The Pedagogy of Grief

Last week a former student of mine was murdered. Only a little over a year removed from my classroom, his life was ended by a single bullet--a bullet discharged by a gun held by another teen who wanted my former student's designer belt.

A belt.
I'm angry.

Angry because of all the love that I and my fellow teachers threw his way during what was a challenging and trying freshman year. Ticked that it seems to have been all for naught.

Angry because it's senseless. Over a belt? I'd buy all the kids in the park that night whatever belt they wanted if that gun could just stay hidden.

Angry because he was going to be a good man. You could sense it, see it in his eyes, in his smile. If he could just make it there, to manhood.

Angry because he's going to be forgotten, isn't he? His story seems to already be slipping from our memories, lost in the strong current of more kids and more guns and more senselessness.

Angry because I got choked up teaching my university students last night. While reading the final pages of Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, a paragraph from the end when he is describing his young friend's death, I couldn't shake the image of my former student lying on the cold grass of that park taking his last breaths. I couldn't stop imagining how his eyes must've been open and searching for some explanation that made some sense to him.

There I was in front of my students unable to proceed. The words wouldn't come. Something had risen up from somewhere deep inside of me and I felt paralyzed. Truth is, it was all I could do to not break down in front of them.

Maybe I should have. Maybe that would've made some sense. Here were twenty-five future teachers watching me succumb to my emotions. Peter, who is going to be a brilliant teacher, finished reading the last page for me because there was no way I could read those final lines. So, Peter, thank you for that.

After class, Angela, another student destined for an amazing career in her own classroom, asked about guilt--if I felt any in situations like this. I told her no.

I can't. I tried my best for him. We all did. I think I would feel profound guilt if I would've made him invisible through indifference, but we offered him the best we had; some days he accepted it, some days he didn't. But we never, ever gave up on him. Not once.

So, no--there is no guilt. Only anger.

My dear future teachers, I'm angry that people will try to somehow blame you for society's ills, for intimating that you're not trying hard enough to reach these troubled kids, for the fact that you will undoubtedly lose students who were dear to you through accident, illness, suicide.

And even murder.

I'm angry that one day, perhaps, you will decide to cut short your own classroom careers because the weights are sometimes too hard to bear. I'm angry that some of you may choose not to enter the profession because of the enormity and the seeming impossibility of the job.

Please don't. Please know that you are so vital to bringing sense to all this senselessness. Yes, you will carry weights. Many weights. But you will not carry them alone.

Peter will finish the book for you. Angela will ask a caring question. Justin will send an email. Jay will shake your hand. Shelby will read a news article to fill in the blanks you couldn't bear to read for yourself. Josh will offer his genuine sympathy.

We will never quit. Never.

Not on ourselves, not on our colleagues, not on our students--none of them. Not even the ones you know somehow are destined for an early grave. Especially not them.

Because that is the only thing that makes sense.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for helping me carry these weights.

Steve

Seminar Assessment Using Google Forms

 In a previous post (Trio Seminar), I outlined the near impossibility of hearing everything said in a seminar format in which more than one voice is talking. And, it is often vitally important that I make this tradeoff because higher levels of student engagement are worth the added challenge of assessing a wide-spread and multi-directional conversation.

While I often place myself dead center of the trio seminar circle, recording excerpts of conversation, visually documenting participation, collecting anecdotal evidence, I have no way of knowing--at least during this segment of the seminar--what depth of understanding and the frequency and range of contributions an individual is bringing to the discussion.

Google Forms to the Rescue (Again!)

A brief version used to collect quick peer assessments.

Because my students have access to Chromebooks, I am able to have them help me assess seminar contributions via a Google form.

Prior to using the form for peer assessment purposes, we calibrate our thinking about what high levels of performance in a seminar look like.

What is not displayed in the image is the pull-down list of names I use to have students select the name of who is being assessed. You could simply have a Name? text field instead, but I found that student misspellings, make data sorting difficult. Madison becomes Madeson becomes Madyson becomes Maddisson. The pull down list standardizes the data sorting and is well worth the effort to type in all the names. (This takes me no more than five minutes per class (and is a great job for a TA), and once done can be used over and over by making a copy of the Google form for the next seminar.)

During the seminar, both the students and I use the form to assess student performance, evidence of preparation, etc. And, once the seminar is complete, the students self-assess using the same form.

At the completion of the seminar, I can calculate student scores (with the data that is automatically sent to a Google Sheet), and review comments and contributions, to determine a student's seminar grade.

 Depending on the seminar goals (and time I have to do this), I will use a Google add-on (Save as Doc) to select the comments and scores for each student so that I post the link to their green sheet, which gives them the full range of the peer and teacher and self assessments from which they can formulate goals for growth in the next seminar.

If you have any questions, I'd be glad to help. Just send me a note.

Thanks for reading!
Steve