Friday, February 09, 2007
Fear vs. Trust in the Classroom
I have been reading this book called "Teaching With Your Hair on Fire". I have not got very far but the first chapter has been wonderful. The author insists that the majority of classrooms in the US are based on a system of fear. The child behaves and does assignments purely out of fear of punishment. The teacher is obeyed because they are feared. In fact, he says that teachers even think they are doing a good job when they are feared. They are often proud of the fear they strike into their students' hearts. The rub is that they really do have the child's best interest at heart. Teachers think that this is the way to reach children. This is partly the way I have thought students can be reached as well. I have been struggling in my student teaching with this issue. It was a breath of fresh air to see that this is not how a class should be run. That is good because I make a terrible tyrant. Instead, the class is built on trust. The teacher must earn trust by showing that they care. This is the part that I am not good at explaining. I think that if you want to know more you should look at this NPR link on the author.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Poem?
This is another piece of writing from my literature class. I think it is a little sappy but it made some of the people in class cry. Tell me what you think
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I hear the voice of my friend, my brother in arms. He came here to fight for freedom. He signed up when the buildings fell. He will shed no tears today for me. He has a job to do. It used to be to free this land, now it is to get out alive.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the man whose life I have taken. We are leaving this world together. He was fighting to save his land. How can we both be fighting to save this land? In a better world we would have a few beers and tell a few stories. I don’t know where he is going, but I hope it is a better place.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the young boy in the mind field. He is looking for scraps to sell. He knows it as dangerous but it is the only way he can eat. I remember this boy. I gave him a candy bar. He did not eat it. He took it to his younger sister and gave it to her. Oh, he is so close to the mines. Please God, don’t take him today. Take me. But I suppose I am too far gone for bargaining.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see that man. I only saw his eyes. I still feel the hate. I still feel the fear. To him I was an animal needing extermination. These are the guys who get to you. So full of hate. I hope the next world is free from men like this.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the woman, the one who would sell her self to me. Those sad eyes of hers. She was someone’s wife, someone’s sister, someone’s mother. I gave her all the money I had with me. The others laughed at me for not taking my turn. I hope that she has found a better way.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the rich politician. He cares not for these people. He has not fear for the freedom of his land. This war makes him giddy, it makes his wallet fat.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see another politician. His heart is breaking as the numbers rise. He said yes to this war, when all he saw were the towers coming down. WMDs, WMDs, we must stop the WMDs. Then there were none. Free the people, free the people, he holds on to the only thing he can. But more people are dying and freedom seems so far away. The politician feels hopeless and unable to change the fate of this land.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see a yard full of yellow ribbons. Yellow ribbons on the trees. Yellow ribbons on the bushes. Yellow ribbons on the fence. Yellow ribbons tacked to the house. Yellow ribbons on any little flower that will hold them. It is Mom and Dad’s. They are so proud of me. But they want me home. They are praying now, like they always do for my safe return. I will be with them always, but I will never walk the sidewalk to their house again.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see them. The two of them together, my daughter and my wife. They are making cookies together. They are laughing and free. I am glad they will never know that this was the exact moment. I would not want this moment to be destroyed. They are having so much fun. What I would give to walk in that door from a hard day’s work. My daughter would run to me and leap into my arms. My wife would wink at me from the kitchen while drying off her hands. My daughter would know who I am. Now I am just the man on the phone. I wonder how long it will be before they know.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands, I feel my life slip through my hands.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I hear the voice of my friend, my brother in arms. He came here to fight for freedom. He signed up when the buildings fell. He will shed no tears today for me. He has a job to do. It used to be to free this land, now it is to get out alive.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the man whose life I have taken. We are leaving this world together. He was fighting to save his land. How can we both be fighting to save this land? In a better world we would have a few beers and tell a few stories. I don’t know where he is going, but I hope it is a better place.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the young boy in the mind field. He is looking for scraps to sell. He knows it as dangerous but it is the only way he can eat. I remember this boy. I gave him a candy bar. He did not eat it. He took it to his younger sister and gave it to her. Oh, he is so close to the mines. Please God, don’t take him today. Take me. But I suppose I am too far gone for bargaining.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see that man. I only saw his eyes. I still feel the hate. I still feel the fear. To him I was an animal needing extermination. These are the guys who get to you. So full of hate. I hope the next world is free from men like this.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the woman, the one who would sell her self to me. Those sad eyes of hers. She was someone’s wife, someone’s sister, someone’s mother. I gave her all the money I had with me. The others laughed at me for not taking my turn. I hope that she has found a better way.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see the rich politician. He cares not for these people. He has not fear for the freedom of his land. This war makes him giddy, it makes his wallet fat.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see another politician. His heart is breaking as the numbers rise. He said yes to this war, when all he saw were the towers coming down. WMDs, WMDs, we must stop the WMDs. Then there were none. Free the people, free the people, he holds on to the only thing he can. But more people are dying and freedom seems so far away. The politician feels hopeless and unable to change the fate of this land.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see a yard full of yellow ribbons. Yellow ribbons on the trees. Yellow ribbons on the bushes. Yellow ribbons on the fence. Yellow ribbons tacked to the house. Yellow ribbons on any little flower that will hold them. It is Mom and Dad’s. They are so proud of me. But they want me home. They are praying now, like they always do for my safe return. I will be with them always, but I will never walk the sidewalk to their house again.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands:
I see them. The two of them together, my daughter and my wife. They are making cookies together. They are laughing and free. I am glad they will never know that this was the exact moment. I would not want this moment to be destroyed. They are having so much fun. What I would give to walk in that door from a hard day’s work. My daughter would run to me and leap into my arms. My wife would wink at me from the kitchen while drying off her hands. My daughter would know who I am. Now I am just the man on the phone. I wonder how long it will be before they know.
As I close my eyes and feel my life slip through my hands, I feel my life slip through my hands.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
The Pineapple - A Short Story
This is a short story I wrote for our literacy class in the MAT program. The mini-pineapple in my last post made me think of it. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think?
The Pineapple
by Colby Spell
My brother's name is LokomaikaiKeAkua. That is probably quite mouthful for you mainlanders. Fortunately, my brother was obsessed with Western movies and insisted on us calling him by the name of Shane. This was convenient for my mother because, as much as she had to yell at us, “LokomaikaiKeAkua and Kolupi” would have exhausted her long before the day was done. Shane and Kolupi, that's my name, were much quicker to say when parenting was necessary. In spite of the best efforts of my Mom and Dad, we were trouble. It is not that we were bad kids, we just had a lot of energy and above average curiosity. If I told you all the mischief that we made before the age of 12 it would fill a whole book. I will tell you this one story though.
We spent a lot of time at the beach. We would often spend hours by the waters edge looking for shells, rocks and other treasures of the sea. There were these really slimy gobs of seaweed that would wash up on the shore. Since there were copious amounts of the stuff there was really only one thing that could be done. Thats right, seaweed fights. The seaweed was perfect for throwing. It would make such a satisfying “schlop” sound as it splattered all over its target. If you were lucky you would hit your opponent in the face where the salty shrapnel would find its way into an open eye. Oh the exquisite pain. Mind you, this usually resulted in a spanking, but it was still satisfying. I guess maybe we were not the nicest of children. Still, it was basically good clean fun.
Then one day it crossed the line. We had just cut an unripe pineapple and we were playing soccer with it. It was not a great ball but we had nothing better to do. It did not take long before there was some disagreement as to whether the dead seagull counted as in bounds or out of bounds. Push came to shove and we were throwing seaweed. On accident, my brother picked up a jelly fish and flung it at me. My mouth happened to be open and, you guessed it, I got a mouth full. I just lost it. I picked up our little green pineapple and whiffed it at him. It hit him above the eye hard enough that I knew it would leave a mark. “Yes!” I said. “He kâkalaioa!” he yelled back. Just so you know, that is not a very nice thing to say. But he was very mad. He grabbed the rock-hard pineapple, reared back and threw it me as hard as he could.
That is when it went horribly wrong. At first I thought luck was with me but I was wrong. “All right” I said as it whizzed safely past my ear. The pineapple hit a coconut tree behind me with a horrible “thunk”. “Oh crap” I said as I heard the tell tale sound of swish, whack, swish, bang, swish as a coconut smashed through the branches of the Monkey Pod Tree above me. I ran in a panicked circle like an Ghost crab running from an Albatross. After that everything went black.
I don't remember much after that. I remember Mom yelling and Shane crying. But that I don't remember clearly. All I remember is that I had a headache, Shane had a black eye and we had Haupia for dessert that night. That must have been what happened to the coconut.
The Pineapple
by Colby Spell
My brother's name is LokomaikaiKeAkua. That is probably quite mouthful for you mainlanders. Fortunately, my brother was obsessed with Western movies and insisted on us calling him by the name of Shane. This was convenient for my mother because, as much as she had to yell at us, “LokomaikaiKeAkua and Kolupi” would have exhausted her long before the day was done. Shane and Kolupi, that's my name, were much quicker to say when parenting was necessary. In spite of the best efforts of my Mom and Dad, we were trouble. It is not that we were bad kids, we just had a lot of energy and above average curiosity. If I told you all the mischief that we made before the age of 12 it would fill a whole book. I will tell you this one story though.
We spent a lot of time at the beach. We would often spend hours by the waters edge looking for shells, rocks and other treasures of the sea. There were these really slimy gobs of seaweed that would wash up on the shore. Since there were copious amounts of the stuff there was really only one thing that could be done. Thats right, seaweed fights. The seaweed was perfect for throwing. It would make such a satisfying “schlop” sound as it splattered all over its target. If you were lucky you would hit your opponent in the face where the salty shrapnel would find its way into an open eye. Oh the exquisite pain. Mind you, this usually resulted in a spanking, but it was still satisfying. I guess maybe we were not the nicest of children. Still, it was basically good clean fun.
Then one day it crossed the line. We had just cut an unripe pineapple and we were playing soccer with it. It was not a great ball but we had nothing better to do. It did not take long before there was some disagreement as to whether the dead seagull counted as in bounds or out of bounds. Push came to shove and we were throwing seaweed. On accident, my brother picked up a jelly fish and flung it at me. My mouth happened to be open and, you guessed it, I got a mouth full. I just lost it. I picked up our little green pineapple and whiffed it at him. It hit him above the eye hard enough that I knew it would leave a mark. “Yes!” I said. “He kâkalaioa!” he yelled back. Just so you know, that is not a very nice thing to say. But he was very mad. He grabbed the rock-hard pineapple, reared back and threw it me as hard as he could.
That is when it went horribly wrong. At first I thought luck was with me but I was wrong. “All right” I said as it whizzed safely past my ear. The pineapple hit a coconut tree behind me with a horrible “thunk”. “Oh crap” I said as I heard the tell tale sound of swish, whack, swish, bang, swish as a coconut smashed through the branches of the Monkey Pod Tree above me. I ran in a panicked circle like an Ghost crab running from an Albatross. After that everything went black.
I don't remember much after that. I remember Mom yelling and Shane crying. But that I don't remember clearly. All I remember is that I had a headache, Shane had a black eye and we had Haupia for dessert that night. That must have been what happened to the coconut.
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