapt out of his seat to do a theater activity. He is in love. He is passionate. He is a performer. Then he came to my office in the afternoon and didn't close down on me. More evidence that you can't demand a lot of work from your students until you know them.

Why do I love my job so much?

I love my job. It is the ying to my yang, the "pop" in my popsicle, the bag around my loose-leaf tea. However, as my job search for next fall begins, some questions about why I look forward to Mondays begin to emerge. Is it this school in particular that keeps me working until bedtime or rather enthusiasm for teaching in general that sets my alarm for sunrise? What aspects of this school are essential to perpetuate this giddy feeling towards work at my next job?

Firstly, there is the high of being in the classroom. I can't believe how quickly the minute hand ticks toward the hour. Only five minutes left? No! But don't leave me you are all so dear and wonderful. I'm serious; they keep me jazzed like an Art Blakely solo. Bapapatata! If I could teach a 2-hour block rather than one, I would.

Secondly, lesson-planning causes neurons to fire in my right frontal lobe in a pleasing way. As the freshman ramp up to start A Midsummer Night's Dream we dove into iambic pentameter today: what is that? How will I explain it clearly? What activities will allow them to manipulate the material and make it there own? Creativity abounds.

I love culling information on the internet, comparing various explanations, and piecing together one to call my own. I hop downstairs to chat with the Shakespeare veterans and they toss a few sonnets my way drizzled with wisdom of experience. Which must be reason number three of why I love my job: my co-workers impress me. I just finished a thirty-minute jam session with a Shakespeare buff in my department about the last two lines of sonnet 130:
"And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare"

The faculty I work with are bright, interesting, and kind. They create a sense of community by sharing materials and extending invitations to their lunchroom table; will I find that at other schools?

Reason 4: The laptop program (I love how it places students in the driver's seat).
Reason 5: Surprises. Students teaching me new things about a text I thought I groked completely.
Reason 6: Quality above the bar. When students lift the boards and nails of a loosely framed English project and not only erect a scaffolding, but pour a foundation and paint a wall as well, it just drops my jaw open.

Don't get me wrong, I get tired. I get burnt out. I go home after school and wake up in the dark. When no creative energy trickles through my spinal chord, I grade papers. Grading reveals the gaps in their understanding and I decipher what tomorrow's lesson plan is about.

Perhaps teaching is the perfect ADD profession: you get to hop between so many different activities (lesson planning, department meetings, student conferences, grading) there is one for every mood. But are "kids" the same everywhere or are the students where I work more enjoyable to be around?