Shades of Educational Grey

The current controversy in Alberta regarding Edmonton Public's 'no zero' policy came to a head yesterday when physics teacher of 35 years, Lynden Dorval was fired.  I have never met Mr. Dorval but his situation leaves me in turmoil.

I feel I have had a stake in each side of this debate at various times in my career. In one situation my team partner and I had a class made up of students who failed the previous grade. Often the cause was their poor attendance and the number of incomplete assignments. We told them that zero was not an option and that we would bug them until we got the assignments. True to our word, we bugged them and over the course of the year we got a lot more work than if the conversation had been, "I'll take a zero." "Suit yourself." Chasing the kids for assignments was exhausting and frustrating. I remember  being in my classroom after school the Friday before Spring Break started, looking at my watch, helping students finish assignments and wondering if I would make my flight out to the coast for a cycling trip.

My teaching partner and I were in an unusual situation with that particular class.  The other teachers at our grade level had agreed to accept slightly larger classes so that we could work with these kids who were at risk of dropping out.  We had the class for all the core subjects; they were only out of our room for options. It was one of the most rewarding years of my teaching career and I was fortunate enough to catch up with a handful of those students when I moved to a high school across the field four years later. They were hanging in.  Good news.

Let me emphasize that we had only 40 students for whom we were primarily responsible.  Numbers in most of the high school classes I taught ranged from 28 to 36, and I taught 3 classes each semester.  I was fortunate because some of my colleagues taught 4. If, while dealing with a regular high school work load, I had I tried to bug every student who didn't hand in an assignment until it came in,  I would have been frustrated that the kids who regularly completed their work were getting the leftovers of my time and attention.

Later on in my career I came into a setting where the policy of the department was to be firm on deadlines, down to the minute.  I remember one student coming to the workroom door and handing a paper to another teacher because her teacher wasn't in the room.  When the teacher who had given the assignment returned she was angry: she had specified that the student was to hand in the paper after school and this was noon hour.  She declined to grade the paper and the student received a zero. She reasoned she was teaching the student the importance of following instructions, punctuality and responsibility.  She was doing what was best for the students.

I had difficulty in that department.  I couldn't bring myself to be as firm about deadlines as my department head wanted.  I negotiated with kids when the deadline came and they hadn't handed in their assignments.  I closed my door as much as I could and tried to keep my head down.  It didn't work. In one situation a colleague came into my room when I was allowing a student who was terrified of public speaking to make up an assignment for me rather than having her present to the class. If a student didn't present to the class they were to receive a zero. The colleague told my department head and, I was in trouble - again. I was on the receiving end of an angry outburst that ended when I said, "So what would you like me to do?  It's not the student's fault."  I was doing exactly the same thing my department head was doing: what I considered best for the students.

In the light of Lynden Dorval's situation I'm lucky it was my department head and I who disagreed. I was deliberately going against the department's policy.  She was my immediate 'supervisor.' I was doing what I felt was right.

I wish I had an answer to the 'to zero or not to zero' question but in 30 years of teaching I never found one.  Some kids will play you.  Some will get in over their heads and desperately want you to throw them a life preserver and you hope that if you do they will be grateful and learn the lesson.  Some kids will come through if you trust them and show them that their work is important, and some kids will get discouraged and cease to try. Of course, all teachers want students to learn lessons that will help them become productive and thoughtful members of society. In addition, my wish for my students was always that they move in the world with compassion.

So when I read of Lynden Dorval's case I am torn.  I put plenty of zeros in my mark book during my career.  Did those zeros reflect a student's true capability?  No.  Sometimes the student would turn in  very high quality work, once in a while.  Should that student, because she can do high quality work receive a high grade based on 2 assignments out of the 30 the rest of the class has completed?  Do you reflect the lack of a body of evidence by giving an incomplete in the course, that is, by withholding credit? What percentage of assignments is a student allowed to miss and still receive a grade?

And what about timing? Is it reasonable to expect a teacher to grade assignments at the end of June that were given in January? How much does a student learn by doing a whole lot of work as the course comes to a close? Reporting periods end; school years end and how do students and teachers fit themselves into this framework?

Part of the joy and the terror of teaching is to constantly answer the question, 'What is best for this student.'  I admire those in classrooms who daily face this question and live with the ambiguity it engenders and I am sad when power struggles endanger the delicate balance that allows teachers to answer that question in good conscience and with compassion.

How could it be fall again?

It is fall again - ripe nectarines, plums, blueberries and blackberries - and this is kind of embarrassing.  When I look at the last time I posted on this blog it was almost a year ago.  So much for the resolutions about getting this done regularly. ;-(  I seriously thought of letting the blog slip into oblivion but I have a couple of friends who are good enough to nag me about it, so here I am again.  No promises about how often this will happen but, at least, a commitment not to let it die just yet.

There is definitely life after teaching and this is the beginning of my fifth year of it. Having been a teacher for so long,  September is still the start of my year.  All my weekly activities start up again and I'm more likely to look back over the last 12 months and ahead to the next 12 than at any other time.  The last four years have been quite an education.  For the first couple I was busy delighting in all the things that I no longer had to do, no marking, no planning, no extra-curricular activities, no cafeteria supervision, no report cards.  But, you can only live your life delighting in difference for so long. Once I really understood that I never had to write another report card or mark another paper I was puzzled.  Who was I now that I wasn't a teacher anymore?  Year three was a bit confusing.  I drifted around, not really feeling like I could settle anywhere.

I was still learning. My left hand refused to do what it needed to do on the piano and my singing voice was unpredictable as I tried to establish a new and better default setting.  I spent a lot of time "researching" i.e. surfing the net and most of the structure of my days was determined by outside commitments.  I didn't practice either singing or piano as often as I could have.  Lots of times I drifted not knowing what to do.  Oh, I had lots of stuff I could do, I just wasn't crazy about any of it.

I explored various woodworking sites and electronic magazines, dumped some subscriptions and took on others and always enjoyed puttering around in the shop. That taught me something important about myself.  I'm happiest when I can solve a problem and I'm not all that keen on making a whole bunch of one thing. 

My favourite digital subscription is to Rob Cosman's Rob's Workshop. I look forward to it the way some folks look forward to the next episode of their favourite TV drama or comedy.  Rob shoots 5 shows a week and doesn't do a lot of editing.  This is invaluable because I get to watch a true master-craftsman make mistakes and solve problems.  I've taken classes from Rob and, in some ways, the videos are better. The camera can get closer and see things I can't see during a class. Also these videos have taught me patience when I work wood.  Rob doesn't do everything right all the time and that is very comforting even though I take longer than most to get the hang of something. (Still haven't mastered hand-cut dovetails and it's been almost 9 years.)  Rob's home page

I have gone back to half marathons in the last couple of years and, although I no longer run them, they give me something to train for and I like to chat with other walkers on the way, some of whom are new to the sport.  If they ask I pass on what I have learned from my 22 half marathons to date.  I've also been diligent about exercising.  I have exercised for 591 of the last 593 days.  I give myself little, or sometimes big, rewards when I reach milestones.  I'm currently working my way towards an iPad which I certainly don't need but I have techno-lust and, at least, I'm making myself work for it.

We have had our basement renovated,  quite the adventure.  When you live in an older house you find interesting things once inside the walls.  Among the treasures and surprises we found were an old crib board, a stubby beer bottle and an empty latex-condom box. What were those guys doing when they 'finished' the basement? There was no insulation in the walls.  There were a few cracks in the  concrete and there was a window that had been completely covered up by a previous renovation. The plumbing and electrical were unique and we decided, since we had things torn apart, we might as well get both fixed. From an initial estimate of 6 weeks the reno took closer to 6 months.

The basement is now finished but we are not.  We love the result and are determined not to put a lot of junk back so we are culling.  My 19-year-old van has been living outside since February, its place usurped by stuff that came out of the basement.  A lot of stuff has gone but there is still a lot to get rid of.  One item at a time, I tell myself.

Throughout the years, since 2004 to be exact, there have been the audio books.  Two a month without fail and, when there are sales on Audible, I buy extra ones in case I run out before my credits renew. Reading and writing are two sides of the same coin and now, in year five of life after teaching, I feel I'm finding a different direction.  I have always enjoyed writing and have attended a workshop every year since I retired.  Even there I floated around since most people were interested in writing fiction and isn't what really excites me. Barbara Turner- Vesselago kindly lets me return each year. The workshops have a wonderful flow to their days: write in the morning, free time in the afternoon, conversation about the writing in the late afternoon and then do it all again. Barbara's home page

My intention for this year is to write in the morning.  I have an article coming out in the October issue of Canadian Woodworking and Home Improvement  and I have sent a couple of tips away to woodworking magazines.  I don't expect to get rich doing this but it is beginning to feel as if I have found another anchor to replace teaching. In year five I think I'm beginning to move toward something rather than moving away from something, and it feels good. With any luck, I'll keep you posted.

Thoughts on insanity and gratitude

I've heard insanity described as, " doing the same thing and expecting different results." If that's true I guess I'm insane, at least when it comes to Odie.

Richard and I are attending a bird training workshop this weekend and while I was cleaning Odie's cage and getting his food ready I started to wonder if he was still a biter when it came to me. He has calmed down a lot and seems quite friendly and content most of the time. He is more gentle with Richard than he was and I hoped that he might have given up the desire for human-finger protein.

I talked to him as I usually do when his is out on his gym. He lets me get quite close to him and often blinks his eyes and puffs up and preens. Today he came over to the corner of his gym and dipped his head, his typical motion when he wants a head scratch. Richard has a hand signal he uses with Odie to show his willingness to scratch. I did the hand signal and Odie again dipped his head.

I figured I had to put this relationship to the test at some point so I took a deep breath to make sure I was steady and then reached out to gently scratch the top of his head. I got one scratch in and then he nailed me - hard - so hard that when I took my hand away, or tried to, I lifted him up by his beak.

When a bird bites you're supposed to push towards him which surprises him and makes him let go. Good theory if you can remember to do it. Since Odie was firmly attached I put my other hand underneath him and put him rather unceremoniously into his cage and closed the door.

I guess there's no doubt about who the nut case is in this scenario. I hope there will be something new this weekend or, at least, a new slant on the information we already have so that I can begin to work with Odie. We're great friends as long as the cage bars separate us but I would like to be able to handle Odie safely and give him the attention that he so loves. It would be much better for all of us. How do I convey that to the little green dragon with the lightning-fast beak?

I had Odie out of his cage before Richard came home because we had theatre tickets tonight and we wanted to be there early to pick them up at the box office. The play True Love Lies was very engaging and quite witty.

As we were walking out at the end a young man caught my eye and said, "Hi, I'm so glad to see you here." I looked over my shoulder thinking he must be talking to someone else. When I turned back, he was still looking at me. "You taught me drama," he said. "I remember all your classes and now I'm a drama teacher too." I asked him his name. I did remember his name but couldn't bring to mind where I had taught him. I think we exchanged a few more words and I hope I thanked him for stopping to speak to me. I wish him well in his teaching and hope that someday a student will approach him to let him know that he made a difference. Interesting how, in one day, small things can balance each other out.

Eighteen half-marathons later

When I was a kid I ran around the neighbourhood and played outside until dark as did all the kids of my generation. I don't think there were a lot of organized activities for kids and even if there had been, most parents couldn't have afforded them. When we got to junior high we had to take Phys Ed. We had to change into shorts and blouses, this was prior to t-shirts, do jumping jacks and run around the gym and try to jump up and touch the basketball nets. We played badminton, volleyball, basketball and did some rudimentary gymnastics. In the spring we went outside for track and field.

I didn't much like PE. I wasn't good at any of the sports and was kind of a loner to boot. I always tried really hard even though I couldn't see the point of sports. I felt clumsy and awkward. I remember taking a fitness test at one point and getting a certificate for participating. I think I tossed it out and determined that I would quit Phys Ed just as soon as I had the grade ten requirement and I would never have anything to do with sports again.

As with so many things in life, that's not the way it turned out. In university I was too involved with theatre to think of much else and I kept my promise to stay away from sports. When I got a job in Banff I did some hiking and snowshoeing and liked that but that had nothing to do with my idea of what sports were about. I even tried downhill skiing because all my friends were doing it.

While living in Banff I needed to get from the theatre to the high school where the musical theatre division rehearsed. Walking was slow so I bought a ten-speed bike for transportation. I liked riding my bike as a kid and when I got to junior high I became much too sophisticated to continue to ride a bike. In Banff I found I still enjoyed riding my bike and would often open up the theatre, get a rehearsal started and then take off and ride around the golf course. It wasn't unusual to see elk or moose and once or twice I saw bears.

Back at university and in my first few years teaching I didn't ride the bike. Life seemed too full of planning and marking and I sold the bike. Then came mountain bikes. I liked the idea of a mountain bike, different riding posture, fatter tires and lower gears so I bought one and joined the Elbow Valley Cycle Club. From then on we cycled quite a lot and I started to subscribe to Bicycling Magazine. I think it was in those pages that I read an article which said that cyclists had the bone density of couch potatoes. I found that irritating because by then I had become interested in the health benefits of exercise. I decided that I could start running. After all, I didn't need a lot of gear to do that and I hoped it would improve the bone-density outlook.

I took a learn-to-run course and with some friends entered a couple of 5K races. They were fun. I wasn't fast which didn't really matter as there were lots of interesting people to watch and talk to. I began to wonder if I could run longer races and did some 10K's. By this time I was hooked; I had a gym membership and was running at least three times a week. Somebody suggested that we enter the Police Half Marathon. That was scary. It was a long distance and I knew it was going to be hard but I wanted to see if I could do it. I could so I did more.

Then the idea of a marathon started to tickle at the back of my brain. The university had a training program that prepared the participants to run the Honolulu Marathon. My running partner and I signed up. We were both apprehensive. What if we spent all this time and money training and got injured or couldn't finish? We trained hard. It seemed that we only had time for work training, eating and sleeping. Flying over to Hawaii in December with the rest of the people in the course I felt like a real athlete.

The day of the marathon was hot and humid and we ended up walking the last 5 K. It didn't matter. There were people in the streets cheering us on. Some folks had hoses to spray us so we could cool off. At the end of the race one of the coaches reminded us that our medals were exactly the same as someone who did the course twice as fast as we did. He also said he thought it was harder to go slowly because you were out in the sun and the heat longer.

After that marathon I wanted to try for a faster time so I entered the Royal Victoria Marathon the next year and came in right on my target time. I was happy with that and decided not to do any more marathons. It took too much time to train and I was worried about injuries.

Other things came up and I didn't do any races for almost four years. Earlier this year I decided to sign up for another half marathon. If I paid the money to register that meant I had to go and that meant I had to train. And so I began again. That race was in the pouring rain and as I was driving to the start I thought, "You know you don't have to do this. You could just turn around and go home." I decided that having put in the training I'd just be grumpy if I didn't finish the race. My time was slower than the last time I did a half and my hands were so cold driving home that they were tingling. The car has heat and Richard greeted me with hot chocolate when I got home. Wanting to keep the momentum going, I signed up for another half marathon.

Last Sunday I completed my eighteenth half marathon. There were only five people in my age group, men and women combined. I walked the course and my time was among the slowest, although I did manage a faster time than a few women in their forties. Again I'm pleased with myself. We walkers started an hour early. When the first runners began to pass me many of them said, "Good job," or "You're looking good." These are the really fast guys who could just blow by me without saying a word but they take the time to offer encouragement. Most runners I meet are a very accepting lot and I feel at home among them.

It's a long way and a lot of years since I decided I wasn't going to have anything to do with sports. I'm glad I changed my mind.

Back again, but not home

Today this box came back to me. I made it 5 years ago for Helen, my aunt. As usual, I did it at the last minute and I remember taking the lid and my carving knives with me on a short camping trip. I sat at the picnic table and carved. The chips went straight into the fire pit. When we got home I attached the lid to the box, oiled and waxed it and took it with me to the family gathering.

Helen was thrilled. I could count on her to take an interest in what I did and to be enthusiastic about my latest endeavors whatever they were. I know she used the box because when we visited her later that year I saw it sitting on the table stuffed with mail. I was pleased the box had become part of her everyday life.

Today Richard and I attended her memorial service in the small city where she spent much of her adult life. As we prepared to come home my cousin returned the box to me. As I turn it over in my hands I see the flaws and appreciate that Helen saw past the flaws in the box even as she saw past the flaws in people. I will miss her.

The box needs another coat of oil. Tomorrow I will take it into the shop, put oil on it and rub it in, first with a rag and then with my hands. When the oil is dry I will give it a coat of wax. Then I will find a place for it in my everyday life. When I look at it I will think of its real home, on a table in the afternoon sunlight with envelopes protruding from under the lid and I will remember Helen.

One of the Good Ones

During the last couple of days I've been receiving some good-natured flack on Facebook following my comments about the weather. I did say that I was enjoying a beautiful spring-like day and then qualify the statement by saying I didn't want to call it spring otherwise I might jinx the weather. Well, sure enough, we got about 6" of snow last night. I haven't checked that on the weather service; I'm judging by what was on the walks today.

Before he left this morning for an icky drive to work on slippery roads, Richard asked me if I would shovel a path so that we'd have a clean space to walk when the snow started to melt. Before I got around to it some kind neighbour, I don't know who, had shovelled the city sidewalk in front of our house. I decided I'd better get out there and get the snow off the walk leading up to the house. I put on my winter boots, only because they were easy to slip into and were more waterproof than my shoes. The temperature was a bit above freezing so I donned a shell over my light fleece.

Bits of heavy, wet snow dropped from the trees down my neck a couple of times. No matter, the weather was warm and I wouldn't melt with a little water. As I shovelled I listened to robins, gulls and the occasional magpie. I decided since it was pleasant out, I might as well tackle the driveway as well.

I went around to the back and began. It took me about an hour. No sense pulling muscles in the heavy wet stuff. It wasn't long before I shed my gloves. Then I took off my shell and hung it over the mirror of the big van. There was a small rivulet running down the side of the van caused by the snow melting off the windshield. I worked for a bit and then pushed up my sleeves. I debated about taking off my fleece. Every once in a while a gust of wind would come up and cool me off sufficiently so I left the fleece on.

I was completely content as I was tossed shovels full of snow behind the back fence. The temperatures and the snow stirred memories of the time I spent in Banff as a student many years ago. We went out drawing in the spring snow and then when we were wet and cold, we went into a restaurant on Banff Avenue for a cup of tea. Many nights I sat by the fireplace in what used to be called the Admin Building and watched snow fall through beams of outdoor lights onto the lawn. And, I remember skiing Sunshine with just a sweater and a light shell.

As I stood on the clear driveway looking at and listening to three robins in the bare branches of a weeping birch, I realized there are worse things than being physically able to deal with spring snow. There are worse things than having a cool breeze take the sweat off my forehead. There are worse things than shovelling snow with bare hands and arms. Now, I'm not expecting people who love the heat to agree with me. If temperatures in the high 20's to mid 30's make you feel alive, my hat is off to you. Enjoy those temperatures to the fullest whether you have to go to latitudes closer to the equator to experience them or whether you love the few days in Alberta when the temperature climbs and I head for the basement. I hope those temperatures will bring you the kind of contentment I had today in the spring snow. Today was one of the good ones.

(I shot a bit of video with robins chirping in the background - enjoy.)

Crusing in Costa Rica

Now that is an odd title for me. First of all, I thought I'd never be caught dead taking a cruise and second, Costa Rica wasn't high on my list of places to visit. It was another one of those , "Why not?" moments that are becoming more frequent in my life.

We were on a WindStar ship when cycling with Santana Cycles in Spain and Portugal in November and got an email announcing a half-price deal on some of their cruises. Richard and I had discussed getting away for spring break and one of the cruises happened to span that time. We signed up. It wasn't really on our radar until about two weeks before we left when suddenly we realized we'd better start thinking about what to take. We sat down at the computer one night and booked all of our shore excursions so we wouldn't have to debate once on the ship.

We had two nights in a hotel in San Jose in which to practice our slug technique, or perhaps given the country, I should call it 'sloth' technique. Richard particularly needed the time to just unwind and get caught up on sleep.

In many ways the Costa Rica we saw was not what I expected. It was nearing the end of the dry season and many of the trees lose their leaves to conserve moisture. I didn't expect to see bare trees in a tropical country. There was a blanket of brown leaves on many of the paths we took through the forest.

We chose the wildlife spotting options for our excursions except for the first one which was in Nicaragua and involved a trip to a volcano. I was a little dismayed by the signs in Spanish and English warning motorists to park their cars facing out in case they had to get away quickly. Other signs suggested that if there was a lot of debris coming from the volcano people might want to take shelter under their cars.

When we were there the volcano behaved itself. It spewed clouds of sulfurous gasses which were impressive enough for me. One of the guides I talked to reported being at the volcano with a group of visitors when the volcano decided to throw soft-ball-sized chunks of rock up over the rim. He said although no one was hurt, it frightened him. We talked for maybe five minutes and as I turned to go down the stairs and back to the bus I wished him well. That short interaction reminded me what I like so much about young adults. He was friendly, open, interested and interesting.

We visited Manuel Antonio park, Fincas Naturales, Corcovado National Park and Curu Wildlife Refuge. Our guides had very sharp eyes and all carried spotting scopes. One guide allowed those with small digital cameras to take photos through the spotting scope. We saw a variety of wildlife. There were many birds even around the hotel in San Jose. One of them looked like a relative of the magpie in body and tail shape although this bird was all black. There were numerous small song birds and Richard managed good photos of one that landed on our balcony the first morning while I was still asleep.

We saw pelicans flying in a v formation almost like geese and there were white and blue herons at various points of the trip. I was delighted to see two scarlet macaws fly overhead. Because they were against the light sky I couldn't see their brilliant colours but it was enough to have seen them in the wild. Macaws and parakeets are protected in Costa Rica and many of our guide have strong feelings that such birds should never be kept as pets. I mostly kept my mouth shut on the subject. The birds we have were all bred in captivity specifically as pets. I am absolutely against owning wild-caught birds who tend not to make very good pets anyway. Costa Ricans are not allowed to keep native birds as pets but people who had birds as pets before the law was enacted were allowed to keep them. That's how I got my best shots of a scarlet macaw. His name is Paco and he lives on Tortuga island. He had a serious injury to his wing and even after he recovered his health he was unable to fly. Paco has a perch around one of the palm trees where he sits and poses for the tourists. In the time I watched an photographed him he didn't utter a sound. I imagine a few good screams from a macaw would terrify some of the children visiting the island.

We were able to observe two and three-toes sloths, again thanks to guides with sharp eyes who knew what to look for. One of the varieties of sloth has an algae growing in its fur so it looks like part of the tree. The algae is necessary to the life cycle of a species of moth that lives in the forest. We encountered agoutis in many different places. These are rodents about the size of cats. They have long hind legs almost like a jack rabbit and, most surprising to me, they have no tails.

I'm not sure of the name of the relative of the raccoon we saw. They have long prehensile tails that are striped like a raccoon's tail. At one place we saw four or five different individuals some of which chased off one of the late comers.

By the time we left the country we had seen all three of the types of monkeys that inhabit Costa Rica and had heard the howlers do their thing on an early morning nature hike. I don't imagine you'd need an alarm clock if you were staying close to a bunch of howlers.

On our day at sea we spotted turtles and dolphins. I can't believe I forgot to bring binoculars with me. That will definitely be on the list of items for the next trip. Our guides were superb at spotting wildlife or evidence of it. One guide stopped us and pointed to a perfectly camouflaged nest containing two eggs about a foot off the path where we were walking. All in all it was a memorable holiday although I was very thankful to have an air conditioned cabin to return to after a couple of hours walking in the jungle.