Month: March 2022

I Breathed Deeply this Week

By Friday, I was still reaching for it. Before first period began or right after eating my lunch, I had an urge to make sure I had it on. After two years, the act became instinctual, but after a week I figured I might be able to shake the impulse. I was wrong.

I’m talking about my facemask, of course. After New York City Public Schools made masks optional this week, the mental and emotional fatigue that came with wearing mine drove me to unmask Monday morning and not look back. (I never actually reached into the basket on my desk to retrieve it this week, but I came close several times.) I willingly and conscientiously followed every Covid guideline during the last two years. But now, well, I’m just over it. Teaching with muffled words, tasting cloth every time I sucked in air, and pinching my mask over the bridge of my nose every 5 minutes isn’t appealing to me anymore. I felt “face naked,” as I told my students this week, but it was liberating. Not only could I breathe deeper and clearer, but I could do so with a relaxed mind. Plus, after being smashed to face and throat for so long, my beard reveled in its newfound independence.

It didn’t come as a total shock that I was in the minority. Most students and staff at my school retained their masks. The number of fully unmasked (and partially unmasked) individuals narrowly increased as the week went on, but the number remained fairly constant as of yesterday.

When I got word last week that the mandate was going to be lifted, I began thinking a lot about how my students would react. In addition to masking for personal safety and for the safety of their families, one aspect of unmasking that I don’t think is talked about enough now that mandates are dropping is the social consequences it holds for students. In other words, I suspect that many of my students continued to mask this week for purely social reasons.

For teenagers, their image is everything. And between cameraless Zoom sessions and wearing a mask, many of them haven’t been fully seen in an academic context for two years. A pimple or a bad hair day is enough to keep them home from school, so I knew many of them weren’t going to ditch their masks the instant they had the option to do so. And I don’t blame them at all. There’s simply too much on the line. Their mask offers them protection. It’s a social safeguard that shields them from pointing fingers and gossip. It maintains their self-confidence and social capital. Over time, as more kids slowly reveal their noses and then chins, it will become less necessary for them to attend to this social dimension of unmasking, but that’ll take some time.

For those who unmasked with me week, it was heavenly to be able to see them and interact with no barriers between us. It was strange and even laughable seeing each other’s faces, but I sorely missed this foundational element of teaching. As I savored occupying unsanctioned space with them in the classroom, hallways, and cafeteria, I thought back to the spring of 2020. It was then that remote learning introduced an unnatural and immeasurable distance between us. It took two years, a lot of stress, and many intermediate measures for that distance to be closed. The journey back started a year ago with optional in-person learning that included masks, real social distancing, and plexiglass. Then there was fall 2021 with full in-person learning with pretend social distancing and masks. In December, when the Omicron bomb went off, remote learning scared the hell out of me by dragging us back to its dark lair for a week. Fortunately, when we returned in January, at-home testing ramped up, and attendance improved. Lifting the mask mandate was the last straw.

Others have the right to feel differently this week, but I was rejoicing. Seeing (some of) my students in their entirety again — and also being seen by them — was vitally important to me and my teaching. So while I still may have the occasional urge to reach for my mask, I’m feeling relieved and restored. Thus, the deep breaths I took in my classroom these last five days did more than fill my lungs with unfiltered air, they filled my heart and my pedagogy with unfiltered hope. We’re getting closer.

bp

I breathed deeply this week

By Friday, I was still reaching for it. Before first period began or right after eating my lunch, I had an urge to make sure I had it on. After two years, the act became instinctual, but after a week I figured I might be able to shake the impulse. I was wrong.

I’m talking about my facemask, of course. After New York City Public Schools made masks optional this week, the mental and emotional fatigue that came with wearing mine drove me to unmask Monday morning and not look back. (I never actually reached into the basket on my desk to retrieve it this week, but I came close several times.) I willingly and conscientiously followed every Covid guideline during the last two years. But now, well, I’m just over it. Teaching with muffled words, tasting cloth every time I sucked in air, and pinching my mask over the bridge of my nose every 5 minutes isn’t appealing to me anymore. I felt “face naked,” as I told my students this week, but it was liberating. Not only could I breathe deeper and clearer, but I could do so with a relaxed mind. Plus, after being smashed to face and throat for so long, my beard reveled in its newfound independence.

It didn’t come as a total shock that I was in the minority. Most students and staff at my school retained their masks. The number of fully unmasked (and partially unmasked) individuals narrowly increased as the week went on, but the number remained fairly constant as of yesterday.

When I got word last week that the mandate was going to be lifted, I began thinking a lot about how my students would react. In addition to masking for personal safety and for the safety of their families, one aspect of unmasking that I don’t think is talked about enough now that mandates are dropping is the social consequences it holds for students. In other words, I suspect that many of my students continued to mask this week for purely social reasons.

For teenagers, their image is everything. And between cameraless Zoom sessions and wearing a mask, many of them haven’t been fully seen in an academic context for two years. A pimple or a bad hair day is enough to keep them home from school, so I knew many of them weren’t going to ditch their masks the instant they had the option to do so. And I don’t blame them at all. There’s simply too much on the line. Their mask offers them protection. It’s a social safeguard that shields them from pointing fingers and gossip. It maintains their self-confidence and social capital. Over time, as more kids slowly reveal their noses and then chins, it will become less necessary for them to attend to this social dimension of unmasking, but that’ll take some time.

For those who unmasked with me week, it was heavenly to be able to see them and interact with no barriers between us. It was strange and even laughable seeing each other’s faces, but I sorely missed this foundational element of teaching. As I savored occupying unsanctioned space with them in the classroom, hallways, and cafeteria, I thought back to the spring of 2020. It was then that remote learning introduced an unnatural and immeasurable distance between us. It took two years, a lot of stress, and many intermediate measures for that distance to be closed. The journey back started a year ago with optional in-person learning that included masks, real social distancing, and plexiglass. Then there was fall 2021 with full in-person learning with pretend social distancing and masks. In December, when the Omicron bomb went off, remote learning scared the hell out of me by dragging us back to its dark lair for a week. Fortunately, when we returned in January, at-home testing ramped up, and attendance improved. Lifting the mask mandate was the last straw.

Others have the right to feel differently this week, but I was rejoicing. Seeing (some of) my students in their entirety again — and also being seen by them — was vitally important to me and my teaching. So while I still may have the occasional urge to reach for my mask, I’m feeling relieved and restored. Thus, the deep breaths I took in my classroom these last five days did more than fill my lungs with unfiltered air, they filled my heart and my pedagogy with unfiltered hope. We’re getting closer.

bp

Meditations on a Cogen (No. 19) • Thursday, March 10, 2022

During the 2021-22 school year, I’m having weekly co-generative dialogues (or cogens) with my students. In an effort to help me process these talks and document progress, I summarize and write reflections after each cogen. This is the 19th post in the series.

Pre-cogen recruitment
With my current cohort of cogen students transitioning out, I went hard this week on my recruitment efforts. Last week, four prospective replacements were identified by my current group. The cogen students did their part and reached out to them. They told me that most of the students they identified were hesitant about joining. That was my cue. Time for some encouragement and cogen advocacy!

I found most of the prospective students during lunch. There I pulled them out for a few minutes and gave them my elevator pitch. I managed to convince all of them that the cogen was worth their while. Two said that they would make it today and the others said they would come next week. (After today’s cogen I learned that one newbie from period 3 — who said he coming today — now cannot do the cogen because of a prior commitment. I’ll be on the hunt again next week.)

Prep
We finalized the directions and logistics of our board game last week, so today has a singular focus: prep the materials. We’re playing tomorrow and Monday. The two major tasks are: (1) create four gameboards on chart paper based on a revised blueprint and (2) label 34 problems with their respective levels (1-4). I dig through the mess inside my desk to find markers to draw the game boards and bright paper for the problems.

As we begin, I realize that I’m short two members that should be here. I find out later that both are attending an Emerging Leaders Program meeting. I have no problem at all about this, but only one of the students informs me. I’m slightly annoyed because of how much we have to do in just 30 minutes. We’ve been planning this for weeks, I say to myself. With so much prep to do for tomorrow’s kick-off, how could one of them bail on us today?

I quickly shake off my negativity and focus on who’s here. I see the new member and quickly (and poorly) orient him to cogen. Other than the snacks and water, I mention that today’s meeting will look nothing like it usually does. We will not be sitting around the table and there will be no formal dialogue. He nods willingly and unassumingly. It’s clear that he’s grateful to be here. I’m grateful he is, too. He’s dependable and eager and will be a wonderful asset to the next cohort.

We divide up the work. There’s a total of six of us. Half create the boards and the other half (which includes me) label the problems. After some scrambling to find additional staplers and staples, my half finds our rhythm. The students who are creating the gameboards work together nicely, too. Unknownst to me, they even coordinate colors on the board with the colors we’ve chosen for the different levels of problems. There’s synergy in the room.

As 3:15pm approaches and we are completing everything, a few members have to leave. I bid them farewell and thank them vigorously for their leadership. They should be proud of what they’ve created — not just today, but in the weeks leading up to today. As they pack up, I’m placing game pieces in makeshift envelopes for the tables when suddenly remember that we don’t have a name for the game. Ha! Weeks of playing and we forget the most obvious of things. The kids quickly throw out one name after another. One sticks: Infinite Levels. It’s fitting. We run with it.

Upon finalizing the name, one of the students who missed today due to Emerging Leaders flies into the room. He apologizes for his absence and asks if there’s anything he can do to help. He was actually the one who came up with the idea of playing a board game in the first place. When I see him come in, it’s clear that he feels horrible about not being here to help us today. I thank him for coming back and checking in and then ask him to look over the slides he created with the directions. The cogen students are going to use his slides to introduce the game tomorrow. Now that he sees the game in the flesh, is there anything he wants to edit? We make a few additions. I give him a huge high five. He heads home.

Let’s play
After all the students leave, I tidy up and get the tables in order for tomorrow. I place the gameboards, problems, and game pieces out. I drop some whiteboards on each group and call it a day. Infinite Levels is born.

I leave happy.

bp

Meditations on a Cogen (No. 18) • Thursday, March 3, 2022

During the 2021-22 school year, I’m having weekly co-generative dialogues (or cogens) with my students. In an effort to help me process these talks and document progress, I summarize and write reflections after each cogen. This is the 18th post in the series.

A new tradition
We’re coming off mid-winter break and at some point during the last two weeks, I found inspiration — I forget from where — for a new tradition at the cogen. It’s pretty simple: I want to start each session with everyone answering the question, What’s something you have done for someone else in the last week? It’s a way of starting every cogen with generosity and kindness and also helps me get to know the students better.

Everyone shows up again today with no in-person reminders. I’m not surprised; this cohort has been so consistent these last several weeks. They’re great. I ask everyone how they’re feeling and then introduce our new tradition. We all go around and share our acts of generosity. The standout: earlier today, someone gave a friend a snack because they were hungry.

Finalizing Plans
I long to touch on several issues with the team today (seating arrangements, journal 2 reflections, problem presenters), but I have to push them aside and prioritize our board game. Our planning is basically complete, and we were originally scheduled to play tomorrow and Monday, but we decided to wait one more week. There are details that need to be ironed out. I’ve been super flexible on timing — there’s no need to rush.

The first item up for discussion is the gameboard. The student who was responsible for creating it emailed it to me earlier this week. I present it to the rest of the cogen. Everyone loves it.

The student-created gameboard

I show them a die that players will roll to move along the board. We agree that the center space should be a “challenge problem” and decide that it will be a Level 4. We have an interesting debate over which direction players will move and whether it matters. Can players change direction after passing through the center? This gets messy and we determine a uniform direction for all players. We figure that we will remove the word “space” should be removed in favor of an empty black space (if a player lands on it, they get no problem to answer and, hence, can earn no points on that round). A student proposes an “entry” square to the immediate left of the board where players will start play. Chess and checkers pieces are to be used for players’ game pieces.

If a player gets a problem wrong on their turn, the other players will have the opportunity to “steal” — to answer the problem correctly and earn the points. There’s going to be 3-4 teams per table, so how will the “stealing team” be determined? I’m baffled, as I usually am when it comes to simple things, when a student says, “Let them roll the die for it. Highest number wins.” It’s perfect. Because of this, we decide that the problem cards (that I’ll be creating this week) should be printed on 8.5″ x 11″ paper. This way, all teams can see and work on the problem at the same time. This will not only keep everyone engaged even when it’s not their turn, but speed up gameplay during stealing because stealing teams will have their answer ready.

We do a mini walkthrough of the game and feel good about it. I remind the students that I will be creating the answer key for the problems. They offer some pointers on its structure that will allow for easy checking as players call them over. I take note. At the end of our meeting, someone volunteers to create a couple of slides with game rules and instructions. The cogen students will use them to introduce the game to the class.

There’s nothing left to do now but play! We’ll use next week’s cogen to recreate the gameboards on four large chart papers that will be placed at the center of each table and make any other final touches. I forget to ask the group about a name for the game — but we decide that next week, too. I promise to have the problem cards and answer key ready for them to review. I tell the crew that it’s been so much fun planning the game with them that even though we haven’t even played yet, I see myself using it again next year. We’ve put a ton of thought and effort into it. Why not reuse it? One student remarks that I ask next year’s cogen to modify the game for their class — to make it even better. It’s a brilliant idea.

We depart, eager to play.

Transitions
This is sixth week for the current cohort. We’ve been talking about their replacements for a few weeks now — including at the start of today’s session. All of them have identified at least one potential successor, but most of their choices have expressed little interest in joining the cogen or need to be convinced. I’ve been pretty good at helping students network cogen replacements this year, but I’ve been so absorbed with planning our game these last few weeks that I haven’t done any advocacy work for the next cohort. That needs to change next week. Time to recruit!

bp