In a clever and unexpected twist on an old classic, I inverted the concepts of the cliche "practice what you preach" and made it fun and exciting! Aren't you exceedingly diverted? I knew you would be.
One of the things about being a teacher that I didn't understand when I was a student was the idea that I sort of expected the teacher to have done what she was telling me to do. "Read this book" had an implied "because I have and it's worth it" to the command. Most of the time, I think that my teachers did what was asked of the students...to a certain extent. I don't think Mrs. White sat down and wrote out note cards for the ten-page research paper assignment back in tenth grade. And I know that Miss Bodily didn't make video summary of Othello at the end of that play for a project.
But one of the things that I've tried to do a little bit throughout the years is to create one of the projects that my students have to do, as it pertains to the historical unit/literature that we're reading. In essence, I practice the project so that I can talk more sensibly about what I'm hoping to see out of it.
I don't know if these are necessarily good projects. I made a drawing of Satan for our Paradise Lost project, and I went along with my students to do the yellow passport assignment of self-improvement that I attached to Les Miserables. So when it came to the end of Pride and Prejudice, I think they were a little disappointed that I hadn't made a project, too.
That surprised me. I didn't think that my students cared. In a lot of ways, I use these as excuses to become better at what I teach, rather than to impress the students or try to raise my cred. Or whatever. Like, I don't really know what they're after in terms of seeing my work. Is it because my artwork isn't at the same level as my writing? So they like to see that I'm still growing in other areas of my life? Or is it that I have injected so much of myself into what they're experiencing that it's strange when I'm not there, as it were? I don't know.
In my Shakespeare class, however, I am definitely stretching myself. I am not an actor. I've only been on stage a handful of times, and it was never with memorized lines or anything--though I've improvised plenty of comedy sketches or speeches. Nevertheless, the assignment for the third quarter is to become intimately competent and playful with a personally selected monologue. I picked one from Coriolanus, because that play is criminally underappreciated and I wanted to get some of it in me. I picked his speech from 3.3 where he is banished from Rome, mostly because of this moment from the Ralph Fiennes film version:
Because it's a big assignment, we've been breaking the process into pieces. There was a misunderstanding by a lot of the students that they had to have the entire thing memorized and, essentially, ready to perform this Thursday and Friday. When I talked to my coteacher about what that would look like, he was surprised to realize what the kids were expecting. All he wanted was the words: The basic syllables in the correct order.
I decided, at the outset of the term, to participate with the students in this, so I have been working on memorizing the words. I've been at it for a couple of days, and so I let Mr. Hults check my verbiage as I opened up whatever I had memorized. It was painful and a little embarrassing--like every project, I daresay--but I "checked off" my performance with the teacher. I modeled what I wanted the students to do.
I don't know what the kids thought of my "performance". I'm worried how I'm going to take it to the next level and actually act, because I've never been much for that sort of thing, though I've always enjoyed those who could do it--especially those who do it well. So now I'm in this weird situation of having voluntarily put myself into the position of doing student work with the students. It's not a bad thing, of course--I love to learn and that's what a student is supposed to do--but I'm definitely out of my comfort zone.
I'm trying this with my writing classes, too. I wrote over 1,600 words today in my novel writing class for two reasons: 1) I didn't want any of the students to overtake my word count and, since I'm missing class tomorrow, I had to get ahead; and 2) I was within striking distance of checking off 10k words in my latest novel. That's the aggregate of about seven days' work, and I'm kind of proud of how much output I've been able to do, particularly with being sick this last week.
I can't tell if I'm humble bragging or trying to process why I'm making these choices. I want to improve as a person--I have long felt insufficient and incapable of becoming more than I am--and these are small steps. Writing daily essays is another instance of personal growth that has become both pleasurable and painful, giving me intellectual isometrics that I sometimes would rather not do.
But I do feel that I can better preach to my students when I'm standing on my own foundation of experience and practice. So maybe that's not too bad a thing.
One of the things about being a teacher that I didn't understand when I was a student was the idea that I sort of expected the teacher to have done what she was telling me to do. "Read this book" had an implied "because I have and it's worth it" to the command. Most of the time, I think that my teachers did what was asked of the students...to a certain extent. I don't think Mrs. White sat down and wrote out note cards for the ten-page research paper assignment back in tenth grade. And I know that Miss Bodily didn't make video summary of Othello at the end of that play for a project.
But one of the things that I've tried to do a little bit throughout the years is to create one of the projects that my students have to do, as it pertains to the historical unit/literature that we're reading. In essence, I practice the project so that I can talk more sensibly about what I'm hoping to see out of it.
I don't know if these are necessarily good projects. I made a drawing of Satan for our Paradise Lost project, and I went along with my students to do the yellow passport assignment of self-improvement that I attached to Les Miserables. So when it came to the end of Pride and Prejudice, I think they were a little disappointed that I hadn't made a project, too.
That surprised me. I didn't think that my students cared. In a lot of ways, I use these as excuses to become better at what I teach, rather than to impress the students or try to raise my cred. Or whatever. Like, I don't really know what they're after in terms of seeing my work. Is it because my artwork isn't at the same level as my writing? So they like to see that I'm still growing in other areas of my life? Or is it that I have injected so much of myself into what they're experiencing that it's strange when I'm not there, as it were? I don't know.
In my Shakespeare class, however, I am definitely stretching myself. I am not an actor. I've only been on stage a handful of times, and it was never with memorized lines or anything--though I've improvised plenty of comedy sketches or speeches. Nevertheless, the assignment for the third quarter is to become intimately competent and playful with a personally selected monologue. I picked one from Coriolanus, because that play is criminally underappreciated and I wanted to get some of it in me. I picked his speech from 3.3 where he is banished from Rome, mostly because of this moment from the Ralph Fiennes film version:
Mine's just like that but better.
Because it's a big assignment, we've been breaking the process into pieces. There was a misunderstanding by a lot of the students that they had to have the entire thing memorized and, essentially, ready to perform this Thursday and Friday. When I talked to my coteacher about what that would look like, he was surprised to realize what the kids were expecting. All he wanted was the words: The basic syllables in the correct order.
I decided, at the outset of the term, to participate with the students in this, so I have been working on memorizing the words. I've been at it for a couple of days, and so I let Mr. Hults check my verbiage as I opened up whatever I had memorized. It was painful and a little embarrassing--like every project, I daresay--but I "checked off" my performance with the teacher. I modeled what I wanted the students to do.
I don't know what the kids thought of my "performance". I'm worried how I'm going to take it to the next level and actually act, because I've never been much for that sort of thing, though I've always enjoyed those who could do it--especially those who do it well. So now I'm in this weird situation of having voluntarily put myself into the position of doing student work with the students. It's not a bad thing, of course--I love to learn and that's what a student is supposed to do--but I'm definitely out of my comfort zone.
I'm trying this with my writing classes, too. I wrote over 1,600 words today in my novel writing class for two reasons: 1) I didn't want any of the students to overtake my word count and, since I'm missing class tomorrow, I had to get ahead; and 2) I was within striking distance of checking off 10k words in my latest novel. That's the aggregate of about seven days' work, and I'm kind of proud of how much output I've been able to do, particularly with being sick this last week.
I can't tell if I'm humble bragging or trying to process why I'm making these choices. I want to improve as a person--I have long felt insufficient and incapable of becoming more than I am--and these are small steps. Writing daily essays is another instance of personal growth that has become both pleasurable and painful, giving me intellectual isometrics that I sometimes would rather not do.
But I do feel that I can better preach to my students when I'm standing on my own foundation of experience and practice. So maybe that's not too bad a thing.