An exposition of writing teacher knowledge:
Denim clad students slouched in a circle, solemn faced except for Becky, whose slouch is even closer to horizontal than usual and who laughed at the writing prompt, which is unlike her--she usually stares at me when I offer a prompt as though I am a creature foreign to her expeerience--these students stare into nowhere, which means looking vacant on the outside while they are intently searching inside, and gradually pens start to move--oh, look, Becky is writing, still nearly horizontal but her green pen progresses across the page--and Matt finds a focus and writes intently until he stops and looks over what he wrote and one knee starts jumping up and down and then stops and the other knee starts and stops and they go on in alternating spasms of energy as he re-reads and Jamie is bent over, her head cocked to one side and Ivy is staring and her pen is moving as though she's writing inside even though the pen itself isn't actually touching the the paper and while the room is nearly silent but for pages turning and pens scratching so much is going on, only Becky stopped and leaned back and stretched so it's probably time to stop and listen to them talk.
And I come out of my trance of classroom receiving. How I love to watch a room full of people writing.
I watch and read a first year teacher and marvel both at how similar we are in how much we don't know and how different we are in how we feel about that. English teachers, except when teaching linguistics/grammar, don't need to know. They need to know that they don't need to know in the sense of fact accumulated and repeated.
They need the endurance to keep getting their students started. Students need to read and write and talk and listen. Teachers need to get them started and offer paths for that language to explore. Teachers don't know what those students are going to discover. Teachers start them and wait and pay attention when Becky comes out of her slouch and Matt's knees start bouncing and pens scratch and pages turn. Teachers' knowledge is the next revelation from Becky and Matt.
When we walk into the writing classroom, we don't know much. On a good day, we walk out a whole lot richer.
I wonder what Ivy was writing while she wasn't writing. Another thing I don't know.
Such is the knowledge of the writing teacher.
Denim clad students slouched in a circle, solemn faced except for Becky, whose slouch is even closer to horizontal than usual and who laughed at the writing prompt, which is unlike her--she usually stares at me when I offer a prompt as though I am a creature foreign to her expeerience--these students stare into nowhere, which means looking vacant on the outside while they are intently searching inside, and gradually pens start to move--oh, look, Becky is writing, still nearly horizontal but her green pen progresses across the page--and Matt finds a focus and writes intently until he stops and looks over what he wrote and one knee starts jumping up and down and then stops and the other knee starts and stops and they go on in alternating spasms of energy as he re-reads and Jamie is bent over, her head cocked to one side and Ivy is staring and her pen is moving as though she's writing inside even though the pen itself isn't actually touching the the paper and while the room is nearly silent but for pages turning and pens scratching so much is going on, only Becky stopped and leaned back and stretched so it's probably time to stop and listen to them talk.
And I come out of my trance of classroom receiving. How I love to watch a room full of people writing.
I watch and read a first year teacher and marvel both at how similar we are in how much we don't know and how different we are in how we feel about that. English teachers, except when teaching linguistics/grammar, don't need to know. They need to know that they don't need to know in the sense of fact accumulated and repeated.
They need the endurance to keep getting their students started. Students need to read and write and talk and listen. Teachers need to get them started and offer paths for that language to explore. Teachers don't know what those students are going to discover. Teachers start them and wait and pay attention when Becky comes out of her slouch and Matt's knees start bouncing and pens scratch and pages turn. Teachers' knowledge is the next revelation from Becky and Matt.
When we walk into the writing classroom, we don't know much. On a good day, we walk out a whole lot richer.
I wonder what Ivy was writing while she wasn't writing. Another thing I don't know.
Such is the knowledge of the writing teacher.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home