Wednesday afternoon, October 23rd. 54th St. & 6th Avenue.
Six young men--all juniors with high grade point averages--traveled with me, their U.S. History & Government teacher, to the twentieth floor of one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in Manhattan. Our destination: a private, one-on-one meeting with Mr. Jim Davlin, Vice President of Finance & Treasurer for the General Motors Company.
Mr. Davlin is a Wabash College alumnus, as I am. We found a connection to him via Mr. Steve Klein, Dean of Admissions at Wabash College. Mr. Klein has visited with two groups of students in the past at my previous school. We decided the quarters at General Motors' New York City nerve center were a step up from meeting in our school building.
The young men involved were enthralled by the confluence of unique events they found themselves within: first time in Midtown for most of these young men, new to the United States; first time meeting directly with a corporate executive and the dean of admissions of a college; first time in a major corporate office building. I hope the young men from HSLI were most captivated by thoughts of Wabash College. But it is possible that their favorite memory may be of the elaborately concocted pastries and counter of sodas that was at their disposal.
Sitting with Mr. Davlin for about forty minutes, students asked an array of questions regarding scholarships, financial aid options, sports, and activities. Students were then able to speak directly with the dean of admissions for another forty-five minutes. The young men were offered an opportunity to visit Wabash in the fall of senior year with all expenses paid if they are in the top ten percent of their class.
Most if not all of the students involved expressed interest in visiting Wabash at a later date.
On our way out into the marbled corridor, Cadillac commercials played on a flat screen tv mounted on the wall. A blazing blue GM sign behind the receptionist served as a backdrop for a group photo.
Reentering the mad rush at the end of a Manhattan workday, we headed past the Plaza Hotel along the southern rim of Central Park and back to the train station on Lexington Avenue. It was another quintessentially unique afternoon in New York City.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Conversations with Jacob; October 19th
Jacob Czerniak's birthday is December 7th. He will be the big 1-0-3.
That's a lot of candles.
I wrote about him a few times in the spring. His memory is pristine as he recounts memories from the World War II era. Too pristine, probably. If one ever needs a reminder in a dark time about how life could be worse, look no further than the numbers cut into Jacob's left forearm. They were carved in during his time in Auschwitz.
He is a survivor. This morning he mentioned his wife to me for the first time. I'd always been afraid to ask about her. But I knew he'd been married.
"She was my best friend...my best friend," he said.
She could never quite recover, however, from the death of her father.
In 1943, he was out finding food for his family in occupied Poland. He was shot down by Nazi murderers.
Jacob and her married and moved to Minnesota together after the war. He lived out there for a while in northern Minnesota. But his wife passed on at 72 years of age.
Jacob was a tailor. In snowbound Minnesota, he was in charge of alterations for men's clothing, primarily. Sometimes he altered a woman's coat, or whatnot.
Upon moving to New York City, he worked in a factory on Seventh Avenue called FellWo (not sure about that spelling). One owner's name was Fellman, the other was Wolf.
There he explained how he supervised clothes making. He wasn't on the assembly line. It seems he was in more of an advisory role.
"You are a very good friend," he tells me. "Thank you for being my friend."
Other times he likes to tell others, such as his former home aide Maria, "He is a gentleman." I don't know if that is really true, but thank you, sir.
I tell Jacob "thank you," as well. "You are my friend, too."
I tell him how my girlfriend is still asleep downstairs. "She has a lot of problems sleeping so she sometimes is up very late and then has to sleep in," I say.
"Tell your lady friend I'm sorry she has trouble sleeping," Jacob says. He asks about my lady friend all the time.
Today I finally wrote down his phone number. I had too because Jacob's hearing has not held up quite as strongly as his memory has. A relatively small price to pay, it seems.
He tears in half an envelope from an insurance company. I try to ask if that's okay, making sure he won't need that paper. But he charges on.
His area code is 718--usual for the Bronx. I jot down the number.
Moments later, I say, "I'm going to write down my number, too, in case you ever need anything. You can call me." My area code is 917--a newer area code for the region created during the explosion of new cellphone numbers. I jot down the number and pass it to him.
He takes a moment to reach for the light--a single uncovered light bulb on his worn kitchen table. He picks up the fragment of paper, examining.
"This is not good," he says. He seems disappointed.
"9-1-7...My number is 7-1-8..."
"Oh, that is my number," I remind him.
He replies, "Ohhh. I thought that was my number you had written down."
A moment later he looks at me and smiles in his big endearing way. He looks like a boy. Just like the boy who ran so fast in the 1920's. During those teenage years of physical fitness classes in school in Poland.
A boy inside the body of a nearly 103 year old man. A survivor. A friend.
That's a lot of candles.
I wrote about him a few times in the spring. His memory is pristine as he recounts memories from the World War II era. Too pristine, probably. If one ever needs a reminder in a dark time about how life could be worse, look no further than the numbers cut into Jacob's left forearm. They were carved in during his time in Auschwitz.
He is a survivor. This morning he mentioned his wife to me for the first time. I'd always been afraid to ask about her. But I knew he'd been married.
"She was my best friend...my best friend," he said.
She could never quite recover, however, from the death of her father.
In 1943, he was out finding food for his family in occupied Poland. He was shot down by Nazi murderers.
Jacob and her married and moved to Minnesota together after the war. He lived out there for a while in northern Minnesota. But his wife passed on at 72 years of age.
Jacob was a tailor. In snowbound Minnesota, he was in charge of alterations for men's clothing, primarily. Sometimes he altered a woman's coat, or whatnot.
Upon moving to New York City, he worked in a factory on Seventh Avenue called FellWo (not sure about that spelling). One owner's name was Fellman, the other was Wolf.
There he explained how he supervised clothes making. He wasn't on the assembly line. It seems he was in more of an advisory role.
"You are a very good friend," he tells me. "Thank you for being my friend."
Other times he likes to tell others, such as his former home aide Maria, "He is a gentleman." I don't know if that is really true, but thank you, sir.
I tell Jacob "thank you," as well. "You are my friend, too."
I tell him how my girlfriend is still asleep downstairs. "She has a lot of problems sleeping so she sometimes is up very late and then has to sleep in," I say.
"Tell your lady friend I'm sorry she has trouble sleeping," Jacob says. He asks about my lady friend all the time.
Today I finally wrote down his phone number. I had too because Jacob's hearing has not held up quite as strongly as his memory has. A relatively small price to pay, it seems.
He tears in half an envelope from an insurance company. I try to ask if that's okay, making sure he won't need that paper. But he charges on.
His area code is 718--usual for the Bronx. I jot down the number.
Moments later, I say, "I'm going to write down my number, too, in case you ever need anything. You can call me." My area code is 917--a newer area code for the region created during the explosion of new cellphone numbers. I jot down the number and pass it to him.
He takes a moment to reach for the light--a single uncovered light bulb on his worn kitchen table. He picks up the fragment of paper, examining.
"This is not good," he says. He seems disappointed.
"9-1-7...My number is 7-1-8..."
"Oh, that is my number," I remind him.
He replies, "Ohhh. I thought that was my number you had written down."
A moment later he looks at me and smiles in his big endearing way. He looks like a boy. Just like the boy who ran so fast in the 1920's. During those teenage years of physical fitness classes in school in Poland.
A boy inside the body of a nearly 103 year old man. A survivor. A friend.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Shirts & Pringles
For the second time this school year I had a shirt incident.
The day of new student orientation, I arrived at school in my crisp white shirt with tie ready to tackle a new school year. Immediately upon arriving at a teacher meeting that morning, Mr. S. asked: "What happened to your shirt? You spill coffee on it?"
I looked down at my right side and saw a huge light brown stain from the collar to and around the underarm area. I'd completely forgotten during the long summer break to attempt to remove this stain that appeared out of nowhere one day last spring after the shirt had sat too long in a laundry bag. I had quickly hung the shirt back up in my closet until this new fateful morning.
Luckily, I keep an old brown wool coat at school--a remnant from one of my first neighbors in New York, c. 2006. It smells a bit and usually sits around isolated in various closets but it definitely served its purpose for the orientation. I was sweating the whole time, though, in that summer evening.
This past Monday I arrived at school ready to tackle a new school week. Refreshed, rejuvenated. I soon realized upon my arrival that my habit of getting dressed in dark places in my bedroom had come back to haunt me. Whereas I thought I'd put on a conventional white undershirt, instead I had put on a shirt from this year's Scotland Run 10k race. Through my light grey shirt one could clearly see a blue image of the Manhattan skyline on the shirt's front and a loud pronouncement of the race name and a list of sponsors on the shirt's back.
After conferring with Mr. Reid and a student, Lissamarie, I realized there was no concealing this fact and went back to the closet to retrieve my smelly brown coat.
This was another hot, humid day, mind you, and I spent it sweating out whatever toxins may have been in my skin. So that was a plus.
In other news, Mr. Weber had a funny anecdote of a student a few days ago who was eating Pringles in class. When Mr. W. reminded him that food is not allowed in our classrooms--a rule we are enforcing this year--the male student proceeded to stuff the bulky Pringles container down the front of his pants.
Interesting how students react to rules in different ways...
The day of new student orientation, I arrived at school in my crisp white shirt with tie ready to tackle a new school year. Immediately upon arriving at a teacher meeting that morning, Mr. S. asked: "What happened to your shirt? You spill coffee on it?"
I looked down at my right side and saw a huge light brown stain from the collar to and around the underarm area. I'd completely forgotten during the long summer break to attempt to remove this stain that appeared out of nowhere one day last spring after the shirt had sat too long in a laundry bag. I had quickly hung the shirt back up in my closet until this new fateful morning.
Luckily, I keep an old brown wool coat at school--a remnant from one of my first neighbors in New York, c. 2006. It smells a bit and usually sits around isolated in various closets but it definitely served its purpose for the orientation. I was sweating the whole time, though, in that summer evening.
This past Monday I arrived at school ready to tackle a new school week. Refreshed, rejuvenated. I soon realized upon my arrival that my habit of getting dressed in dark places in my bedroom had come back to haunt me. Whereas I thought I'd put on a conventional white undershirt, instead I had put on a shirt from this year's Scotland Run 10k race. Through my light grey shirt one could clearly see a blue image of the Manhattan skyline on the shirt's front and a loud pronouncement of the race name and a list of sponsors on the shirt's back.
After conferring with Mr. Reid and a student, Lissamarie, I realized there was no concealing this fact and went back to the closet to retrieve my smelly brown coat.
This was another hot, humid day, mind you, and I spent it sweating out whatever toxins may have been in my skin. So that was a plus.
In other news, Mr. Weber had a funny anecdote of a student a few days ago who was eating Pringles in class. When Mr. W. reminded him that food is not allowed in our classrooms--a rule we are enforcing this year--the male student proceeded to stuff the bulky Pringles container down the front of his pants.
Interesting how students react to rules in different ways...
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Quit Doing Work! (huh?)
I guess it's not the worst problem to have. Serious behavior issues are yet to arise in my classes, knock on wood. It's mainly just been run-of-the-mill tardiness and typical teenage talkativeness issues. Plus, a dose of teen angst thrown in. But the year's been great overall for me so far.
However, my students have to learn to stop doing so much work!
Well, that seems strange at first glance. The reality is, students are losing sight of our school's standardized transitional times. This is when, for example, students are expected to pivot from fifteen minutes of Unison Reading into a large chunk of work time (either solo or interdependent). The other half of students already in work time then pivot into their Unison time. Near the very end of class--with six minutes to go in my classes--we all pivot to two minutes of putting away resources and then have four minutes for an individual student sharing with the entire class.
The problem now is getting students to put down work time materials to make those other pivots. We began emphasizing the importance of deadlines and college readiness and something must be sinking in. "Yeah!" for small victories because a fair amount of work is coming in each week. Some of our percentages are astronomical in comparison to students at other schools around the Bronx.
But that still leaves me with this new dilemma: Getting young adults to stop working so feverishly that they are late to Unison groups and are not taking the time to put away resources before a share. Also, how to round up those last few students for a share, as they write obsessively, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the rest of the class is now in the front of the room and a classmate is beginning to share a challenge, resolution, and goal with the class.
To my students: Keep on working...but also remember the transitions!
However, my students have to learn to stop doing so much work!
Well, that seems strange at first glance. The reality is, students are losing sight of our school's standardized transitional times. This is when, for example, students are expected to pivot from fifteen minutes of Unison Reading into a large chunk of work time (either solo or interdependent). The other half of students already in work time then pivot into their Unison time. Near the very end of class--with six minutes to go in my classes--we all pivot to two minutes of putting away resources and then have four minutes for an individual student sharing with the entire class.
The problem now is getting students to put down work time materials to make those other pivots. We began emphasizing the importance of deadlines and college readiness and something must be sinking in. "Yeah!" for small victories because a fair amount of work is coming in each week. Some of our percentages are astronomical in comparison to students at other schools around the Bronx.
But that still leaves me with this new dilemma: Getting young adults to stop working so feverishly that they are late to Unison groups and are not taking the time to put away resources before a share. Also, how to round up those last few students for a share, as they write obsessively, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the rest of the class is now in the front of the room and a classmate is beginning to share a challenge, resolution, and goal with the class.
To my students: Keep on working...but also remember the transitions!
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Train's in Motion Now...
3 weeks already (almost). Wow. Living within the school each day--and it is a second home--I definitely feel the train in motion now. Countless anecdotes from all around the staff and students are soon to come in this forum, but for now here are a couple...
~Mr. Berk, a veteran teacher new to our school, was in amazement yesterday while doing his attendance. He was "shocked" at how every single student was in one of his classes earlier that morning. I had the same reaction this time last year. For both of us, we'd previously been in a place where it was not uncommon to have less than 50% attendance in a given class.
Now we are in a place where 90% would be a low number.
~I walked into the evolving "Student Support" room in our school a few hours ago. Not sure yet what that room will be for, but the Intervention Team seems to be utilizing it (I also had to cart out all my stuff from last year, after I'd transformed part of a back room there into my own little storage space.)
On a white board in the corner I noticed something freshly written about a student's misbehavior post-intervention: "A.P.--'had promised not to put his hands on others.'"
Funny how such a little comment can be funny at the end of a work day but nowhere near funny when one is in the middle of a classroom and a student is chasing another around with a broom (heard that story yesterday) or when said A.P. student was observed by myself today holding a pencil up as though he was going to stab his friend with it. [Thankfully, A.P. is mischievous but not truly violent.]
~Mr. Berk, a veteran teacher new to our school, was in amazement yesterday while doing his attendance. He was "shocked" at how every single student was in one of his classes earlier that morning. I had the same reaction this time last year. For both of us, we'd previously been in a place where it was not uncommon to have less than 50% attendance in a given class.
Now we are in a place where 90% would be a low number.
~I walked into the evolving "Student Support" room in our school a few hours ago. Not sure yet what that room will be for, but the Intervention Team seems to be utilizing it (I also had to cart out all my stuff from last year, after I'd transformed part of a back room there into my own little storage space.)
On a white board in the corner I noticed something freshly written about a student's misbehavior post-intervention: "A.P.--'had promised not to put his hands on others.'"
Funny how such a little comment can be funny at the end of a work day but nowhere near funny when one is in the middle of a classroom and a student is chasing another around with a broom (heard that story yesterday) or when said A.P. student was observed by myself today holding a pencil up as though he was going to stab his friend with it. [Thankfully, A.P. is mischievous but not truly violent.]
Saturday, September 21, 2013
First Week Down
Written on September 13th...
Fellow Teachers!
Fellow Teachers!
It's hard to believe that we're
already one week into school. I have waited for this moment - day 1,
week 1 - for months now (maybe years), and as I look back on it now, I
can't believe how quickly (and also how slowly) it went.
And it's incredible how many things I felt
simultaneously while it was happening (yes, sometimes it felt like it
was just happening to me, in the passive tense, haha) - terror, anxiety,
stress, connectedness, distance, disbelief, immense overwhelm, but most
of all, a tingling anticipation of the days to come.
And of course, this is just the beginning of the
beginning, but I wanted to take a moment to step back and be grateful
for the joy and challenges ahead.
I'll leave you with two quotes that I absolutely love, especially for this moment in time:
We
should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage
of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the
influence of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our
time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call
doing our duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring.
| Henry David Thoreau |
Perhaps the secret of living well is not in having all the answers, but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company.
| Rachel Naomi Remen |
Here's to good company!
Ms. Sri
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Is This Really 'It' ?
It is true. Students arrive on Monday, September 9th. Summer has been amazing and our staff has had a nice transition back to work over these past couple of weeks. Like last year, we came back in early to receive professional development training at Fordham University. We then pivot back to our school campus a week before most teachers go back in. Heading into this long Rosh Hashanah weekend (happy new year, 5774), it is hard to believe our classrooms will be filled in just a few days.
Upon leaving school around 6:30 p.m. yesterday, I could not help but notice how much work still needs to be done. Granted, our school is way ahead of many in terms of planning, learning formats, and other fundamental structures and support systems in place. But in terms of classroom aesthetics, we have a long row to hoe for the next month or so. For example, we are adding an entire new class of students this year, heading into our school's third year. Therefore, we now have several new classrooms and a whole bunch of new teachers. As of yesterday evening, most of these classrooms are still lacking in furniture and technology equipment. Classroom libraries still need to be organized and new offices set up. Furniture that should have been delivered while we were on campus to receive it came instead with no one around. Helpful. Binders we should have received many weeks ago still have not arrived.
We moved various classrooms around to new spaces, as well as acquiring completely new spaces for our main office and principal's office. We now have a chemistry teacher, which many public high schools in NYC do not have. And I will be teaching two sections of U.S. History, which we are building from the ground up as we welcome juniors in for the first time.
The level of collaboration and interdependence within the High School of Language & Innovation (HSLI) is fiercely unique, so there is no doubt we will pull through trials together. It will be fascinating to witness our evolution over the next few weeks. Refreshed, we march onward into a brighter school year than any of us have ever seen before...
Upon leaving school around 6:30 p.m. yesterday, I could not help but notice how much work still needs to be done. Granted, our school is way ahead of many in terms of planning, learning formats, and other fundamental structures and support systems in place. But in terms of classroom aesthetics, we have a long row to hoe for the next month or so. For example, we are adding an entire new class of students this year, heading into our school's third year. Therefore, we now have several new classrooms and a whole bunch of new teachers. As of yesterday evening, most of these classrooms are still lacking in furniture and technology equipment. Classroom libraries still need to be organized and new offices set up. Furniture that should have been delivered while we were on campus to receive it came instead with no one around. Helpful. Binders we should have received many weeks ago still have not arrived.
We moved various classrooms around to new spaces, as well as acquiring completely new spaces for our main office and principal's office. We now have a chemistry teacher, which many public high schools in NYC do not have. And I will be teaching two sections of U.S. History, which we are building from the ground up as we welcome juniors in for the first time.
The level of collaboration and interdependence within the High School of Language & Innovation (HSLI) is fiercely unique, so there is no doubt we will pull through trials together. It will be fascinating to witness our evolution over the next few weeks. Refreshed, we march onward into a brighter school year than any of us have ever seen before...
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