reading aloud...

On Friday I cried in front of my class.

Okay, that's sort of an exaggeration. But I did get teary in front of them. And they noticed. They knew about it. In fact, they expected it. My friends, there are so many amazing books out there in the world. Tons of them. There are quite a few that I cannot read without getting teary. Dogger is one of them. The writing is lovely and well paced and real, and there is a moment where a sister does something so kind for her brother that I always get choked up. Children always respond to this book, too. They want to borrow it, reread it, examine the illustrations, and make some of their own.

But I can't just go reading any book willy-nilly to my students. Before I can read aloud a book where I'm probably going to get teary for a moment, I have to know that:

1. the kids will be okay with seeing me tear up. (They worry.)
2. our class is in a place where we can have moments of raw emotion like that
3. they're going to get something out of the story, too.

They did. ♥

Before we read, we talked about books we'd read over the year... books that had taught us how to predict, books that had made us laugh, had inspired our writing, had done a multitude of different things. I also told them that sometimes we understand the story or the characters so well that we almost feel what they are feeling. We talked about laughing and crying, about happy tears and sad tears and proud tears, and we talked about what we would do if someone did cry during a story.

We were prepared.

I don't quite know how to describe the feeling of reading aloud to children to someone that has never had 24 children hanging on every dramatic word, but believe me when I say it is magical. Good writing and good reading do this. Shirley Hughes so beautifully described the feeling and action of the main character that by the climax of the story, the children were absolutely still, some with mouths open and all with their eyes no where but on the lush illustrations, and none with a single breath in their mouth.

By the time the children realized that I had paused at one point not because I was being dramatic, but because I literally couldn't read the next words until I swallowed the lump in my throat, they knew exactly how I was feeling.

Because they were feeling it, too.

Reading aloud is such an intimate, exciting, beautiful part of the day, and on Friday they realized another important layer.

Hyung told me later, "I know why you cry, Miz F. I feel like it, too."

So, yeah. On Friday I cried in front of my students. But they were ready. We all were.

class library...

We opened our class library yesterday. We don't even have three shelves open yet and they're all so excited about it.

I have a lot to say about the beginning of the year, but I keep spending my time on family conferences and first grade stuff and not blogging about first grade stuff. I'll try to rectify that next week. I definitely miss writing.

elusive (as it were) standards...

This number begins to consume my life during the end of May. To those of you that aren't elementary school teachers, 16 is a reading level. More specifically, it's the end of first grade benchmark reading level. Yes. This number is a Big. Deal.

This brings up a myriad of insecurities and judgments as I move toward the closing of the DRA assessment window: how many children will meet or exceed the benchmark? who didn't pass? what if I had just two more weeks? why didn't they pass? did I honestly and truly do everything I could have for [insert any child's name here]?

The self-doubt is exhausting.

Case in point. Ammir. Oh, heavens, he is a glorious child. This boy has been moving along in reading this year. His effort is stellar, his connections many. Everything we've talked about this year is right up there in his brain: schema, visualizing, making connections, digraphs, consonant blends, long vowels, short vowels, quick & easy words... all of it.

It's not quite automatic for him, though. If he confronts a word he doesn't know, and someone says, "well, do you see a consonant blend? or another part that you know?" he will always find something, and nine times out of ten, he'll figure out that word. So, he has everything that he needs; he just doesn't have it automatically yet. It doesn't always occur to him to ask himself those questions.

He will, though. This will come. Things will start clicking into place and he'll make sense of things rapidly.

But, as of Friday, he was reading at a level fourteen. This, according to my school system, is not passing performance. You see, children in our school system are expected to pass or be reading on a level 16. The kicker, though? Our children are expected to pass or be reading on this level by last Friday. School doesn't end for three more weeks.

Just to throw another little piece of information into this example, Ammir turned seven a week ago. Another one of my darlings that passed the level sixteen turned seven in December. Ailanya has five more months of existing than Ammir. When one is in their thirties, five months might not seem like a big deal, but that's nearly one-seventeenth of his life. If Ammir had those extra five months, I am confident that he would be well beyond a level sixteen. And yet, even though he was born near the end of the school year, he is still expected to fit into the same little box with all of the other children.

So, that's a bit of a tangent, I know, but I think it helps illustrate my mindset. In some ways, this standard is helpful, but in other ways it's quite arbitrary. It certainly doesn't paint the rich picture of who Ammir is as a reader or as a person.

Now, I don't disagree with standards, and I don't disagree with having a measure with which teachers can consult to guide instruction. Quite the opposite. But I do think that the very act of having standards automatically brings exceptions and places where the standard isn't going to be the best measure.

This is clearly one of those cases.

If I had my druthers, I would much rather write a full page narrative about each child during each grading period and use that to communicate with families and other teachers. It would take a lot more time, yes. But it would allow me valuable reflection on every student in my classroom and their progress and development as the months have gone on.

And it would certainly give a much more developed picture of a child than a single number ever will.

I do think that six year olds in pajamas walking down the hallway with gigantic, anticipatory grins for Read Across America Day might be the eighth wonder of the world. ♥

professional dilemmas

A professional dilemma I keep facing:

How do I balance what I truly believe is right for children with the ever-increasing expectations (and standards and mandates, etc...)?

How?

One example: this class. They love books. Love them. Now, it's not odd for children to love books. In fact, it's quite rare when they don't. But often, even during a read aloud, many children zone out, fidget, and etc...

But not this class. Nope. They are many things: young, loud, varied, talkative, curious, challenging -- but if ever I want to regroup them, to calm them down, to amaze them... I read a book. It's amazing to watch. Really. They are always mesmerized. PIcture books, nonfiction, chapter books -- anything. We have two read aloud times per day but I've been trying to find time for at least one or two more.

But, oh... the guilt...

In order to carve in 1-2 more read alouds, I would have to take time away from another subject area. This worries me because there is just so much packed into the curriculum that they have to know (to be tested on in grade 3) and if we don't do it, they might not get it at any other time.

And yet I keep thinking: what is more powerful than delving into literature? What is more powerful than talking, discussing, wondering, counting, thinking, feeling? Should I really have to justify reading aloud more often when my students get so much out of it?

In my heart... I just don't think so.

I can read that...

Benicio has been learning English for slightly more than a year. He is completely dedicated to learning and takes everything I say very literally, obviously trying to put it into practice with his own learning. He is, quite honestly, amazing. The progress that he's made in the past ten weeks is remarkable.

Yesterday in the library, our librarian was reading Duck at the Door aloud to my class. She turned to one of the pages that was mostly an illustration, and in the center of the page were a few words in a regular size font and then "Duck" in larger letters.

I heard Benicio whisper, sort of in awe of himself, "I can read that!"

And then he did: "Duck."

I can scarcely imagine what he'll be doing by the end of the year. I sort of can't wait to find out... ♥