Joy Snippets While Some Silently Struggle

Today is Monday, October 25, 2021. Happy Canadian School Library Day! #CSLD2021

It is also Media Literacy Week! #MediaLitWk

There's reason to celebrate, personally. I am back in my school library. Granted, I spend a lot more time shelving books (no outside volunteers permitted and I can't yet assemble my team of student Library Helpers) and sanitizing materials than I ever did before, but I'm very grateful to return to the role, even altered as it is now. I'm also delighted to contribute to the professional development of future teacher-librarians at two wonderful institutions (Queen's University and York University). The Association for Media Literacy lets me do all sorts of things, as one of the two vice-presidents, to promote media literacy in Ontario, which is very rewarding.

Having said that, there are a lot of people in education right now that are NOT okay. I was contracted to write an article for a publication about how funding cuts have impacted school libraries. I did some crowd-sourcing and I was dismayed to hear some of the stories. There were many testimonials, from school library professionals from various different boards, explaining how difficult their jobs have become. A few contacts asked to be cited anonymously. It's unclear if they feared "reprisals" for speaking out; yet they were compelled to share their school realities with me. I need to figure out a way to include more of these perspectives in a helpful way. It was impossible to include everyone's examples but the stress and honesty really struck a chord with me. (When the article goes to press, I'll add a link here so readers can get a glimpse of the hardships.)

I see this even at my own school and in my own board. Educators are taking leaves because the pressure and demands are just too much. Workers are bone-tired and feeling completely overwhelmed. I wish there was more I could do to help my colleagues and friends. Maybe I can lessen their load by co-teaching with them and providing assessments. Maybe I can give advice or just be a shoulder to cry on or a listening ear or a helping hand. (What's with the body parts?) Maybe I can make them laugh or smile a bit with a joke or hot beverage. Whatever I try to do, I hope it helps alleviate the awfulness and spread a bit of joy. Let me end by including this photo that makes me smile - a student reading for pleasure in our renovated (and mostly tidy) school library. 

Talking Like a Teacher

On October 13, 2021, I co-presented a lecture for Third Age Learning Guelph on Finding Trusted Sources and Evaluating Information. 

My fellow speaker and I rehearsed quite a few times prior to our talk, and one thing she recommended to me was not to "talk like a teacher". 

"This isn't an audience of educators; these aren't your students", she cautioned me.

What exactly does that mean? I had a discussion with my husband about the concept and he had a lot of insightful points to make. Technically, he should get "co-authorship credit" for today's blog post.

"Talking like a teacher" can be either an insult or compliment. The comment might reflect more on the speaker than the recipient. 

Teacher Talk Seen As a Bad Thing

My husband theorizes that if someone has had a bad experience conversing with an educator, or a negative opinion of school, then saying someone talks like a teacher is meant to be bad. It suggests that the speaker is condescending, or speaks with excessive authority or from a position "on high". When my siblings were younger and I was in teacher's college, they used to complain that I sounded like a teacher when I talked. I never asked them to elaborate; I just ignored their griping. (After all, my goal was to become a teacher and if I sounded like one, that was good, right?)

The negative connotation of "speaking like a teacher" can even be conveyed from educator to educator, especially if the teaching location is considered. Secondary school teachers sometimes look down on elementary school teachers. High school teachers may judge the way their counterparts communicate as being too juvenile or simplistic, scoffing at the terms or turns of phrases used. (e.g. "boys and girls" / "friends" / "1-2-3, eyes on me!" / "Time to tidy up!") This week I had two separate conversations with colleagues about secondary school teachers dismissing elementary teacher expertise and spoken words because of the panel they taught in was considered "less than" rigorous. (This isn't true of all secondary school teachers; when I had the privilege this past summer of working with a cross-division team of teacher-librarians to revise a board document on school librarianship, there was such an incredible new appreciation of the challenges each type of teacher-librarian dealt with and increased respect on all sides. We are still in touch with each other and so appreciate the time we spent learning from and with each other.)

Teacher talk may also be seen as too exclusive and elitist. I recall my husband asking me to "tone down" the amount of edu-jargon he predicted I would use when I went to our children's parent-teacher interviews when they were in public school. He didn't want me asking about specific examples of "learning goals and success criteria" or "diverse assessment tools". I can't say how successful I was at eliminating my educator vocabulary. It's hard, but not impossible, to "turn off" your "teacher brain". I know that teaching is a significant part of my identity, but our notions of self can evolve over time, as it will probably do when I (eventually) retire. 

Teacher Talk Seen As a Good Thing

Ironically enough, one of the compliments that my co-presenter and I received after our lecture was that someone said they could tell we were teachers. This was intended positively. I think the participant meant that Nina and I were able to convey our message in an understandable fashion, and were able to clearly articulate complex ideas in a way that made sense. We sounded like experts, even though we began our lecture by reminding our listeners that we were not experts on the topic and were only sharing things we had learned ourselves and from others over time.

Talking like a teacher also seems to convey a level of confidence. When I first volunteered for Maker Festival Toronto (before I joined the organization team), I was asked to take a leader-like position on my first day, because it sounded like I knew what I was doing. (The secret, of course, is that educators can fake this kind of assertiveness and knowledge quite well. If our students or the community don't believe we know what we are talking about, they might be less likely to listen.) 

Final Thoughts

I wonder if other professions are ever commented on in similar ways. Has anyone ever said to someone "You talk too much like a doctor" or "You sound like a lawyer"? I was curious if anyone had searched this, so I wanted to see what came up when I typed "talk like ..." into a search engine. I saw "talk like a pirate", "talk like a baby" and "talk like Yoda" - so much for that line of investigation!

Bombing Big and Trying Again

I can tell something is on my mind if I continually bring it up in conversation with different people. Although there's less of a sting present than there was earlier in the week, I still think it'd be therapeutic for me to address it here.

As part of my teaching assignment this year, I teach four classes virtually, for a total of 10 periods. All of these are primary division students. Teaching younger students online is a different kettle of fish from what I did last year, when I pivoted with my Grade 5-6 students back and forth from in-person to online. The younger students aren't as independent as their older counterparts. I notice that for some students, they find it difficult to complete certain tasks that traditionally I would have accomplished easily with pencil and paper. Assignments take much longer to complete, and it isn't clear how much home assistance the students receive. I decided to set up one-on-one interviews with the students so that they could demonstrate their understanding orally, eliminating the issue of managing online documents.

Tangent: I have learned now to clarify whether or not I want solutions or just a listening ear when I describe situations. For the purpose of this post, this is just a vent, and that's why I am not explaining exactly all the tech steps I used.

I couldn't find a Creative Commons visual to illustrate this idea effectively, so I turned to imgflip.com to create a meme. Back to the original story ... 

I set up my small group areas in advance, knowing that it was probably going to be a bit challenging to establish. Thankfully, the virtual team has already attempted something similar with a whole-school event, so I hoped that the prior experience would help ease the transition.

The lesson bombed, big-time. Students couldn't access the area. I removed what I thought was the barrier and tried again. Students still couldn't get where they needed to go. I sent links to various spots. No luck. I actually ran to fetch their regular classroom teacher (who was on her prep) to see if she could advise me. I didn't have the set-up on my computer to mimic what she does for small group work. I set up my personal computer as a second source, but that failed too. This was all happening as nearly twenty students were right in front of me. I felt terrible. Then I heard something that made me feel even worse. I heard a negative comment from a grown-up in the background, criticizing what I was doing.

I addressed the "unseen adults in the background", apologizing for all the snags, but also explaining that teachers aren't trained on how to conduct online classes, so we are all learning as we go and there are bound to be stumbles. 

I'll admit - it hurt.

Thankfully, the colleagues I spoke to were kind and helpful. Thanks Maha, Renee, Jen BC, and others who consoled me and (because I was ready to hear it at that point) offered advice and technology work-arounds. I tried again the next time I saw them and my set-up worked. The only new wrinkle is that I had anticipated conducting 4 interviews per single period, and I'm only completing 1 per period. It looks like I am going to have to use my personal prep time (which lately has been used for sanitizing manipulatives in the library, shelving books, and organizing the 1:1 device roll-out program) to go back on line and conduct more interviews so I can have a chance of completing them sooner. 

So, what's my "lesson learned"? Maybe it's a combination of "if at first you don't succeed, try, try again", "you can't please all the people all the time" and "be gentle with yourself". 

pic.twitter.com/qjgy5ohwpy

— Laura McFarren (@lauramcfarren) October 10, 2021

Phone Dependency

 The other day, I forgot my phone at home. 

No big deal, right?

Well, actually, the moment forced me to realize how much I rely on my phone, even at school.

The first indication that my cell phone was more important to me than I realized was when my principal approached me to ask about my Health Self-Assessment. I neglected to complete it on my cell phone that morning and administrators actually check those records. I had to fill out a paper form and submit it to the office to let them know I was COVID-symptom-free.

I provided some "payback-prep" to a teacher who missed hers, and she asked me to take her students to the playground for some outdoor time. I don't wear a watch, so I had no way to tell the time without my phone with me. Our school is still in the process of purchasing better walkie-talkies, so in the meantime, if there's an emergency outside, we are to use our ... cell phones. I misjudged the time and brought them in a bit early because I'm terrible at internalizing time spans. 

Then, I wanted to take photos of the kindergarten class I had that afternoon as they worked on a collaborative task. I planned to use the photos both as pedagogical documentation, to see who did what how, and as a way to share with families at home another example of the type of learning their children were engaged with - I emailed a batch of photos earlier, and even though it took a long time (and I'm still not finished emailing families), it was worth the effort. I received a lot of nice emails back acknowledging the pictures. With no camera, I had to ask the ECE if she would be okay with taking the photos for me. (These photos are of the class previous to that one, where I actually had my phone on me.)

At some point during the day, I wanted to translate something so that one of the ELL (English Language Learners) in the class I had would have a clearer understanding. I was out of luck - because it would take much too long to pull up Google Translate on the school laptop and it's much more convenient to tap the app on my phone.

I couldn't even call my husband in my car on the way home from school like I usually do, so that he could arrange to have dinner ready for when I return. (Yes, I'm lucky/spoiled.)

As this article indicates, the cell phone has replaced multiple devices and placed them in one convenient gadget. The union used to warn us not to use our personal devices, especially for taking photos of students, but especially during this pandemic, educators have had to supplement the meager technology tools they were supplied with by their employers with devices of their own. 

My own children are nearly at the stage where they want to get rid of their current cell phones and get "dumb phones"; they want to get off the train of constantly updating their device to the latest version. For me, I suspect that my phone will be a part of my "entourage" for a much longer time.